“I don’t like the way things are going at all, and I
just wish those two people were back where
they came from. They have turned the ranche
upside down since they have been here, and now I
begin to feel as though they were the masters, and
that I have no more rights than a tramp who had
dropped in to beg a night’s lodging!”
The speaker, a sturdy, broad-shouldered youth,
about fifteen years of age, was sitting on the porch
in front of the house in which he lived, busily engaged
in mending a broken bridle with an awl and
a piece of waxed-end. His name was George Ackerman,
and he was one of the boys whom we introduced
6to the notice of the reader in the concluding
volume of the “Boy Trapper Series,” and of whose
adventures and exploits we promised to say something
more than we said then. We find him now at
his home in Texas, where he had been born, and
where he had always lived, with the exception of the
two years he had passed in a distant city attending
school. He was dressed, as all the boys and men in
that country were dressed, for hard work; and he
had done a good deal of it during his comparatively
short life—not because it was necessary, but because
he had been brought up to it. His father was very
wealthy—no one knew how many horses and cattle
he owned—and he had left a property worth between
thirty and forty thousand dollars a year.
If money is what makes people happy, one would
suppose that George Ackerman ought to be one of
the happiest boys in the world; and so he was, up to
the time his only parent died, which was about a
year and a half previous to the beginning of our
story. He had everything a boy could possibly wish
for—good health, a kind and indulgent father, a
comfortable and happy home, and all the other aids
to complete happiness so dear to the heart of most
boys, and for which Bob Owens and Dan Evans so
7impatiently longed—such as horses, dogs, jointed
fish-poles and breech-loading guns. He had made a
start in business for himself, and was thought by
the boys of his acquaintance to be pretty well off in
the world. He began when he was only nine years
old, by herding cattle for his father at forty dollars
a month, taking his pay in young stock which he
selected himself. These increased in numbers and
value during the two years he was away at school,
and now he was the owner of three hundred head
of cattle which he had paid for by his own labor,
and which he could have sold any day for twenty
dollars apiece. He had a herdsman of his own and
colts enough to mount all the cronies he had left at
school, and who had faithfully promised to visit him
at no distant day in his far-away home. It was two
years and more since he parted from those same
cronies, and not one of them had ever been to see
him. He never heard from them now. His correspondents
had dropped off, one after the other, until
he had not a single one remaining. His father was
gone, too, and poor George felt much as he would
have felt if he had been dropped suddenly on
Robinson Crusoe’s lonely island, without even a man
Friday to keep him company.
8It is true, that there were plenty of people around
him. His Uncle John and Cousin Ned lived in the
same house with him, and there were a score or more
of men, Americans and Mexicans, employed on the
ranche as house-servants and herdsmen. He had
four playmates close at hand—that is, two of them
lived five miles east of him and the others eight
miles west—and they were jolly fellows and he liked
to be in their company. The time never hung
heavily on his hands, for he was very industrious, and
could always find something useful to do; but still
he was lonely and homesick every hour in the day.
The old house was not the same now that it was
during his father’s lifetime. Uncle John had built
additions to it, rearranged the inside of it to suit
himself, and filled it with the most expensive furniture,
such as had never been seen in the wilds of
Texas before.
Uncle John and his son, who dressed as fashionably
now as they did when they came from the
States, and who took as much pains with their toilet
as a couple of city dandies would have done, were
very much pleased with the new order of things.
They seemed to have been made for no other purpose
than to idle away their time on the luxurious
9sofas and easy-chairs with which the old rancho
was now so plentifully supplied; but George, with
his heavy cowhide boots, coarse clothing and sun-browned
face and hands, was sadly out of place
among them.
Uncle John Ackerman lived somewhere in the
state of Ohio. He was a poor man, and, up to the
time of the death of his only brother, George’s
father, was obliged to work hard for his living.
That sad event, which brought so much sorrow and
trouble to George, was the making of Uncle John,
for the time being. It took him and his scapegrace
of a son from a life of toil and placed them just
where they had always wanted to be—in a position
to live without work. Uncle John was made his
nephew’s guardian and the executor of his brother’s
will, and to him the property was left in trust, to
be cared for and managed for George until the
latter became of age, when it was to be turned over
to him, less a certain sum, which Uncle John was
at liberty to keep in payment for his services. If
George died before reaching his majority, Ned
Ackerman, Uncle John’s son, was to be the heir.
As soon as the terms of the will were made
known, Uncle John and Ned hastened to Texas,
10and took up their abode at the rancho. At first,
everything passed off smoothly. George could see
nothing to admire in either one of his relatives,
whom he had met but once before; but still he did
not absolutely dislike them, until Ned began to
show, both by words and actions, that he considered
himself the lawful master of the ranche and everything
belonging to it, and that George had no
rights that he or his father were bound to respect.
One change after another was introduced, in spite
of all the rightful owner could say or do to prevent
it, until at last the old house was so changed in
appearance, both inside and out, that George could
hardly recognise it as his home. Then he grew
angry and almost made up his mind that he would
strike out for himself, and live on the prairie, with
his cattle and his herdsman, as a good many of the
early settlers had done before him.
But the fact that his cousin Ned was gradually
crowding him to the wall, and usurping the place
that George himself ought to have held in the
house, was not the only thing that troubled the
young rancheman. That was bad enough, but it
was accompanied by something worse. If he was
snubbed and kept in the background by his relatives
11while at home, he was treated but little, if
any, better by the people, both young and old, who
lived in the settlement, and that was what hurt
him. He was acquainted with almost every farmer
and rancheman in the county, and, until lately, he
had always been very popular among them; but
when Uncle John and his son arrived his troubles
began. The neighbors would have nothing whatever
to do with the newcomers. They would not
even notice them when they met them on the highway,
and it was not long before they began to
extend the same treatment to George himself.
The young cattle-herder could not imagine what
it was that caused this change, until one day, while
he was riding to Palos, to purchase some supplies
for himself and his hired man, he met one of his
young friends, who, instead of stopping to talk
with him, as he usually did, simply bowed and put
spurs to his horse, as if he were in a hurry to pass
by him; but George reined his own nag across the
trail and stopped him.
“Now, Hank Short,” said he, “I want to know
what you mean by such work as this? What’s the
reason that you and the other fellows never come to
see me any more, and that you take pains to pass
12me in this fashion? Do you take me for a horse-thief?”
This, according to a Texas boy’s way of thinking,
was the worst term of reproach that could be
applied to anybody. In Nantucket, if they want to
convey the impression that a man is utterly detestable,
they say he is mean enough to “mix oil.”
In Massachusetts, he will “rob a hen-roost,” and
in Texas, he will “steal horses.”
“Everybody in the settlement seems to have
gone back on me since my father died,” said
George, bitterly, “and I don’t know what to think
of it. Now, Hank, you can’t go by here until you
tell me what I have done to make all the folks
angry at me. As soon as I know what it is, I will
try to make amends for it.”
“You haven’t done anything,” was Hank’s
reply. “We don’t take you for a horse-thief!”
“Then why do you——Eh? You don’t take
me for a horse-thief! What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I—you know——” faltered Hank, “those
northern relations of yours sling on a good many
frills, and folks who wear store clothes and boiled
shirts are not wanted in this country. We’re afraid
of them.”
13“Whew!” whistled George.
He looked steadily at his friend for a moment,
then down at the ground, and finally he reined his
horse out of Hank’s path and went slowly on his
way toward Palos. It was all plain enough to him
now. Uncle John and Ned wore store clothes and
boiled shirts, and the settlers took them for horse-thieves
and treated them accordingly. That was the
English of it, and George wondered why he, knowing
the customs of the country and the habits and
opinions of the people as well as he did, had not
been smart enough to see it without asking any
questions. This was what he thought at first, and
then he suddenly grew so angry that he could
scarcely control himself. He drew up his horse
with a jerk, faced about in his saddle and called
after his friend.
“Look here, Hank,” he shouted, shaking his fist
in the air, “you may tell those people who shun my
relatives because they would rather wear good clothes
than shabby ones, and who go back on me because I
live with them—you can tell those people that we
are just as good as they dare be any day and just as
honest!”
“All right,” was Hank’s response.
14“And bear another thing in mind,” cried George,
growing angrier every minute, “and that is, I am
boy enough to make you, or any fellow like you,
who says anything against them take back his words.
I am going to stand by them, no matter what happens.”
“I haven’t said anything against them,” answered
Hank. “I think too much of you to do that. I’ll
talk to you the next time I see you. Perhaps you
will be better natured then.”
This reply completely disarmed George, who
promptly turned about, intending to ride up to his
friend and take back every harsh word he had
uttered; but Hank touched his horse with his spurs
as soon as he ceased speaking, and was now almost
out of earshot. So George was compelled to face
about again and go on his way toward Palos, without
making things straight with his friend.
“Hank is a good fellow, that’s a fact,” said he to
himself, “and I might have known that he wouldn’t
say a word that he thought would offend me. But
here’s one thing I can’t understand,” continued
George, growing angry again. “If the settlers don’t
want anything to do with Uncle John and Ned, is
that any reason why they should give me the cold
15shoulder? If they don’t want to come to our
rancho, they might at least treat me civilly when
they meet me away from home. This is the strangest
world I ever saw or heard of. If I should walk
into Foxboro’, where Uncle John came from, with
these clothes on, folks would look at me suspiciously,
lock their back doors and keep an eye on their
smoke-houses. He and Ned came into the country,
dressed as I suppose all city folks dress, and every
body is down on them, and ready to take them for
anything in the world but an honest man and boy.”
Yes, it is a fact that Uncle John and Ned had
been received by the settlers in about as cordial and
friendly a manner as a couple of ragged, ill-looking
tramps would be received if they suddenly made
their appearance in the streets of some retired village
in New England. It was just the sort of
reception that these rough frontiersmen always
extend to people of that stamp. This may seem
like a strange statement, but it is nevertheless true.
If you want to be certain of it read the following
paragraphs, which have been condensed from a
recently published book[1] written by two men who
have spent long years in the wilds of which we
write.
1. Two Thousand Miles in Texas on Horseback; by McDanield
and Taylor.
16“The men who follow this business of stock raising
are peculiar. They are a stalwart, sinewy race,
bronzed and bearded, and always go armed to the
teeth; but they wear their weapons just as other
people wear coats and vests, mainly because it is
fashionable. A more peaceably-disposed people I
never saw; and they seem to vie with one another
in hospitality to the stranger. They are nearly all
young or middle-aged men. To subdue the wilderness
and stand guard over the watch-towers of civilization,
do not belong to the old; and yet I see a
few strong old men here whose heads are as white
as if a hundred winters had sprinkled their snows
upon them—old men youthful in everything except
years. They are a sharp, quick and intelligent
people, and there are some who are evidently of
superior education. These are doubtless stray young
gentlemen whom a restless spirit of adventure decoyed
from their homes in the old states, finally
stranding them on the shores of this far-away
country. They are appreciated here, for these
rough frontiersmen dearly love to have educated and
sensible young men settle among them. But let
17no pin-feather youth think that he can come here
and be made a lion of at once. A pretentious,
foppish young fellow would be heavily discounted
by them, in spite of all his book learning and elegance
of manner. He must have a good store of
common sense and understand how to adapt himself
to the situation. He must throw on no airs, for
these frontiersmen are nearly all men of as much
sharpness of wit as boldness of heart. They have
seen a good deal of the world and quickly detect
the spurious. The newcomer must show a heart
for honest, manly work, be companionable, bear
himself toward all respectfully and courteously, and
he will soon find that he has a noble army of friends
around him who will always be glad to advance him,
and who will feel proud of him as one of themselves.
“I have often thought of my first appearance
among those frontier people with considerable amusement.
When a boy, almost beardless and just from
the schools, I came on horseback to San Saba, wearing
a nice silk hat, carrying a silver-headed cane,
and dressed as young gentlemen generally dress in
the best communities of the older states. The old
frontiersmen looked upon me with almost intolerable
18scorn, and there was some serious talk of hanging
me as a suspected horse-thief, for no other reason in
the world than because I was well-dressed, well-educated
and decidedly well-behaved, though rather
a reserved young fellow.
“One old chap, rough and bearded, and to my
eye quite a monster in appearance, actually talked
of this within my hearing. The look of scorn he
cast upon me was sublime. I was quick to perceive
the drift of things; and as the Indians were then
stealing and scalping at a great rate, I threw aside
my nice clothes, and silver-headed cane, put on a
rough suit and went Indian hunting with the frontiersmen,
sleeping with them in their houses, in the
woods and on the prairie. They soon grew fond of
me, and I have never been in a country where I had
so many warm friends; but they never ceased to
joke me about my three-story hat and silver-headed
cane. Had I not thrown aside these articles it is
not at all impossible that I might have been hanged.”
This was the kind of people among whom Uncle
John and Ned lived now.
CHAPTER II. A NEIGHBORHOOD ROW.
19
What was true of the people who lived in San
Saba, during the days when the incident we
have just recorded happened, was equally true of
the people who lived in Palos and the surrounding
country, at the time of which we write. They were
nearly all rich—there was hardly a man among
them who could tell how many horses and cattle
bore his brand,—but every man and boy of them
kept busy at something, and strangers who came to
that country, and sported their fine clothes and did
nothing, were always objects of suspicion. All the
settlers knew that Uncle John and Ned were the
brother and nephew of one of the most popular men
who had ever lived in the county, but that did not
alter the facts of the case. If the newcomers
expected to be kindly received and hospitably
treated, they must come down from the high position
they had assumed and act like other folks.
20George mourned in secret over this disagreeable
state of affairs, but he knew that it could not be
remedied in any way, unless his relatives could be
prevailed upon to conform to the customs of the
people among whom they lived. When he returned
from Palos, after his interview with Hank Short, he
waited and watched for an opportunity to give them
a little advice, and one morning, at the breakfast-table,
the chance was presented.
“I have always heard that Texans were a
friendly and hospitable set of people,” said Uncle
John, as he pushed his chair away from the table;
“but I have learned that they are just the reverse.
I have been among them a good many months, and
there hasn’t been a person here to see me—not
one.”
“They’re a set of boors,” observed Ned. “You
and I want nothing to do with them, father. We
must live entirely within ourselves, while we stay
here, and we’re able to do it.”
“But they won’t let you,” said George.
“They! Who?” demanded Ned.
“The settlers about here.”
“How are they going to help themselves, I’d
like to know? Isn’t this a free country?”
21“Yes, it’s a free country,” answered George,
with a smile, “almost too free, you would think,
if you had seen what I have. If you are going
to live among these people, you must be one of
them.”
Ned ran his eye over his cousin’s sturdy figure
taking in at a glance his copper-colored face, large,
rough hands and coarse clothing, and then he
looked down at himself.
“How must I do it?” he asked.
“You must pull off that finery, the first thing
you do,” was George’s blunt reply. “Throw it
away. It is of no use to you in this country.”
“I found that out long ago,” sneered Ned.
“These people look upon a red shirt as a badge
of respectability.”
“And so it is, in one sense of the word,”
returned George. “When you are dressed for
work, you are ready for it; and when people see
you at work, they know that you have an honest
way of making a living. People who do nothing
are of no more use here in Texas, than they are in
Ohio.”
“That’s just what I have been trying to drum
into his head ever since we have been here,” said
22Uncle John, who had not been known to do a
stroke of work of any kind during the long months
he had lived in the rancho. “Go on and tell
him what to do, George.”
“It must be something that will bring me
money,” chimed in Ned. “I shan’t work for
nothing.”
“There are plenty of things that will bring you
money,” replied George. “You can rent a piece
of ground, fence it in and go to farming; or you
can be a cattle or pig-raiser.”
“Pig-raiser!” exclaimed Ned, in great disgust.
“There’s money in it, I tell you. These post-oak
belts that run across the state, afford the
finest pasturage in the world—hundreds of bushels
of acorns to the acre,—and all you would have to
do would be to build you a little hut in some place
that suited you, and call up your pigs twice a day
and feed them a little corn, to keep them from
straying away and going wild. If you want to
make money without work,” added George, who
knew very well that that was just what his cousin
did want, “you can’t select a better business.”
“I’m not going to live among pigs!” declared
Ned, emphatically. “That’s settled. If I had a
23herd of cattle like yours, I might take some interest
in it.”
“You can get it, if you are willing to work for
it, as I did.”
“That would take too long. If I go into any
business, it must be something that will yield me
immediate returns. I think the easiest thing I
could do would be to put in fifty or a hundred
acres of wheat. That is a crop that will require
the least work.”
“Well, there is land enough at your disposal,”
said George. “There are ten thousand acres in
this ranche. But where are you going to get the
money to fence your field?”
“I don’t see why I should fence it at all. Our
own cattle (Ned and his father always spoke of the
ranche, and everything belonging to it, as though
it were their own property) will not trouble it, for I
shall tell the herders to keep them at a distance.”
“But they couldn’t always do it. Besides, suppose
some of the neighbors’ cattle should stray away
from the herdsmen and trespass on your field: what
would you do?”
“I should tell those neighbors, whoever they
were, to keep their cattle at home; and if they
24didn’t do it, I should watch my field and shoot the
first steer that came into it. That thing has been
done in this country.”
“Yes, it has,” returned George, “and what was
the consequence?”
“O, it created a neighborhood row, I believe,”
answered Ned, indifferently.
“It certainly did; and you would never want to
live through another if you had lived through that
one. You will need a fence around your field, and it
must be high and strong, too; and if anybody’s cattle
break in, as they will, most likely, no matter how
good your fence may be, you mustn’t take satisfaction
by shooting them.”
“You’ll see whether I will or not. If I can raise
a fuss as easily as that, I’ll do it. The people here
seem to think that I’m a nobody, but they will find
that they are very badly mistaken. I can draw a
trigger as well as the next man.”
“I hope you won’t draw it on anybody’s cattle,”
said George, earnestly. “If you do, you’ll set the
whole settlement together by the ears. I’ve seen
one ‘neighborhood row,’ as you call it, and I never
want to see another. I can remember, for it was
not so very long ago, when my father did not dare
25go to the door after dark for fear that there might
be somebody lying in wait to shoot him. I can
remember when I used to lie awake night after
night with my head under the bed clothes, starting
at every sound, and expecting every minute to hear
the crackling of flames, and to rush out to find the
house surrounded by armed men, who would shoot
us down as fast as we came out. That very thing
was threatened more than once. You don’t know
anything about it, for you were not here at the
time; but I do, and I—Whew!” exclaimed George,
pushing his chair away from the table and drawing
his hand across his forehead, at the same time shuddering
all over as he recalled to mind some of the
thrilling scenes through which he had passed during
those days and nights of horror. “If you are going
to bring those times back to us you had better make
arrangements to leave here at once, for the country
will be too hot to hold you.”
There had indeed been troublous days in Miller
county a few months previous to the beginning of
our story. In the first place the county was settled
by men who devoted themselves exclusively to raising
cattle and horses for market. Some of them
purchased land, but the majority did not own an
26acre. They lived in the saddle, slept in the open
air the year round and subsisted principally upon
the game that fell to their rifles. They followed their
herds wherever they went, and the raising of them
never cost their owners a dollar, for the prairie
afforded abundant pasturage and was free to any one
who might choose to occupy it. In process of time
other settlers came in, some turning their attention
to stock raising, while the others purchased farms
from the government, surrounded them with fences
to keep their neighbors’ cattle from trespassing on
them, and put in crops.
Unfortunately ill-feeling existed between these
two classes of men, the farmers and the ranchemen,
almost from the very first. The latter did not want
the farmers there for the reason that every farm that
was fenced in took away just so many acres of their
pasture; and the farmers declared that the ranchemen
were a nuisance and ought to be driven out of
the country, because their cattle broke through the
fences and destroyed the crops that had cost so much
labor.
These feelings of hostility grew stronger as the
farmers increased in numbers, and the ranchemen
saw their limits growing smaller every year, and the
27rich pastures they had so long occupied being turned
up by the plough. The fences that were hastily
erected by the farmers were not strong enough to
keep out the half-wild cattle which roamed the
unoccupied territory, and when one of these immense
herds gained access to a cultivated field
they made sad work with it. Whenever this happened
the farmers sued the owners of the cattle in
the courts for damages; and as they were by this
time largely in the majority and could control the
juries, they always gained their cause.
This made the stockmen very angry, and they
had recourse to a law of their own—that of force.
They drove off cattle belonging to the farmers, sold
them and divided the proceeds among themselves.
The farmers took revenge by shooting the cattle
that broke into their fields; the ranchemen retaliated
by shooting the farmers; and this led to a reign of
terror of which our readers may have some very
faint conception if they chanced to live in Chicago,
Pittsburgh, Buffalo or Baltimore during the riots
that took place in July 1877.
Things very soon came to such a pass that no man
went abroad, even in the day time, unless he was
loaded with weapons, and even then he expected to
28be bushwhacked by some angry neighbor. Every
house was converted into a little fortress, and people
were very careful how they ventured out of doors
after dark, or showed themselves in front of a window
opening into a lighted room.
This state of affairs might have continued until
the present day, or until the thinly-settled county
was entirely depopulated, had it not been for the
interference of some lawless men who lived just over
the border. One dark night, a party of Mexicans,
headed by renegade Americans, made a raid across
the Rio Grande and drove off a thousand head of
cattle and horses. The robbers were so delighted
with their success that they came again and again,
and the settlers, being divided against themselves,
could do nothing to protect their property. This
brought them to their senses, as nothing else could
have done. Advances and concessions were made
on both sides; old differences were forgotten; the
farmers repaired their dilapidated fences; the stock-raisers
employed extra herdsmen to keep their cattle
within bounds; and a company of Rangers was
promptly organized, composed of the very men who
had been bushwhacking one another for months.
The Mexican raiders did not come again immediately,
for their spies told them of the preparations
29that had been made to receive them; and when at
last all fears of another visit from them had passed
away, the company which the settlers had called
together for mutual protection ceased to exist as an
organization. But it had served more than one
good purpose. It had not only compelled the
raiders to remain on their own side of the river, but
it had brought the stockmen and farmers into intimate
relations with one another, and led to the
determination on the part of all of them that the
cause of their troubles should be carefully avoided
in the future.
Since that time Miller county had been one of
the quietest and most orderly portions of the state.
Peace and plenty reigned, and the farmers and
stockmen were the firmest of friends. But now it
appeared that a vindictive boy, who was too lazy to
win a name for himself in any honorable way, was
willing and even eager to put an end to this happy
state of affairs just because he wanted the settlers to
notice him—to see that he was not a nobody. The
shooting of a single steer that had broken into a
farmer’s field would have been like throwing a blazing
fire-brand upon a dry prairie while the wind
was blowing a gale. George was frightened at the
bare thought of such a thing.
CHAPTER III. NED’S EXPERIENCE IN CAMP.
30
It was plain enough to George that Ned wanted
to take satisfaction out of the settlers for their
refusal to notice him and make much of him, as he
seemed to think they ought to have done. He said
all he could to induce him to give up the idea, but
Ned was stubborn, and George finally abandoned the
attempt in despair, hoping that when the trouble
came, as it certainly would come if Ned held to his
resolution, he could in some way protect him from
the consequences of his folly.
“I can at least guide him out of the country, for
it will not be safe for him to stay here,” thought
George. “Uncle John will go, too, if he is wise;
but I shall have to remain and shoulder the whole
of it.”
The conversation recorded in the preceding chapter
was but one of the many Ned had with his
father and cousin on the subject of farming, and the
31result was that the following winter saw him the
owner, for the time being, of fifty acres of rich bottom
land, which had been fenced and planted to
wheat. By the terms of the contract made with
his father in George’s hearing, Ned was to pay the
same rent for the ground that he would have had to
pay had he leased it from an entire stranger. “You
know the ranche doesn’t belong to me,” said Uncle
John. “I am managing it for George’s benefit, and
must make all the money I can for him. You ought
to clear a nice little sum by your venture, and can
afford to pay the usual rent.”
“O, I’ll pay it after my crop is sold; that is, if I
feel like it,” said Ned to himself. “George has
money enough already. A boy who owns six thousand
dollars’ worth of stock ought to be willing to
allow his only cousin the free use of fifty acres of
land. I shall have need of every red cent I make.”
Ned, who was extravagantly fond of company and
pleasure, could hardly endure the lonely life he was
compelled to lead. He hoped that as soon as it
became known throughout the settlement that he
had made up his mind to go to work, he would be in
a fair way to gain the favor of the people; and perhaps
he would, if he had gone about it in the right
32way. He laid aside the objectionable broadcloth
suit and white shirt, it is true, and put on what
he called “working clothes;” but they were more
gorgeous than any that had ever been seen in that
part of Texas before outside of an illustrated story
paper. His boots were expensive Wellingtons, and
were made of patent leather, too. He wore gray
corduroy trowsers, a fawnskin vest, a finely-dressed
buckskin coat, with silver buttons, and a Mexican
sombrero ornamented with gold cord and tassels.
It was a “nobby” suit, to quote from its delighted
owner, and must have astonished the natives, if one
might judge by the way they stared at him when
they met him on the trail; but it did not bring him
any more company than he had always had.
Ned led a lonely and discontented life all that
winter. There were no boys with whom he could
associate except his cousin, and Ned had come to
the conclusion that he would much rather be alone
than in George’s company. The latter did not suit
him at all. He was much too industrious. He
was in camp with his herdsman more than half
the time, and when he was at home he was always
busy. Ned had expected to see unbounded pleasure
in living on the prairie and sleeping in the open air,
33as his cousin did more than six months in the year,
and once he had spent two weeks with him in camp;
but that was his first and last experience in cattle-herding,
and as it was not at all to his liking, we
must stop long enough to say something about it.
This is a story of camp life, you know.
Ned had not been away from the ranche more
than three days before he found, to his great surprise
and disappointment, that life in the open air
was not what his lively imagination had pictured it.
Many a boy has been deceived on this point, just as
others have been deceived in looking upon the life
of a sailor as one of ease and romance. Ned
thought that those who lived in camp had nothing
to do but sit on the grass, under the spreading
branches of some friendly tree, and dream away
the days which would be all sunshine; and that
when they grew hungry, some fat black-tail or antelope
would walk up within easy range of their rifles
just on purpose to be shot. The nights would be
mild and pleasant, the fire would somehow keep
itself burning all the time, whether the necessary
fuel was supplied or not, and cook his meals for him
without any care or exertion on his part. But one
short week’s experience banished all these absurd
34ideas, and taught him what a cattle-herder’s camp-life
really was. It was one of almost constant
drudgery and toil. George had three hundred
cattle to watch, and as he had only one herdsman
to assist him, he was kept busy from morning until
night. He and Zeke (that was the name of his
herdsman, of whom we shall have a good deal to say
by and by), were up and doing long before the sun
arose, and while one cooked the breakfast and performed
the necessary camp-duties, the other drove
the cattle out to pasture and watched them to see
that they didn’t stray away.
Ned, being inexperienced, and an invited guest
beside, was not expected to do anything except to
eat his share of the rations, and enjoy himself as
well as he could. Sometimes he went out with the
cattle-herder, and then he stayed with the camp-keeper;
but he soon grew tired of both of them and
of their way of life, too. George knew but little
about the city and cared less. He took no interest
whatever in his cousin’s glowing descriptions of the
numerous “scrapes” he had been in, and neither did
Zeke, who bluntly told him that he might have been
in better business. Ned, on the other hand, cared
nothing for the things in which George and Zeke
35were interested, so there was little they could talk
about.
But there was plenty of hunting, and in this
way Ned passed a portion of each day. He had
no luck, however, for he never saw anything in the
shape of game larger than Jack rabbits, and he
never bagged one of them. The only thing he
brought back to camp with him from these hunting
excursions was a ravenous appetite, and he had to
satisfy it with fried bacon, hard corn-cakes and
coffee without any milk. The juicy venison steaks
and other luxuries he had expected to fatten on
were never served up to him. It rained, too, sometimes,
and Ned could find no shelter under the
dripping trees. There was no fun at all in going to
bed in wet clothes, and Ned always shuddered and
wished himself safe at the rancho when his cousin
said to him, as he did almost every night—
“Don’t forget your lasso. The rattlers are tolerable
plenty about here.”
Ned knew that, for he had seen two or three of
them killed in the camp. George had told him that
the neighborhood of a fire was a bad place for rattlesnakes,
and Ned could hardly bring himself to
believe that his hair lasso, laid down in a coil about
36the place where he made his bed, was a sure protection
against these dangerous visitors.
A few days before he went home, Ned had an
experience such as he had never had before, and
which he fervently hoped would never be repeated.
On this particular day he went out with George,
whose turn it was to watch the cattle. He soon
grew tired of talking to him, so he mounted his
horse and set out in search of antelopes, which, so
his cousin told him, were often seen in that neighborhood.
He rode slowly in a circle around the
place where the cattle were feeding, at distances
varying from a half to three-quarters of a mile from
them (there was small chance of finding an antelope
so close to the herd, but Ned dared not go any
farther away for fear of the Apaches, concerning
whom he had heard some dreadful stories told by
Zeke the night before), and he had been gone about
an hour when he was suddenly startled by hearing
the faint report of a rifle. Turning his eyes quickly
in the direction from which the report sounded, he
saw his cousin sitting in his saddle, and waving his
hat frantically in the air. When he found that the
sound of his rifle had attracted Ned’s attention, he
beckoned him to approach.
37“What’s up, I wonder?” thought Ned, not a
little alarmed. “George must have shot at something,
for I saw the smoke curling above his head.
Are the Mexicans or Apaches about to make a raid
on us?”
Ned, who had drawn rein on the summit of a
high swell, looked all around but could see no signs
of any horsemen. He did see something to increase
his alarm, however. He saw that the cattle, which
were quietly grazing the last time he looked toward
them, were now all in motion, and that they were
hurrying toward the belt of post-oaks in which the
camp was located. That was enough for Ned. He
put his horse into a gallop and hastened to join his
cousin, who now and then beckoned to him with
both hands as if urging him to ride faster.
“What’s the matter?” shouted Ned, as soon as
he arrived within speaking distance of George.
“Raiders?”
“O no! We’re going to have a norther, and if
there should happen to be rain with it we don’t want
it to catch us out here on the prairie.”
“Is that all?” exclaimed Ned, somewhat impatiently.
“That’s a pretty excuse for frightening a
38fellow half to death, isn’t it? I thought something
was going to happen.”
“Something is going to happen!” replied
George.
“You seem to have grown very much afraid of
the rain lately,” continued Ned. “It was only a
day or two ago that you stood out in a hard shower,
and never seemed to care for it.”
“Yes; but if we have rain now, it will be a different
sort, as you will find.”
“I don’t see any signs of it yet,” said Ned, looking
up at the sky. “I hope it will cool the air a
little,” he added, a moment later, pulling off his hat
and drawing his handkerchief across his face, which
was very much flushed, “for I am almost roasted.
I declare, I must have ridden fast. Just see how
my horse sweats!”
“Mine sweats just as badly,” replied George,
“and he has been staked out ever since you have
been gone.”
Ned looked at his cousin’s horse, then glanced at
his own, and was very much surprised at what he
saw. Both animals were wet with perspiration, and
stood with their heads down and their sides heaving,
as if they had been ridden long and rapidly. There
39was not a breath of air stirring, as Ned found, when
he came to look about him. The atmosphere was
close and oppressive, and filled with a thick haze,
which seemed to magnify every object within the
range of his vision, and overhead, the sun rode in a
cloudless sky, sending down his beams with fearful
intensity.
“Whew!” panted Ned. He dropped his reins,
hung his rifle upon the horn of his saddle, peeled
off his coat, vest and neck-tie, and threw open the
collar of his shirt. “Whew!” he gasped. “We
shall be overcome with the heat before we can reach
the timber. I had no idea it was so hot! I don’t
see how you can stand it, with those thick clothes
on.”
“I am pretty warm now, that’s a fact; but I
shall be cool enough by and by, and so will you!”
While the boys were talking in this way, they
were riding toward the post-oaks, which were now
about a mile and a half distant. The sun’s rays
seemed to grow hotter with every step of the way,
and the atmosphere to become more stifling, until at
last Ned would gladly have welcomed a hurricane
or an earthquake, if it would have brought him any
relief from his sufferings. Finally, a small, dark-colored
40cloud appeared in the horizon, rising into
view with wonderful rapidity, spreading itself over
the sky and shooting out great, black arms before
it, until it looked like a gigantic spider. Then the
first breath of the on-coming norther began to ruffle
the grass, whereupon George faced about in his
saddle, and began unfastening a bundle, in which
he carried his rubber poncho and heavy overcoat,
while Ned pulled off his hat again and turned his
shirt-collar farther back.
“Aha!” exclaimed the latter, with a great sigh
of relief. “Isn’t that a delightful breeze? What
are you going to do?”
“I am going to bundle up,” was George’s reply,
“and if you will take my advice, you will do the
same. You see——”
“O, let it rain!” exclaimed Ned, without waiting
to hear what else his cousin had to say. “It
will be most refreshing, after such a roasting as we
have had!”
George said no more, for he had been snubbed
every time he tried to give his city relative any
advice, and he had long ago resolved that he would
not willingly give him a chance to snub him again.
We ought also to say that there was another reason
41why George kept silent. A Texan takes
unbounded delight in seeing a greenhorn caught
out in a norther. It is so very different from any
storm he ever saw before, and his astonishment is
so overwhelming! George opened his bundle, put
on his overcoat, threw his poncho over that and
drew on a pair of heavy gloves. He looked as if he
were preparing to face a snow-storm.
All this while the norther had been steadily, but
almost imperceptibly, increasing in force, and now,
without any further warning, it burst forth in all
its fury, and the roar of the wind sounded like the
rumble of an approaching express train.
“Whew!” exclaimed Ned, suddenly; “how it
blows and how fearfully cold it is!”
As he said this he drew his collar together and
hastily put on his vest and coat; but when he tried
to button the coat his fingers were so benumbed that
he was almost helpless.
“Why, I’m freezing,” gasped Ned, as his cousin
rode up beside him and offered his assistance.
“O, no!” answered George, cheerfully. “No
one was ever known to freeze to death or even to
take cold from exposure to a norther. You’ll be all
right as soon as you get to a fire.”
42“I never saw such a country,” said Ned, as plainly
as his chattering teeth would permit. “Summer
and winter all in one day.”
“Yes, in less than a quarter of an hour,” said
George, who was busy untying the bundle Ned
carried behind his saddle. “The thermometer has
been known to fall sixty degrees almost instantly.”
George took his cousin’s overcoat and gloves out
of the bundle, but after they were put on they did
not seem to afford the wearer the least protection
from the bitter blast which came stronger and
stronger every moment, and chilled him to the very
marrow. It could not have been colder if it had
come off the icebergs within the Arctic circle. It
seemed to blister the skin wherever it touched, and
was so cutting and keen that the boys could not
keep their faces toward it. Even the horses began
to grow restive under it, and it was all their riders
could do to control them.
“O, I shall never see home again!” cried Ned,
who was terribly alarmed. “I shall freeze to death
right here. I can’t stand it!”
“You can and you must,” shouted George, as he
seized his cousin’s horse by the bridle. “Now, pull
your hat down over your face, throw yourself forward
43in the saddle, and hang on for life. I’ll take
care of you.”
An instant afterward Ned was being carried over
the prairie with all the speed his horse could be
induced to put forth. He did not know which way
he was going, for he dared not look up to see. He
sat with his hat over his face, his head bowed over
to his horse’s neck, and his hands twisted in the
animal’s mane, while George sat up, braving it all
and leading him to a place of refuge.
It seemed to Ned that they were a very long time
in reaching the timber, and that he should certainly
freeze to death before that mile and a half of prairie
could be crossed; but he didn’t, and neither did he
afterward feel any bad effects from what he suffered
during his cold ride. He found that Zeke, having
been warned by signs he could easily read that the
norther was coming, had moved the camp to a more
sheltered locality, and that he had a roaring fire
going and a pot of hot coffee on the coals. Ned
drank a good share of that hot coffee, and forgot to
grumble over it, as he usually did. George showed
him the way home as soon as the storm abated, and
there Ned resolved to stay, having fully made up his
mind that there was no fun to be seen in camp-life.
44Ned was more lonely and discontented than ever
after that. It was harder work to pass the days in
doing nothing than it was to stand behind a counter,
selling dry-goods; and that was what he had done
before he came to Texas. There was literally no
way in which he could enjoy himself. Books,
which were his cousin’s delight, Ned did not care
for; there was not game enough in the country to
pay for the trouble of hunting for it; the boys in
the settlement were a lot of boors, who would not
notice him, because he was so far above them; and
all Ned could do was to spend the day in loitering
about the house, with his hands in his pockets.
“If I only had some of the jolly fellows here
that I used to run with in Foxboro’!” said Ned to
himself, one day, after he had spent an hour or two
in wandering from room to room, in the vain hope
of finding something to interest him. “Wouldn’t
we turn this old house upside down! They all promised
to come and see me, but I know they won’t
do it, for they’ll never be able to save money
enough to pay their fare. If I ever see them, I
shall have to send them the money to bring them
here, and I——Well, now, why couldn’t I do
that? It’s a splendid idea!”
45Ned, all life and animation now, hurried to his
room to act upon his splendid idea, while it was yet
fresh in his mind. He wrote a long letter to one
of the cronies, Gus Robbins by name, whom he had
left behind in Foxboro’, giving a glowing description
of his new home, recounting, at great length, a
thrilling hunting adventure he had heard from the
lips of George’s herdsman, and of which he made
himself the hero, instead of Zeke, and wound up by
urging Gus and his brother to come on and pay him
a long visit.
“You must not refuse,” Ned wrote. “If money
is what you need, let me know, and I will send you
enough to foot all your bills. I am rich now, and
can afford to do it. Your father ought to be willing
to give you a short vacation, after you have
worked so hard in the store.”
The letter was mailed in due time, and Ned impatiently
counted the days that must elapse before
an answer could arrive. It came at last, and Ned
almost danced with delight when he read it. We
copy one paragraph in it, just to show what kind of
a boy he was whom Ned had invited to his house.
We shall meet him very shortly, and be in his company
a good deal, and one always likes to know
46something about a fellow before he is introduced to
him. The paragraph referred to ran as follows:—
“You must be having jolly times down there,
and since I read your letter I have been more than
ever dissatisfied with the store. I should be only
too glad to visit you, and the want of money is the
only thing that stands in my way. It is all that
has kept me in Foxboro’ so long. In regard to the
governor’s giving me a holiday—I shall not ask
him for it, for he would be sure to say ‘No;’ and
neither can I write you anything definite about my
brother. He is getting to be a regular old sober-sides,
and if I am going down there, I would rather
he would stay at home.”
The rest of the letter was taken up by the writer
in trying to make Ned understand that Gus had
fully resolved to visit Texas, and that he should be
very much disappointed, if anything happened to
keep him at home. He did not say this in so many
words, but Ned was smart enough to see that he
meant it all the same.
“He shall come,” said Ned, as he folded up the
letter and hurried off to find his father. “And I
hope he will come alone, for if his brother is getting
47to be a milk-sop, we don’t want him down here.
Now, the next thing is to make father hand over
the money.”
This was a task Ned had been dreading ever
since he wrote the invitation; but he went about it
with an air which said plainly enough that he knew
he should succeed. Uncle John objected rather
feebly, at first, and said he wasn’t sure that he had
any right to spend George’s money in that way;
but Ned had an answer to every objection, and
stuck to his point until he gained it.
“You mustn’t forget that I may own this property
myself some day,” said he. “If George does
not live until he is of age, everything falls to me.
If that should ever happen, you would think me
awful stingy if I should refuse you a paltry hundred
dollars.”
Ned certainly talked very glibly about spending
his cousin’s money. He had seen the time when,
if he chanced to have a hundred cents in his pocket,
over and above what his debts amounted to, he considered
himself lucky. It was not a paltry sum in
his eyes, by any means.
After a little more argument, Ned got a check for
the money he wanted, made payable to the order of
48Gus Robbins. After that he wrote a letter to his
friend urging him to come on immediately, put the
check into it and mailed it at the first opportunity.
Then he was in a fever of excitement and suspense,
and wondered if it would be possible for him to live
until his friend arrived. He judged that Gus
intended to leave home without his father’s knowledge
or consent, but Ned did not care for that.
Perhaps he would do the same thing himself under
like circumstances. True, he often asked himself
how Gus could ever muster up courage enough to go
home again after doing a thing of that kind, but he
always let the question pass with the reflection that
it was none of his business. It was a matter that
Gus must settle for himself. He waited impatiently
for his friend’s coming, little dreaming that his
appearance at the rancho would be the signal for the
beginning of a series of scrapes and adventures that
would put the whole settlement into a turmoil.
CHAPTER IV. A DISCONTENTED BOY.
49
“I do think that if there is a mean business in the
world, I am engaged in it.”
Gus Robbins suspended for a moment the work
of folding up the numerous bolts of calico he had
taken down from the shelves for the inspection of a
customer who had just departed without purchasing
anything, and leaning on the counter, gazed longingly
through the glass door into the street. It was
a bright winter day. The sleighing was excellent,
and the principal thoroughfare of the thriving little
city of Foxboro’ was filled with sleighs which dashed
by in both directions, carrying loads of gay pleasure-seekers,
all of whom, Gus noticed with no little
bitterness of heart, seemed to be enjoying themselves
to the fullest extent. It was just before the
holidays, and everybody seemed to be making
unusual preparations for them. The store was filled
with customers almost all the time, and Gus had
50stood in his place behind the counter, and taken
down and put up bales of goods until he was almost
tired out, and completely disgusted with the store
and everything belonging to it. Just now there
was a little lull in business, and Gus had a few
minutes to himself. He improved them, as he generally
improved his moments of leisure, by growling
over his hard lot in life, and drawing a contrast
between his own situation and that of some of the
other boys of his acquaintance in the city.
“There are no such things as peace and pleasure
for the unfortunate fellow who makes his bread and
butter by clerking in a dry-goods store,” continued
Gus, spitefully banging a bolt of calico down upon
the counter. “Everybody is happy except me.
Other boys are out behind their fast horses having
a good time, and here I am shut up in this miserable
old store, and have been ever since seven o’clock
this morning. This thing is getting to be a little
too monotonous, the first thing you know, and I am
not going to put up with it much longer. If I
had money, I wouldn’t stay in this city twenty-four
hours longer. Great Cæsar!”
Gus brought his soliloquy to a sudden close, and
the bolt of calico he had picked up to place upon
51the shelf dropped from his hands. While he was
talking to himself he kept his gaze directed toward
the street, and saw a red-faced man pass one of the
windows and turn toward the door. As he laid his
hand upon the knob, somebody in the street accosted
him, and the red-faced man turned about and
entered into conversation with him. Gus looked at
him for a moment, and then ran his eyes hastily
around the store as if he were looking for some way
of escape.
“He’ll be in here in a second more,” said he, to
himself, “and how shall I put him off? I’ve told
him so many lies that I shall have to get a fresh
stock on hand before I can tell him any more.”
The expression that rested on the boy’s face during
the next half-minute, seemed to indicate that he
was revolving a very perplexing problem in his
mind. Suddenly he brightened up and with another
glance at the door, passed rapidly around the counter,
and crossed over to the other side of the store,
where another clerk was at work folding up some
goods.
“I say, Sam,” exclaimed Gus, in a hurried whisper;
“will you add another to the long list of favors
you have done me?”
52“Well, I don’t know,” replied Sam, hesitatingly.
“Depends upon what it is. If you want to borrow
any more——”
“I don’t,” interrupted Gus. “But Meyers is
coming after what I owe him, and there he is now.
Tell him that I have gone out and shan’t be back
for a week. If you will do that much for me I will
repay you——”
Gus did not have time to say how or when he
would repay Sam, for at this moment the red-faced
man turned half around and placed his hand on the
door-knob. Gus quickly ducked his head and stole
along behind the counter toward the back part of
the store, until he came to a door opening into the
warehouse.
He straightened up when he reached this place
of refuge, and just as he did so the opening
and closing of the front door told him that Mr.
Meyers, the Jew who kept the little cigar and
tobacco stand around the corner, had entered on one
of his regular weekly dunning visits.
“Much good may it do him,” thought Gus, keeping
the door open about half an inch so that he
could see all that passed in the store. “He is a
regular leech, and if I could only settle up with
53him I’d pay him for his persistency by buying my
cigars and fine cut somewhere else.”
The visitor held a long interview with Sam—so
long that Gus began to be very impatient, and at
last to tremble for fear that his father, who was busy
with the books in the office, might come out and
find him there. Gus could not hear what they said,
but he could see, by Mr. Meyers’s emphatic gestures,
that he was very much in earnest about something.
As soon as the man left the store, Gus drew a long
breath of relief and came out of his hiding-place.
The smile on his face showed that he was very much
pleased with the success of his little stratagem.
“O, there’s nothing to grin over, old fellow,” said
Sam. “If you know when you are well off you
will rake fifteen dollars together pretty lively, I tell
you.”
“Fifteen dollars!” replied Gus. “I don’t owe
him any such sum as that.”
“He’s got a bill made out for it, anyhow.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him that you had gone out somewhere on
business, and that you would call and pay him to-morrow
afternoon.”
54“To-morrow afternoon!” echoed Gus. “Great
Cæsar! How am I going to raise fifteen dollars
between this time and that?”
“I give it up,” replied Sam.
“To-morrow afternoon!” gasped Gus, as visions
of a stormy interview with the impatient and angry
cigar vendor flitted through his mind.
“Yes; I tried to put him off, but he wouldn’t be
put off, so I had to tell him something definite.”
“You had no business to tell him that, at any
rate,” snapped Gus. “You know I couldn’t keep
that promise.”
“Well, the next time you want any lies told you
can just stay in the store and tell them yourself,”
retorted Sam. “I shall not do it any more, and
you needn’t waste your time and breath in asking
me. I have stood between you and your creditors
just as long as I am going to; but I’ll tell you one
thing: You had better settle with that Jew, or he
will go to your father with his bill. Then won’t
you be in a fix?”
“Whew!” exclaimed Gus, who was not a little
alarmed.
“But remember that my claim is to be settled
55first,” continued Sam. “You have owed me money
longer than you have owed him, and I want you to
begin to pony up. I am tired of waiting.”
“You will have plenty of time to get rested again
before you get the money, and so will that Jew,”
thought Gus, as he turned and walked back to his
own counter. “Is it any wonder that I want to
get away from here?”
No, it was no wonder that Gus was always in
trouble, but he had no one to thank for it but himself.
He had a comfortable home, a kind father and
mother, and there was more than one boy in the city
who would have been glad to change places with
him. The great trouble with Gus was, that he
would not work if he could help it, and he had no
idea of the value of money.
Mr. Robbins, who had once been a poor boy, and
who had earned every dollar he possessed by his
own unaided efforts, thought that every youth ought
to learn how to take care of himself; so as soon as
Gus and Bob (that was the name of Gus’s younger
brother) had completed the course at the High
School, they were placed in the store, given the free
use of the money they earned and assured that they
56would be promoted and their wages increased as fast
as their services would warrant. They each received
two hundred and fifty dollars a year, and that was
fifty dollars more than inexperienced clerks had ever
before been paid in that store; but Gus declared
that it was but little better than nothing at all. He
had some very grand ideas, and was frequently heard
to say that he did not intend to be a dry goods’
clerk all his life.
“I don’t want you to be,” said his father, who
one day happened to be standing near when Gus
made this declaration. “Clerks are necessary, but
if you have brains and energy enough to work your
way up higher, I shall be only be too glad to see
you do it. I hope you will some day be a prosperous
merchant; but you never can be unless you
know all about business. In order to learn it you
must begin at the beginning.”
“And work for two hundred and fifty dollars,”
said Gus. “How is a fellow to get rich on that, I’d
like to know?”
“By saving; that is the only way.”
“But I have nothing to save. After I drew my
wages last month I bought a suit of clothes, and a
57dollar—just one little dollar—was all I had to show
for twenty-six days’ work.”
“And what did you do with that one little
dollar?”
“I—I believe I spent it.”
“Of course you did. If you had saved it you
would have been just a dollar ahead.”
“And if I saved a dollar every month, I should
have just twelve dollars at the end of the year,” said
Gus. “That’s a magnificent sum.”
“But you don’t need a suit of new clothes every
thirty days, and most of the time you could save
more than a dollar a month. The amount of your
savings is not so important as it is that you should
get in the way of saving something—no matter how
small the amount may be. If you begin by saving
four dollars every month, you will find it just as
easy after a while to save eight; for good habits,
like bad ones, grow stronger every day.”
“But I can’t be satisfied to plod along in that
way,” said Gus, to himself. “If I could have two
or three hundred dollars all in a lump, so that I
could buy some things I need, pay all my debts and
have a good-sized nest-egg left, I might get up
58ambition enough to go to saving; but this thing of
laying by pennies—Pshaw!”
Mr. Robbins often talked to his boys in this way,
and he had finally succeeded in convincing Bob that
it was not best to despise the day of small things,
and that the surest road to prosperity was the one
his father had pointed out. Like his brother, Bob
had been in the habit of spending every cent he
made, and more, too, if he could get it; but of late
he had taken to saving, and now he had grown to be,
to quote from Gus, “the very quintessence of meanness.”
But he had money in the bank, and being
safely out of debt, he was not continually harassed
by duns as his brother was. More than that, he got
into the way of being very attentive to his work
(one good habit leads to another, you know), and
before he had been in the store a year he was given
entire charge of one branch of his father’s business,
and his wages were increased.
This left Gus at the very lowest round of the
ladder. He was obliged to open the store in the
morning, build the fires and sweep out, and he
looked upon this as very degrading work. He grew
more negligent and discontented every day, and
always made it a point, after the store was closed for
59the night, to make up for the tiresome hours he had
spent behind the counter. He often wished for Ned
Ackerman. When the latter was in his father’s
employ he had a companion who was always ready
to join him in any thing; but Ned was in Texas,
Bob had gone back on him, and Gus was very
lonely.
Our discontented dry-goods clerk received a very
severe blow, and the little ambition he had was all
crushed out of him when his younger brother was
placed over him. It was a disgrace that he could
not put up with, and so he tried to run away from
it. There was a news-depôt for sale in the city,
and Gus could have purchased it on very advantageous
terms, if he had only had the money; but
he didn’t have it. Mr. Robbins, who knew more
about his son’s habits than Gus thought he did,
would not advance it, and so Gus was obliged to
stay in the store. Everything seemed to be working
against him, and Gus grew desperate. He
spent his money as fast as it was paid to him, and
when it gave out, he went as deeply in debt as he
could go. He had always been able to satisfy his
creditors by paying them a little every month; but
60now they were getting impatient, and were all presenting
their bills at once.
“Fifteen dollars!” repeated Gus, as he walked
toward his own counter. “To-morrow afternoon!”
he murmured, as he chucked one of the bolts of
calico spitefully upon the shelf. “Moses! won’t
there be a row, unless I can think up some plausible
story between this time and that! I must owe at
least fifty dollars—almost three months’ wages. I
wish I could leave here this very night, and never
set eyes on this town again! But how can I get
away without money? That’s the question.”
Just then Gus heard something fall on the
counter, and looked up to see his brother Bob
walking through the store, with a bundle of letters
and papers in his hand. He had just returned
from the post-office, and had thrown a letter for his
brother on the counter, as he passed by.
“Just look at young Dignity!” said Gus, as his
brother disappeared through the door that led into
the office. “One would think, by the airs he
throws on, that he owned the store! Who has
been writing to me, I wonder!”
Gus allowed the letter to lie where it had fallen,
until he had cleared the counter, folded all the
61goods and placed them on the shelves, where they
belonged. Then he picked it up and glanced at the
envelope, fully expecting to recognise the handwriting
of some of his creditors, who not unfrequently
wrote notes to him, to remind him that
there was a little balance due them, which they
would be happy to receive at the earliest possible
moment that he could make it convenient to hand
it to them. But this letter was not from a creditor.
It was from Ned Ackerman, the very boy who had
been in his thoughts a score of times that day.
Gus ran his eyes hastily over the last few lines
above the signature, and saw something in them
that excited and delighted him.
“Hurrah!” said he to himself. “Plague take
it!”
These two exclamations, so different in meaning,
were called forth by very different emotions. He
had read enough of the letter to learn that his old
friend Ned was having a fine time down there in
Texas; that he was lonely in spite of it, and
wanted Gus and his brother to come on and pay
him a long visit; and that the want of money need
not prevent them from doing so, for Ned would
send them enough to pay their fare and all other
62expenses. But before Gus could read any farther,
he was interrupted by the entrance of two or three
ladies, who came up to his counter. They proved
to be very exacting, too, and Gus handed down a
good many different kinds of cloth for their inspection.
He fumed inwardly and used some hard
words to himself, while he was doing it, and as
soon as the ladies had departed, he caught up his
letter and read it through.
“Of course I’ll go,” said he, so delighted with the
idea that he hardly knew what he was about; “but
Bob shan’t! We don’t want him, and so I’ll say
nothing to him about this letter. I shan’t say anything
to father either, for he would be sure to tell
me to stay at home.”
Gus had found a way out of his troubles at last.
He wrote a reply to Ned’s letter that very night,
and was as impatient to hear from him again as
Ned was to hear from Gus. He made no effort to
raise money to pay his debts, and indeed he did not
intend to pay them at all. He went to see all his
creditors, as soon as he could find time, just to keep
them from calling upon him at the store, and by
making them some very fair promises, he succeeded
in quieting them for a while. When that was done,
63he breathed easier, and the only thing he had to
worry over and feel anxious about was the expected
letter from Ned, which he hoped would bring a
check for the money he needed, and contain instructions
as to the route he was to travel, in order to
reach Palos.
“And when I get there I’ll stay,” Gus often told
himself. “I shall never come back. I’ve had
enough of this miserable life. What will I do and
where shall I go after I have finished my visit? I
am sure I don’t know. That is a matter I will
decide when the time comes. I do hope Ned will
have no trouble in raising the money.”
Gus was not disappointed in his hopes. Ned was
so anxious to have him there that he did not delay
writing, and in due time the looked-for letter arrived.
Gus could hardly control his exultation from
those around him. He wrote to his friend at once,
saying that he would start in a week, and that Ned
must make his own calculations as to the time his
visitor would reach Palos, as he (Gus) had not she
slightest idea how long it would take him to make
the journey, and Ned had forgotten to enlighten him
on this point.
Gus wanted to wait a week longer in order that
64he might draw the twenty dollars and more that
would then be due him from the store. It was the
longest week he had ever lived through, and the
hardest too; but it came to an end at last, and pay-day
arrived. Gus drew his money when Bob did,
and as soon as he had put it into his pocket, he
slipped out the back door into an alley that ran
behind the store, and started for home. He made
his way to the room in which he and Bob slept,
opened his trunk with a key he took from his pocket,
deposited his money therein and took out the check
which he had kept locked up in the trunk ever since
it arrived.
“It is time to get this cashed now,” said he. “I
put it off until the last moment because I didn’t
want to give anybody a chance to talk about it. I
don’t know what the cashier will think when I
present it at the bank, and I don’t care either, if he
will only give me the money. I hope Sam will have
a good time getting what I owe him. He was waiting
at the office door to catch me when I came out,
and that was the reason I slipped into the alley.”
Gus locked his trunk, put the key and check
carefully away in his pocket and hurriedly left the
house. Time was precious (he had less than half
65an hour left in which to eat his dinner and return
to the store) and he made all the haste he could.
He was particularly anxious to get through with
his business at the bank, for he had been dreading
it all the week. What would the folks in there
think when he approached the cashier’s desk and
presented a check for a hundred dollars? He ran
up the steps while he was thinking about it, and
almost into the arms of the very person he most
wished to avoid just then—the one who had waited
to dun him when he came out of his father’s office.
Sam had drawn his month’s wages and came to the
bank to deposit them.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Sam. “Where did you go
in such a hurry after you drew your money? I
didn’t see you come out of the office.”
“But I did come out, you see; for if I had
stayed in, I couldn’t be here, could I?”
“Hold on,” said Sam, as Gus tried to push him
aside so that he could enter the door. “This is a
good time to settle up.”
“I will settle with you this afternoon, sure pop,”
returned Gus.
“Why can’t you do it now? You have got your
money, for I saw you draw it.”
66“I know it, but I haven’t got it now. I’ll be on
hand this evening—sure.”
“You said this afternoon,” answered Sam, looking
suspiciously at Gus.
“Well, this afternoon, then.”
So saying, Gus crowded past Sam and went into
the bank. To his great relief there was no one in
front of the cashier’s desk; no one present to see
him receive his hundred dollars. With a beating
heart and trembling hand he produced his check,
and breathed a good deal easier when he saw that
the cashier did not exhibit any surprise at its
magnitude. He was in hopes that the man would
be in a hurry about cashing it, but instead of that
he was very deliberate in his movements. He looked
at the check on all sides and then he looked at
Gus.
“Who is this John Ackerman?” he asked.
“He used to be father’s book-keeper, you know,”
said Gus.
“O, yes! Do you want us to collect this for
you?”
“No, sir; I want the money on it now.”
“All right,” said the cashier, handing the check
over the counter. “Write your name across the
67back of it, and then take it home and let your father
sign it.”
“My father!” exclaimed Gus. “Not much. I
mean—what do you want his signature for?” he
added hastily, and in great confusion, for the cashier
looked at him as if he were somewhat surprised at
his earnestness.
“To make ourselves secure,” said the cashier, by
way of explanation. “You see, Gus, this check is
drawn by John Ackerman on the Planters’ Bank of
Austin, Texas. He may have funds there, but he
has none here, and neither have you; and it is our
rule in such cases to require an endorsement other
than that of the payee. You are the payee, you
know—the one to whom the check is made payable.
Your father will sign it.”
Gus felt like giving vent to his astonishment and
rage in a series of the wildest kind of yells, and it
was all he could do to choke back his tears. As
soon as he had controlled himself so that he could
speak, he said:
“I don’t want to ask my father to endorse it.
This is my own private affair, and I don’t want you
to say anything about it.”
68“Of course not. We never talk about our business
matters.”
“How long will it take to collect it?”
“Well, Austin is a long distance from here, and
it will take two or three weeks at least.”
“Great Cæsar!” was Gus’s mental exclamation.
“Can I stand it to stay in the store so much longer?
Very well,” he said aloud, “I shall have to ask you
to collect it for me, if that is the best I can do.”
Gus turned about and walked out of the bank like
one in a dream. He had never in his life before
been so badly disappointed. The reflection that if
he remained in the store a month longer, and could
save all the money he earned in that time, he would
have twenty dollars more to be added to the sum he
already possessed, did not encourage him in the
least. He wanted his liberty more than he wanted
a month’s wages, and besides he was by no means
sure that he would be able to save what he earned.
If his creditors became weary of having their debts
paid by promises, and presented their bills to his
father, Gus knew that they would be promptly
settled, and that he could not draw a cent at the
end of the month. He turned these matters over in
his mind while he was eating his dinner, and the
69longer he pondered upon them the more he felt like
yelling. There were no customers in the store when
he returned, but Sam was leaning over the counter
waiting for him.
CHAPTER V. THE CLERK’S RUSE.
70
“I was in hopes we should be kept so busy this
afternoon that Sam wouldn’t have a chance to
speak to me,” thought Gus, as he made his way to
the office and hung up his hat and overcoat, “but
it is just my luck. If I wanted a few minutes
rest the store would be so full of customers that you
couldn’t crowd a ramrod in among them.”
“Well?” said Sam, when the boy came out of
the office and took his place behind the counter.
“Well,” answered Gus, “I can’t pay you this
month. I have had so many calls that my money
is all used up. Twenty dollars don’t go far, you
know.”
Sam’s face grew black at once. “Didn’t I tell
you that my claim was to be settled first?” he demanded,
angrily.
“Yes; but what am I to do when a man stops
me in the street and tells me that if I don’t pay up
71then and there, he will see my father about it before
I am an hour older?” asked Gus.
“Put him off with promises, as you do me. Who
stopped you on the street?”
“That Jew.”
“Did you pay him?”
“I did—not.” The last word Gus said to himself.
“Well, you still have five dollars left. Hand
that over and I will give you credit for it.”
“But I haven’t got it. I paid that out, too.”
Sam whistled softly to himself and drummed with
his fingers on the counter for a moment; then he
drew a sheet of white wrapping-paper toward him
and pulled a pencil from his pocket. The pencil
moved rapidly over the paper for a few seconds, and
after Sam had read what he had written, he crossed
over to Gus’s side of the store and laid before him
the following:—
“$12.00.
Foxboro’, Jan. 29th 18—
Robbins & Co.
Please pay Samuel Holmes Twelve Dollars out
of my next month’s wages, and charge the same to
my account.”
72“There, Gus,” said he, “sign that, and I shall
begin to believe that I stand a chance of getting the
money I lent you to help you out of a tight place.”
“Twelve dollars!” exclaimed Gus. “I borrowed
only ten.”
“But I don’t lend money for nothing,” replied
Sam, “and besides I must have something to pay
me for waiting so long, and for the trouble I have
had in collecting it.”
Gus took a minute to think about it, then seized
the pencil and wrote his name at the bottom of the
order. Sam thrust it into his pocket and putting
on his hat left the store.
“I don’t run any risk by that,” said Gus to himself.
“Sam will not present the order before the
1st of March, and by that time, if things work as
I hope they will, I shall be a good many miles from
here. What miserable luck some fellows do have in
this world, anyhow. I thought I should have no
trouble in getting the money on that check to-day.
Where has Sam gone, I wonder?”
As Gus asked himself this question an expression
of alarm settled on his face. He ran quickly to
the door, and looking down the street saw that Sam
was just disappearing in the cigar store on the
73corner. The boy’s heart began to beat a little
faster, for he knew now, as well as he did five minutes
later, what it was that took Sam to Mr.
Meyers’s place of business. He stood in the door
until Sam came out, and then he retreated behind
his counter and employed himself in straightening
up the goods on the shelves.
“Gus,” said Sam, when he had hung his hat in
its accustomed place, “lie, number one thousand and
one, is nailed. Meyers says he hasn’t seen you
to-day.”
“Suppose he hasn’t!” snapped Gus, who had
been caught in so many falsehoods that he had
become used to it.
“Why don’t you tell the truth once in a while?”
continued Sam; “say once a week, or even once a
month, if you can’t stand it any oftener. You will
get so, pretty soon, that nobody will believe a word
you say.”
“Why don’t you keep from sticking your nose
into matters that don’t concern you?” exclaimed
Gus, angrily.
“This matter does concern me. Now, I want to
know what has become of that money you drew
to-day.”
74“It is none of your business. Do you understand
that?”
“Yes, I understand it,” said Sam, so quietly that
Gus looked at him in surprise.
“Then you may as well understand another thing,
while you are about it,” continued the latter, “and
that is, that from this time out you are to attend to
your own affairs and let me entirely alone. What I
do with my money is none of your business.”
“I generally do attend to my own affairs,” replied
Sam, “and I shall attend to yours in a way
you don’t think of. You haven’t started for Texas,
yet!”
Gus jumped as if he had been shot. He could
hardly bring himself to believe that he had heard
aright. He had guarded his secret as closely as a
boy could. Having no intimate friend to assist him
in keeping it, he had not lisped a word of it to anybody;
but it had leaked out after all, and Sam
seemed to know all about it.
“Tex——” said Gus, drawing a long breath and
leaning heavily on the counter, “as!”
“Yes! You have laid your plans to skip out
and leave us all in the lurch, but you shan’t do it!
I must have what you owe me first; and when you
75get the money on that check, I will tell you how
much I want of it to pay me for the trouble of keeping
your secret. I know you didn’t get the money
to-day.”
“How do you know that?” stammered Gus,
growing more and more astonished and bewildered.
“That’s my business!” was the satisfactory
reply.
Just then a customer came in and moved up to
Sam’s side of the store, and this gave Gus an opportunity
to collect his scattered wits, and think over
what Sam had just told him. How in the world
had the latter learned his secret? was a question
that Gus asked himself over and over again, but
without finding any satisfactory answer. It was too
deep a mystery for him to solve just then, for he
was so utterly confounded that he could not think
at all.
“You haven’t started for Texas yet,” and
“when you get the money on that check, I will tell
you how much I want of it to pay me for the trouble
of keeping your secret,” were the words that were
constantly passing through the boy’s mind, and he
could not drive them out long enough to decide
what he ought to do. If he had any means of finding
76out just how much Sam knew, he might be able
to make up his mind to something.
“But I don’t see how I am to find that out,”
thought Gus, walking nervously up and down the
store, “for of course he won’t tell me, if I ask him.
The whole thing bangs me completely. I know I
haven’t said a word that would lead him or anybody
else to suspect anything; but he has got hold of it
somehow, and wants a part of my hundred dollars
to pay him for keeping his mouth shut. He shan’t
have it! No matter what happens, he shan’t have
it, for I don’t know how much I shall need to pay
my expenses.”
Both the clerks were kept busy that afternoon,
Gus at his counter and Sam in unpacking and
arranging a new supply of goods that arrived about
one o’clock. Gus could not keep his mind on his
work, for he was continually thinking about this
last piece of bad luck, and wondering how he should
go to work to “pump” Sam, in order to find out
just how much the latter knew about his contemplated
movements. Once during the afternoon,
when the store was clear of customers, he had occasion
to pass through the warehouse, where Sam was
at work, breaking open the boxes in which the new
77goods were packed. The latter was at work in his
shirt-sleeves, and his coat lay wrong side out upon
one of the boxes. As Gus passed by it, something
caught his eye. He noticed that there were several
letters sticking out of the inside pocket of the coat,
and that they were all enclosed in brown envelopes,
except one. That envelope was white, and there
was something about it that looked familiar. Gus
drew nearer to it, and was astonished almost beyond
measure to see that it bore his own name in Ned
Ackerman’s handwriting!
The whole mystery was made perfectly plain to
Gus at once. The letter in question was the last he
had received from his friend in Texas—the one in
which the check was sent. On the day it arrived,
Gus had kept it by him all the afternoon, devoting
every leisure moment to reading it, and, instead of
taking it home with him at night, as he meant to
have done, and as he thought he had done, he left
it on the long shelf behind his counter, and Sam
had found it there. He had been mean enough to
read it, too; and then, instead of putting it back
where he found it, he kept it, intending to use it to
extort money from Gus.
And right here, we may add something that the
78reader ought to know, and that Gus never found
out. When Sam met Gus going into the bank, his
suspicions were aroused, and he stood in front of the
window and watched his movements. He thought
that Gus was going to deposit the wages he had just
received, instead of paying up his debts, as he ought
to have done; but when he saw him present the
check, mentioned in the letter he had stolen, Sam
knew that Gus was making arrangements to leave
the city very shortly. He saw that Gus did not
receive the money, and that he did not bring the
check out with him; so it must have been left in
the bank for collection.
The rest of the boy’s plans Sam guessed at. He
knew that Gus was very discontented; that he
thought he would rather follow any business in the
world than his own; that he imagined he would be
happier anywhere on earth than he was in Foxboro’;
that Mr. Robbins would never permit his
son to go to Texas on a visit, especially to meet
such a fellow as Ned Ackerman, whose influence
over his associates was always a bad one. Sam
knew all these things, and by putting them
together, he arrived at a conclusion which we
know to be the correct one.
79“That’s Sam’s game,” thought Gus, swelling
with indignation. “He intends to hold that letter
over me as a sort of whip to make me do just as he
says; but it’ll not succeed. He knows everything,
and I must mind what I am about. The first thing
I do will be to take what belongs to me.”
Gus came a step nearer to the box, intending to
snatch the letter and walk off with it, leaving Sam
to help himself if he could; but after an instant’s
reflection he decided to adopt a different course. It
would not be wise, he thought, to bring on an open
rupture with Sam, for the latter might pay him back
by telling his employer about his son’s Texas scheme,
and that was something that must be kept from his
father’s ears at all hazards.
“That would never do,” said Gus, as these
thoughts passed through his mind. “I must wait
until he turns his back.”
This Sam was accommodating enough to do in a
very few minutes. As soon as he had taken an
armful of bales out of the box he had just opened,
he picked them up, carried them into the store and
laid them on the counter. He was gone scarcely
more than half a minute, but that was all the time
Gus needed to accomplish his object. He seized the
80letter, thrust it into his own pocket and walked out
into the store, feeling as though a heavy load had
been removed from his shoulders. He fully expected
that Sam would make trouble for him very shortly,
and he prepared himself for it; but Sam did nothing
of the kind. When he discovered his loss he
probably thought that he had mislaid the letter or
that it had dropped out of his pocket. At any rate
he said nothing to Gus about it.
Gus wrote a long letter to Ned that night, telling
him of all the bad luck that had befallen him of
late, and describing his plans for the future, and
then he settled back into his old monotonous life
again. The store had never looked so dreary and
uninviting as it did now, and neither had his work
ever been so distasteful to him. Gus never could
have endured it, so he told himself more than once,
if he had not been sustained and encouraged by the
belief that it would end in a very few days, and that
when once he was away from home and could do as
he pleased, he would have fun enough to make up
for all the gloomy hours he had spent behind the
counter.
After the second week had passed Gus made it a
point to call at the bank every few days to see if his
81check had been heard from, and when he came out
he always found that Sam, who went to his meals at
the same time Gus did, was loitering on the sidewalk
in front of the window.
“Let him watch,” thought Gus, who grew angry
whenever he caught even the smallest glimpse of
Sam. “If I am not smart enough to outwit him I
ought to lose every cent of that money.”
“I wonder what’s the matter?” thought Sam,
when he saw Gus go into the bank and come out
again with the very long face he always wore when
he was disappointed. “They ought certainly to
have heard from that check by this time. Well,
there’s one thing about it: Gus can’t get the
money without my knowing it, because the only
time he can get into the bank is when he goes to his
dinner, and I shall always be on hand to watch him.”
One day, after Gus had grown very impatient,
and had begun to fear that his check had been lost
on the way, and that he would never hear from it
again, he happened to meet the cashier, who was
also going home to his dinner. “It is all right
at last, Gus,” said the latter, cheerfully.
The boy’s gloomy expression of countenance,
which he had worn for several days past, vanished
82at once. “Has the money come?” he asked as soon
as he could speak.
“No; but we have heard from the check, and
will cash it for you whenever you please.”
“And you won’t want my father’s signature?”
“No. You fill out a draft—you’ll find blanks at
the bank—making it payable to ‘self’ and sign
your name to it, and I’ll give you the money.
That’s all there is of it.”
The cashier went on his way, and Gus looked up
and down the streets and on all sides of him to
make sure that Sam had not been a witness of the
interview. But the latter was nowhere in sight.
He had followed Gus at a distance, as he did every
day, to satisfy himself that he did not go to the
bank and draw the money, and then he turned
toward his own home. He was fooled for once, and
with this reflection to encourage him Gus walked
slowly toward his father’s house, and making his way
to his own room threw himself upon the bed. He
did not answer the dinner-bell when it rang, and
presently his mother, who had heard him enter
the house, came up to see what was the matter.
“Why, Augustus, are you ill?” she asked, with
some anxiety.
83“No, ma’am; but I don’t want any dinner,” was
the reply.
Moral philosophy teaches us that we can speak
the truth and at the same time tell a lie, and Gus
certainly did on this occasion. He told nothing but
the truth when he said that he was not sick and
didn’t want any dinner; but the tone in which he
said it, and his manner, made his mother believe
that he was not well, and that was just what he
wanted her to believe. He didn’t want any tea or
toast either, he said. He only asked to be let alone
so that he could rest until it was time for him to go
down to the store again.
But Gus knew very well that he would not be
expected to go down to the store that afternoon, and
he wasn’t. His father came up to see him, as soon
as he had eaten his dinner, and told him to stay at
home until he felt better, and Gus did stay until
about half-past two o’clock. Then he got up and
went down to the bank. The draft he made out was
promptly cashed, and Gus, with the money in his
pocket, crept slowly homeward and went to bed
again.
“There,” said he, as soon as he had settled his
head on the pillow. “Where are you now, Mr.
84Sam Holmes? I’ve got my money, and you are
none the wiser for it. I knew I could outwit you
when the time came.”
While Gus was waiting to hear from his check he
had ample leisure to perfect all his plans, and now
nothing remained to be done but to pack his valise
with the clothing he had already selected and laid
by itself, and go down to the depôt in time to catch
the westward-bound train which passed through
Foxboro’ at half-past eight in the evening. He was
somewhat nervous, for he knew that at the very last
moment a thousand things might happen to interfere
with his arrangements: but he did not think
of the step he was about to take with the least regret.
He knew when his father and brother came home at
supper time, and heard them when they went out to
return to the store. After that his mother brought
him up some delicacies that sick people are supposed
to relish; but Gus, although he was by this time
very hungry, said he didn’t care for anything, and
besides he showed so plainly that he didn’t want his
mother in his room, that she went down stairs and
left him to himself again.
There was no fear of interruption after that, and
Gus set about completing the preparations for his
85flight. He quickly packed his valise, put his money
carefully away in his pocket, stopped long enough
to eat all the supper his mother had brought up to
him, then seized his valise and crept down stairs and
out of the house. He made his way toward the
depôt, avoiding the principal streets as much as he
could, and finally reached the railroad about a
quarter of a mile above the place where the trains
stopped. There was a freight-house opposite the
depôt, and toward this Gus now directed his course,
intending to wait there in the dark until the train
arrived. He could thus avoid the crowd which
always gathered about the platform at train time,
and by boarding the cars on the side opposite the
depôt, he could escape observation.
“That’s what I want to do,” said the runaway to
himself, as he took his stand in a dark doorway and
looked down the track to see if he could discover
any signs of the approaching train, “for of course
I wouldn’t be very smart if I were to let any of
these loafers see me. They would all want to know
where I was going, and then when my folks began
to make inquiries about me, they would say they
had seen me take the train for Chicago. I wouldn’t
86like to have that known, for there are such things as
telegraphs and detectives in this country.”
If Gus had only known it, he was putting himself
to a great deal of unnecessary trouble. It
might have astonished him to know that even if his
father had been thoroughly posted in all his plans,
he would have made no effort to prevent Gus from
carrying them into execution. The boy found this
out in due time, and we shall tell about it in its
proper place.
A good many incidents that were really worthy
of note happened during Gus’s journey to Texas,
but we have so many things to write about that are
more interesting that we must pass them by without
further notice. We have set out to tell what Gus
did and how he enjoyed himself in Texas; and it
will be enough now to say that he made the journey
in safety; that Ned’s instructions were so plain and
complete that he had no difficulty in finding his
way; and that in due time the mail-coach deposited
him on the verandah of the principal hotel in
Palos.
CHAPTER VI. A FRONTIER HOTEL.
87
By the time Gus reached Palos he had lost a
good deal of the “style” for which he had
been noted in Foxboro’, and if some of the numerous
acquaintances he had left there could have seen
him when he stepped out of the stage and passed
through the crowd of cattle-herders, ranchemen and
idlers who had gathered on the verandah of the
hotel to see the coach come in, they would hardly
have taken him for Gus Robbins. If some of the
boys who think so much of themselves could get out
among entire strangers for a while they would very
soon see how small is the space they occupy in the
world, and how comparatively useless they are.
This was just what Gus had been finding out. He
had learned a good deal during his travels, and he
had already seen the time when he would have been
glad to face about and go back where he came from.
The people he met were different in every way
88from those with whom he had been in the habit of
associating. The majority of them were rough in
person, dress and manners; and although they
treated him civilly, and were always ready to answer
his questions and give him all the information they
could concerning the journey before him, Gus was
afraid of them and felt like avoiding them as much
as he could. The nearer he approached to the
frontier the rougher the men became. A good many
of them wore red shirts without any coats, high
boots, carried revolvers in their belts and looked
more like brigands than peaceable, law-abiding
citizens. The crowd on the verandah were all
armed; and although they stepped politely out of
his way, Gus could not help shuddering as he passed
through their ranks. The man who met him at the
door and took his valise out of his hand, and who
proved to be the landlord, looked worse than any of
the rest. He wore no weapons, but the brace of
navy six-shooters that were hung up in the office
toward which he conducted his guest, showed that he
was ready for any emergency. He looked equal to
any emergency, too. He was a giant in size, very
muscular, and the voice that came up from his broad
chest was as loud as a steam-whistle.
The arrival at Palos.
89“Can I obtain a night’s lodging here?” asked
Gus.
“I reckon ye kin, stranger,” roared the host.
“Yer a Yank!”
“O, no I am not,” replied the boy, who knew
there had been a civil war not so very many years
ago, and that the Texans were mostly all rebels.
“I’m from Ohio.”
“Wal, what’s the odds?” demanded the host.
“All Northern men are Yanks, and they aint
ashamed of it, nuther. I’m one myself. I’m from
the Green Mountains.”
“From Vermont?” cried Gus, who now began to
feel more at his ease.
“That’s the very identical spot.”
“But you’re a Southerner now, I suppose?” said
Gus, who thought that was the politest way in which
he could ask the man if he was a rebel.
“Do you mean that I’m a gray-back?” exclaimed
the host. “Not much. All the relations I ever
had fit under the old flag, and I couldn’t be the first
of the family to go agin it. I’m powerful glad to
see you, stranger. Put it thar.”
The man held out an immense bony hand as he
spoke, and Gus placed his own within it. A
90moment later he was doubled up with pain. The
Green Mountain boy’s greeting was almost too
cordial.
“Want lodgin’, do ye? An’ breakfast an’ supper,
too, I reckon, don’t ye?” said he. “Goin’ to
stay here long?”
“No, sir. I want to find a way to reach Ackerman’s
rancho,” replied the boy, after he had pulled
his fingers apart and straightened them out.
“O, goin’ there, be ye? All right. I kin help
ye along. One of Ackerman’s herdsmen is stopping
with me now.”
“Is it far from here?” asked Gus.
“O, no; just a jump—a hundred and fifty miles
mebbe. Ye’ll see lively times thar, too, ‘kase the
raiders come in thar thicker’n huckleberries last
full moon. Want lodgin’, do ye? Take the third
bench to the left in the bar-room. O, Mose!”
shouted the landlord, so suddenly that Gus started
involuntarily.
In response to this call, which was uttered in a
tone so loud that it would have reached the ears of
the person for whom it was intended, if he had been
a quarter of a mile away, a young man, roughly
dressed and armed like his companions, left the
91crowd on the verandah and came into the office.
The host glanced at the register, on which Gus had
placed his name, and introduced the newcomer to
his guest.
“Mose,” said he, “this young feller is the chap
yer lookin’ fur—Gus Robbins. Look out ye don’t
lose him, fur he’s so green the cattle’ll eat him up
when ye get him out thar to the ranche.”
Gus did not know who Mose was, but he shook
hands with him, and was surprised to hear him say,
in as good English as he could have used himself—
“We were all green when we first came out here.
I have been looking for you for three days,” he
added, as he led Gus toward a bench on one side of
the room. “Ned told me he was expecting you,
and described you so accurately that I was certain I
knew who you were the moment I set eyes on you.
I am one of Mr. Ackerman’s herdsmen, you know,
and have just driven down five hundred head of
stock that he sold the other day.”
Gus had not talked with his new acquaintance
more than five minutes before he began to feel perfectly
at home in his company. Mose was a good
deal like the young men he had known in the
North. True, he was bronzed and weather-beaten,
92and his clothing looked as though it had seen the
hardest of service; but the words he used showed
him to be an intelligent man, and he did not shout
as though he thought his listener was hard of hearing.
When there was a little pause in the conversation,
Gus began to seek information on some
points.
“What is the reason you men down here all go
armed?” he asked.
“O, we don’t. The people who live here in
town never think of such a thing. The men out
there on the porch don’t belong here. They live
out on the plains, two or three hundred miles away;
and when you have been out there, and have fallen
in with a war-party of Apaches or a band of Mexican
raiders, you will know why it is that they go
armed. When they are at home, they wear their
weapons all the time, day and night, for they never
know when they are going to be pounced upon, and
their stock driven off; and they get so in the habit
of keeping themselves always in readiness for a
fight, that they do it even in the settlements.”
“What do you suppose the landlord meant by
telling me that I would have lively times out there
on the ranche?”
93“O, the Indians and Mexicans have begun their
raids again. My employer lost about five hundred
head of cattle last full moon, and his herdsmen were
expecting another raid when I came away. The
country for fifty miles around Palos is crowded with
men who have been obliged to leave their ranches
in the western part of the state, and come nearer to
the settlements for the protection of their families
and property.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed Gus. “Am I so near
to hostile Indians?”
“You are within a hundred miles of the place
where they bushwhacked a lot of herdsmen no
longer ago than last week!”
Gus shuddered, and wondered how Mose could
talk about it without showing some signs of alarm.
“Do they ever come near Mr. Ackerman’s
rancho?” he asked.
“O, yes; that is, the Mexicans do. There’s
hardly a stone in the wall that hasn’t been hit by
bullets. They rode by there a few nights ago, but
they didn’t get the stock they expected to find
there, for it was all out of their reach. You see,
they cross the river at some lonely spot, late in the
afternoon, and approach as near to the settlements
94as they can without being discovered. Then, as
soon as it grows dark, they dash over the ranches,
pick up all the stock they can find, shoot anybody,
man, woman or child, who happens to fall in their
way, and depart as quickly as they came. They
lose no time in getting back into their own country,
for the herdsmen always start in pursuit as soon as
they can get together, and if they overtake the
raiders, they are sure to whip them and get the
most of their cattle back. The Greasers are better
on the run than they are on the fight.”
Mose talked to Gus in this way for an hour or
two, and during that time the boy learned a good
deal concerning the people, the country, the raiders,
both Indians and Mexicans, and the life he was
likely to lead as long as he remained at Mr. Ackerman’s
rancho. He learned also, to his great surprise,
that his father’s old book-keeper and clerk
were not looked upon by the natives of the country
with any degree of respect; but this was a matter
upon which Mose had very little to say, and Gus
did not find out why it was that Uncle John and
his son were so unpopular.
Before Gus had learned all he wanted to know,
the landlord came up to pilot him in to supper.
95The tables were loaded with frontier delicacies, and
although there were no table-cloths or napkins, and
the guests sat on long benches, instead of chairs,
and used their fingers and formidable-looking
bowies, instead of the knives and forks that had
been provided for them, everything was as neat as
it could be, and Gus made a hearty meal. Soon
after they arose from the table, Mose went out to
attend to some business for his employer, first telling
Gus that he had better go to bed at an early
hour, for they would be miles on their way toward
the rancho by the time the sun arose the next
morning. The boy was only too glad to follow this
advice, for he was almost tired out. He made his
way to the office and found the landlord there.
“Where did you say my room was?” he inquired.
“Room!” roared the landlord. “The bar-room.
Best room in the house, ‘kase it’s the biggest. A
good many folk sleep thar, though.”
“Couldn’t you give me a room to myself?” asked
Gus. “I can pay for it.”
“Can’t possibly crowd ye into ary bed-room in
this rancho to-night,” was the reply. “They’re all
full cl’ar up to the ceiling. Every square inch of
96my tables is occupied, an’ some of the boarders are
glad to hang up on the hooks in the office. The
bench is the best I kin do for ye, an’ ye’ll find a
good bed thar. It’ll make ye that sleepy to look at
it that ye’ll want to tumble right into it. Come on
an’ I’ll show it to ye!”
Gus followed his host into the bar-room, which
was crowded with men and filled so full of tobacco
smoke that it was a wonder how the landlord ever
found his way through it. But he did. He had no
trouble in finding the bed Gus was to occupy that
night, and when he showed it to him the boy told
himself that it was the worst he had ever seen. It
was made of a buffalo robe and two blankets. The
robe was spread over the bench and one of the
blankets was rolled up into a bundle to serve as a
pillow, while the other lay on the foot of the bed
and was to be used as a covering. There were a
score of beds in the room just like it, and some of
them were already occupied by weary frontiersmen,
who were snoring lustily in spite of the almost
deafening racket made by the wakeful guests who
were gathered in front of the bar. Gus glanced
about the dingy apartment, thought of his cheerful
little room at home and sighed deeply.
97“Father certainly knew what he was talking
about when he said that if boys would spend as
much time in thinking about the comforts and
pleasures they have, as they do in worrying over
those they don’t have, they would be a great deal
more contented than they generally are,” thought
Gus, as he placed his hat and boots on the bench,
and lay down without taking off any of his clothes.
“If I had been asked to sleep on a bed like this at
home wouldn’t I have raised a row about it? But
now I’ve got to take it or go without; and if I
should find any fault with it, that big landlord
would throw me out of doors neck and heels. I
wonder if Ned and his father live in this way?
There are hostile Indians and Mexican cattle-thieves
where they are, too.”
Gus slept soundly that night in spite of his
unpleasant surroundings, but it seemed to him that
he had scarcely closed his eyes when he was
awakened by a hand laid on his shoulder. He
started up and saw Mose standing over him with a
lighted lantern in his hand and a heavy rifle on his
back. “Time to catch up now,” said the latter.
Gus slowly raised himself to a sitting posture,
stretched his aching legs and arms, and looked out
98at the windows. Not a ray of light came in
through them. It was as dark as pitch, and there
were Indians and Mexicans somewhere out doors,
too. If he could have had his own way he would
have gone back to his hard bed rather than venture
out of the hotel with only a single companion to
protect him.
“Come on,” said Mose. “Everything is ready.
I have borrowed a horse for you—a good one, too.”
Mose seemed to be in a hurry, and so the boy
began to bestir himself. When he had put on his
hat and boots he followed the herdsman to the office,
where he settled his bill and received his valise, and
thence to the verandah, beside which stood two
small, shaggy ponies, saddled and bridled. Mose
made the boy’s valise fast behind one of the saddles,
and after assisting him to mount, sprang into the
saddle himself and led the way toward the prairie.
The journey thus began occupied the best part of
five days. Mose himself could have accomplished
it in half the time, but Gus had never been in the
saddle a half a dozen times before in his life, and
the first day used him up completely. If there was
anything interesting to be seen during the first part
of the ride he never noticed it, and neither could he
99recall a single one of the many stories of adventure
with which the obliging and kind-hearted Mose
tried to beguile the long hours of their journey.
On the third day the boy began to get “hardened
to it” in some degree, as Mose said, and about that
time an incident happened that drove all thoughts
of fatigue out of his mind, and made him doubly
anxious to reach the shelter of Uncle John’s rancho
at the earliest possible moment. By this time our
two travellers were fairly in the wilderness. They
had left all signs of civilization behind them, and
had ridden far without seeing a living thing; consequently
the sight of a horseman who came galloping
toward them, and who, with a companion, was
watching a small herd of cattle that were feeding
beside the trail, was a most welcome one. The
horseman came down to intercept them and learn
the news. Mose told him everything of interest he
had heard during his stay in Palos, and the man in
return told him that the Apaches and Mexicans
were making things warm for settlers on the border.
There had recently been four raids through his
county, he said, during which some of his relatives
had been killed and wounded, and he had lost more
than half his stock. In order to save the lives of
100the rest of his family, and provide for the safety
of his remaining cattle, he had tumbled a few necessary
things into a wagon, abandoned his comfortable
home and was striking for the settlements. The
man talked about his misfortunes in much the same
way that he would have talked of a profitable bargain
he had just made, and Mose listened to the
story without making any remark. They were used
to such things and took them as a matter of course;
but Gus was not used to them, and he was frightened
indeed. His hair seemed to rise up on end while
he listened. He had never before talked face to
face with men who had witnessed such thrilling
scenes and taken part in them, and it was no wonder
that he wanted to turn around and go back.
The man rode off after he had finished his story,
and while Gus was thinking about it he and Mose
met the wagon of which their visitor had spoken.
It was drawn by a span of scraggy mules, and was
loaded with women, children, cooking utensils and
bedding. The occupants were ragged and dirty,
and the driver carried his left arm in a sling and
wore a bandage about his head.
“It was a close call for me,” said he, in response
to some question that Mose addressed to him. “I
101got a bullet through my shoulder and a rap over the
head with a hatchet. You want to watch out, you
two do. The reds are most too thick about here to
make travelling pleasant. We saw the trail of a
small party only yesterday morning.”
This information and warning took away every
atom of the boy’s courage, and when he and his
companion had ridden beyond earshot of the people
in the wagon, he said suddenly: “Don’t let’s go
any farther, Mose.”
The herdsman ceased the merry whistling which
he kept up all the time when he was not talking,
and looked at Gus in great surprise.
“Let’s go back to Palos,” continued the latter.
“We’ll be safe there, and I am afraid to go any
farther.”
Mose laughed long and heartily. “Why, I’d
rather be out here among the Indians than in the
settlements,” said he. “I wouldn’t live in Palos
for anything. There isn’t elbow-room enough there
for me. I want to be where I can stretch my arms
when I feel like it without hitting something. You
needn’t worry,” he added, glancing at the boy’s pale
face. “You’ll be just as safe in Mr. Ackerman’s
rancho as you would be in Palos.”
102“But perhaps the Indians will catch us before we
get there.”
“No they won’t. We’ve just as much right to
keep out of their way as they have to hunt us up.
But they never waste any time in hunting up
settlers. All they care for is the stock; and they
gobble it up and get out of the country with it
as quickly as they can. Of course, if a fellow gets
in their way he stands a chance of being popped
over.”
“Do you all go in the house when the raiders
come?”
“Bless you, no. Some of us herdsmen are fifty
or a hundred miles away, and we couldn’t get back
there if we tried. Besides, it would be poor management
to bring our different herds all together so
that the raiders could swoop down and stampede
them. You see we know about what time to expect
these raids. They are generally made about the
time of the full moon, and if a herder is alert and
watchful he will have his stock out of the way.”
“What will he do with it?”
“He will drive it farther back in the country
than the Greasers care to come. Perhaps we had
better turn off the trail a little way. It runs through
103an open country here, and if there are any reds
about, we want to keep out of their sight.”
Again Gus wondered how in the world Mose
could talk about these things in this careless, indifferent
way. He seemed to care no more for Indians
and Mexicans than his pony did for the grass he
trampled under his feet. While Gus was trembling
all over with excitement and apprehension Mose was
as cool as a cucumber, and whistled and talked as
cheerfully as he had done ever since leaving Palos.
He slept just as soundly at night, too, relying on
his pony, which was always picketed near the camp,
to give him notice of the approach of danger.
“You must know,” he said to Gus, one night,
“that horses and dogs are a good deal like the people
among whom they live, and seem to share in
their likes and dislikes. An Indian’s dog or pony
has no more affection for a white man than his master
has; while a white man’s dog or pony will raise
an awful row, if a redskin shows his ugly face over
a hill, anywhere within smelling or seeing distance
of him.”
But Gus did not place so much confidence in the
mustang as his owner did, and he could not sleep.
He lay awake almost every night, starting at the
104least unusual sound, and was always greatly relieved
when morning came. It was so gloomy and lonely
on the prairie after dark, and the wolves howled so
mournfully! Gus was growing heartily tired of
this sort of life, and although his companion assured
him that they were making good time now, and
rapidly nearing their journey’s end, he was continually
urging him to go faster. How his heart
bounded, when Mose one day said, in reply to this
request:
“There is no need of it. We are almost there.
When we reach the top of the next swell, you can
see the rancho.”
Just then a horseman made his appearance on the
summit of the swell of which Mose had spoken, and
after gazing steadily at them for a moment, came
forward at a rapid gallop. There was no need that
Gus should ask who he was, for he knew as soon as
he saw him that it was Ned Ackerman. He galloped
on ahead to meet him, and if one might judge
by the way the two boys greeted each other, they
were very glad to meet again. They had a multitude
of questions to ask and answer, and Mose, seeing
that they were too fully occupied with their own
105affairs to pay any attention to him, rode on and left
them alone.
“I declare, Ned, you’re a nobby-looking fellow!”
exclaimed Gus, running his eye over his friend’s
neat suit of “working clothes,” and glancing from
the stylish, high-stepping horse he rode to his own
shaggy, ill-conditioned mustang, “and you ride as
though you had lived in the saddle all your life. I
see you have a rifle, too! Is that the one you
killed the grizzly bears with? There goes Mose
over the swell, out of sight; hadn’t we better ride
on? By the way, what has become of the Indians?
You must have had fearful times here since you
wrote!”
“There are no Indians at all about here,” was
Ned’s reassuring reply. “They have bothered the
settlers in the next county above a good deal, but
we have seen nothing of them. It’s the Mexicans
who troubled us.”
“Did you have a fight with them?”
“I should say so!” exclaimed Ned. “I’ve got
so now that I don’t care——”
Ned suddenly paused and looked at Gus. He
had been on the point of declaring that he did not
care any more for a fight with raiders than he did
106for a game of snow-ball; but after a little reflection
he decided that he wouldn’t say it. It would do
very well to put into a letter, if he were going to
write to Gus, but since the latter was there on the
ground, and in a situation to learn all he wanted to
know by making inquiries of others, Ned thought
he had better, for once in his life, tell the truth.
“You have got so you don’t care for what?”
asked Gus, when his friend paused.
“I don’t care to see them any more,” replied
Ned. “We had a fearful time on the night they
jumped down on us. They didn’t find any stock
about the rancho to drive off, and so they shot into
the house and tried to cut the doors down with
axes.”
“Gracious!” exclaimed Gus. “Were you in
the house at the time?”
“No, I wasn’t, and that’s just what frightened
me. They treed me in a shed, and I don’t know
what they would have done to me, if they had discovered
me. But I’ll tell you about that by-and-by.
It is my turn to ask questions now. Did you
let your father know that you were coming down
here?”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t let anybody know it, but
107Sam Holmes found it out, as I told you in my last
letter, and would have made me a great deal of
trouble, if I hadn’t been too sharp for him. Where
can I get a rig like yours, Ned? Is it the
fashion?”
“I bought it in Palos. It is my fashion. I
won’t dress as my cousin and all the other fellows
about here do. They are a lot of boors!”
“All except your cousin, of course.”
“No, I don’t except even him. He goes looking
like a day-laborer, and he’s rich, too. He has six
thousand dollars that he made himself. More than
that, when he becomes of age, he will step into a
property worth forty thousand a year, and father
and I will have to step out of it, and I’ll have to go
behind a counter again.”
“Who gets the property if anything happens to
your cousin?”
“I do.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know, and neither does Zeke, his herdsman.
He went away to his camp a few hours before
the Greasers came through here, and we begin to
fear that he was carried off by them, although we
never heard of their taking a prisoner.”
108“Well, if I were in your boots I should hope that
he would never come back again.”
Ned looked down at the horn of his saddle, and
made no reply in words; but his manner seemed to
say, at least Gus so interpreted it, that if George
had been so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of
the Mexicans, and they should decide to keep him a
life-long prisoner, Ned would waste no sorrow
over it.
CHAPTER VII. ZEKE’S LETTER.
109
All the incidents described in the preceding
chapters happened before the beginning of
our story; but it was necessary that we should
devote some time to them in order that the reader
might be able to follow us understandingly. We
have only one thing more to tell about, and then the
thread of our story will run smoothly. Let us go
back to George Ackerman, whom we left sitting on
the porch in front of the rancho, mending his bridle
and talking earnestly to himself.
“Uncle John and Ned act as though they don’t
want me here,” repeated George, “and I have the
best notion in the world to pack up my few things
and clear out. The house doesn’t seem like home
to me now. I am a great deal happier when I am
in camp with Zeke than I am anywhere else. I have
put up with a good deal, but I shan’t surrender my
herd of cattle just to please that lazy Ned. If he
wants to make a beginning in stock-raising, let him
110go to work, as I did. I had nobody to smooth the
way for me.”
George was expecting a visit from his cousin, who
had promised that he would come to him on this particular
morning for an answer to a proposition he
had made him a short time before. That proposition
was, that George should accept him as a full partner
in his business.
During the winter that had just passed, Ned had
learned, to his entire satisfaction, that it is hard
work to do nothing. He could not tell how he had
managed to live through the long, dreary weeks, and
he had made up his mind that he would never pass
another winter in that way. He considered himself
a full-fledged farmer now, for he had fifty acres of
wheat planted; but wheat was a crop that required
no care except for sowing and harvesting, and all
the rest of the year he had to himself to spend as
he pleased. After thinking the matter over he
decided to go into partnership with his cousin.
That would be the easiest thing he could do. As
he knew nothing about taking care of cattle, of
course George would not expect him to act as herder.
He could stay in camp, when he felt like it, come
home when he pleased, and George and Zeke would
111do all the work, and Ned would share in the profits.
It was a very nice plan, no doubt, but George did
not seem to be very enthusiastic over it; so Ned did
not press him for an answer when he made the proposition,
but informed him that he would ask for it
before George left for his camp on the plains. The
latter was getting ready to start now, and looking
for Ned at the same time. He came just as George
finished his soliloquy.
“Well,” said he, “have you considered my proposition?”
“I have, and it can’t be done,” was George’s
reply. “Two persons are all that are needed to
take care of so small a herd as mine.”
“Couldn’t you discharge Zeke and take me in
his place?”
“And do all the work myself?” exclaimed George
“No sir; I couldn’t.”
“You would rather keep him than please your
cousin, I suppose,” snapped Ned, who was always
angry when he could not have his own way.
“I am willing to do anything reasonable,”
replied George, “but I can’t do two men’s work for
the sake of pleasing you. Why don’t you make
a start for yourself, as I did?”
112“It would take too long; and besides I don’t
know anything about cattle.”
“Yes, it will take years; but you will be learning
the business all the while, and by the time you have
a herd of your own you will know how to take care
of it. I tell you there’s something back of this,”
said George, to himself, as Ned jumped up and
walked into the house, shaking his head and muttering
to himself. “His offer to go into partnership
with me is only a blind. He has another object in
view, and I wish I knew what it is.”
“There’s only one thing about this business, and
you can bet high on that, my fine lad,” thought
Ned, as he disappeared in the house. “You shan’t
treat me with contempt if everybody else does. I’ll
show you who is boss here.”
George was certain that he had not heard the
last of the matter, and in this he was not mistaken.
When Ned had been gone about five minutes Uncle
John came out, and before he had said a dozen
words George knew just what he had to expect.
“I have concluded to reduce expenses about
eighty dollars a month by discharging two herdsmen,”
said Uncle John.
“All right, sir,” replied George cheerfully,
113“eighty dollars are worth saving; but do you think
that those who are left will be able to do the work?”
“O, yes. Of course I intend that the places of
those I discharge shall be supplied by others.”
“Then I don’t see how you are going to save anything.
Besides, what’s the use of sending away
good men and hiring others whom you don’t know
anything about?”
“I don’t intend to hire any others. I want you
and Zeke to take their places.”
“Oh! I thought that was what you were trying
to get at,” said George, to himself. “Ned means
to rule or ruin, but he shall do neither. Zeke and I
can’t take their places,” he said, aloud. “We have
all we can do now.”
“I will tell you how I intend to arrange matters,”
said Uncle John, and George thought he looked and
acted as though he did not much like the business
he had set out to perform. “I am going to bring
your herd in and distribute it among the others.
You two can take care of more than three hundred
cattle.”
“But I don’t want my herd broken up. I earned
it without help; it belongs to me individually, and
I am going to keep it. Zeke belongs to me, too;
114and while he is in my employ he shan’t herd cattle
for anybody else.”
“Why, George!” exclaimed Uncle John, who
seemed to be very much astonished at the emphasis
the boy threw into his words. “I never knew you
to be so disobedient before.”
“You will find me so every time you try to
trample on me,” declared George, boldly. “I don’t
know why you should want to take my herd away
from me, but I do know there’s not a man on the
place who would help you do it. Ah! I forgot
you,” thought George, as his eye fell upon the
Mexican cook, who just then crossed the yard, walking
slowly and carrying his head on one side as if
he were trying to overhear what passed between
Uncle John and his nephew. “I believe that you
are mean enough to do anything, Master Philip!”
“I intend that you shall obey me,” replied Uncle
John, “and if you will not do it willingly, you
must do it unwillingly. I shall discharge Zeke at
once.”
“I don’t see how you can do that,” thought
George, as Uncle John turned on his heel and
walked into the house, “for you don’t pay him his
wages. I don’t see how you are going to take my
115cattle away from me either, for the first thing will
be to find them, and what would Zeke and I be
doing while you were trying to drive them away?
I should call it robbery, and I wouldn’t submit
to it.”
The emphatic manner in which the boy nodded
his head as he said this, and the look of determination
that settled on his face would have surprised
Uncle John if he could have seen them. The boy
was resolved to hold fast to his property and to
stubbornly resist any attempt that might be made to
deprive him of it. It would be an act of gross
injustice to take his earnings away from him, and
George found it hard to believe that his uncle could
think seriously of such a thing.
“If he tries it, it will only be in keeping with
other mean things he has done since he has been
here,” said George. “He and Ned are coming
down on me harder and harder every month, and
I should like to know what they mean by it.”
George seemed to put a little more energy into
his work as he turned these matters over in his
mind, and when at last the bridle was finished he
threw it upon the porch, put the awl and what was
left of the waxed-end ‘carefully away in a box that
116lay beside him on the ground, and taking the box in
his hand started toward a little shed which stood a
short distance in the rear of the house.
As he drew near to the shed, two animals he had
left there a little while before greeted him, each
after his own fashion. One was Bonaparte (called
Bony, for short) George’s pack mule, and the other
was Ranger, his favorite riding nag. These animals,
which were among the best of their kind, had been
the boy’s almost constant companions, ever since he
returned from school and settled down to the business
of herding cattle. Bony was small and clean-limbed,
sleek as a mole and treacherous as mules
generally are. He took unbounded delight in
knocking over everything and everybody that came
within reach of his hind feet, and when he felt in
the humor for doing it, he could kick himself out
from under the pack-saddle with the greatest ease.
Ranger, on the other hand, did not know how to
kick or bite, but he understood the business of
cattle-herding, and would answer his master’s
whistle as promptly as a well-trained dog. Nothing
which his strength or agility could overcome would
keep him from George’s side when he heard that
whistle. He would jump a fence or swim a river to
117obey it. When in camp George never confined the
animal with a lasso unless it was near the full of
the moon and raids were expected from the Mexicans
or Indians, for Ranger never thought of
straying away. He was as black as midnight, very
fleet and enduring, and George had almost as much
affection for him as he would have had for a brother,
for he was the last gift he had ever received from
his father. The animals seemed to be ready for a
journey, for Bony carried a loaded pack-saddle on
his back, and Ranger was saddled but not bridled.
Upon reaching the shed George whistled the mule
and led him toward the house, and Ranger, without
waiting for the command, followed at his heels. He
stopped at the porch, and after fastening the mule’s
halter to the horn of the saddle that Ranger wore,
he disappeared in the house. When he came out
again he carried in his hands a bundle, a rifle and a
small leather haversack. The bundle contained his
overcoat, gloves, rubber-poncho and blankets; and
in the haversack he carried the ammunition for his
rifle—a new model Winchester, holding in its magazine
sixteen cartridges, all of which could be discharged
in as many seconds. He slung the rifle
and haversack over his shoulders, tied the bundle
118behind his saddle and was just slipping the mended
bridle over his horse’s head when Ned came out.
“Well, you are off for your last trip, are you?”
he exclaimed.
“Yes, I am off for camp again, but not for the
last time, I hope,” returned George, although he
felt like making a very different answer. “One
must do something to earn his bread and butter, you
know, and life in camp suits me better than staying
in the house doing nothing.”
“What have you got in that pack-saddle?” asked
Ned.
“Provisions.”
“You needn’t have troubled yourself to lay in
such a supply, for you won’t need them all.”
“Won’t I? Why not?”
Ned made no reply in words. He only smiled
and shook his head as if he meant to convey the
impression that he could tell something wonderful
if he felt like it, and George, who was by this time
in the saddle, touched his horse with his spurs and
galloped away. He did not say anything more, for
he was angry and afraid that he might utter some
words that he would be sorry for. He thought
he knew what his cousin meant by his nods and his
119smiles, and told himself that Ned was destined to
be as badly disappointed as Uncle John was if he
imagined that he and Zeke would surrender their
herd of cattle to him any sooner than they would to
a band of raiding Mexicans. It made George almost
beside himself to dwell upon this subject, so he dismissed
it altogether from his mind, and tried to
think about pleasanter things.
That day’s ride was a hard one, and George, who
was accustomed to such things, grew tired long
before it was ended. The course he followed led
him through the wildest portion of the country
where farms and ranches were few and far between.
Now and then he saw a horseman or two who would
gallop to meet him, as they met every trader, and
ask for the news; but George had little to tell that
was of interest, and these interviewers did not long
delay him. He made a short halt for dinner and in
the afternoon travelled with increased speed, reaching
the grove, toward which he had all the day been
directing his course, and where he intended to spend
the night, just as the sun was sinking out of sight
behind the distant swells.
It was in this grove that George had expected to
find Zeke, who, when his employer went after supplies,
120always brought his cattle as close to the settlements
as he could find pasture for them, and so
save time. George found the camp the herdsman
had occupied while the cattle were feeding in the
vicinity, but it was deserted, and had been for three
or four days; consequently Zeke and his herd must
be a long way from there, and George had nothing
to do but make himself comfortable for the night
and start in pursuit the next morning.
As soon as the boy had relieved Ranger of his
saddle and Bony of the heavy load he had so
patiently carried all the day, he turned the animals
loose to graze, and started a fire in front of the
dilapidated brush shanty Zeke had recently occupied.
Upon the fire were placed a camp-kettle and
frying-pan, one filled with water taken from the
brook that ran close by, and the other with slices of
bacon. Supper was fairly under way in a few
minutes, and while he was waiting for the fire to
cook it, George busied himself in repairing the
cabin.
It was while he was thus engaged that he accidentally
discovered something for which he had been
looking ever since he reached the grove, and that
was a letter from Zeke. It was written on a piece
121of bark and fastened to a tree in plain sight, but
somehow George had managed to overlook it. The
letter was made up of rough characters which had
been rudely traced on the bark by the point of the
herdsman’s hunting-knife. The first was an Indian’s
arrow—that was drawn so plainly that anybody
could have told what it was—and it pointed toward
something that looked like a whale with an unusually
large head which was surmounted by a pair of horns.
It was certainly intended to represent a fish with
horns and the only one of the species in that
country that George knew anything about was a
catfish.
The next two characters might have been taken
for almost anything, except the objects that George
knew they were intended to represent, namely, a
couple of water-falls. The next looked like a front
view of a man’s face, but one side of it was flat,
while the other was round. This was meant for the
moon in its first quarter. Under the moon were
four short, straight lines, headed by a cross like the
sign of multiplication; and these were intended to
represent the days of the week, the cross standing
for Sunday.
Zeke, who had lived in the mountains and on the
122prairie all his life, did not know one letter from
another, but he had left behind him a communication
that George read as easily as you can read this
printed page. If he had given it a free translation,
it would have read something like this:
“I have gone toward Catfish Falls. It is near
the time of the full moon. I left camp on Thursday.”
After writing this much, Zeke did just as many
a school-boy does—he added a postscript, containing
the only item of information that was really worth
knowing. It made George open his eyes, too. It
consisted of drawings of a pair of moccasins, a fire
with a thick smoke arising from it, and several
horses’ feet. It meant that there were Indians in
the neighborhood; that they were hostile Apaches
(George knew that by the shape of the moccasins),
and that Zeke had seen the smoke of their fires and
the tracks made by their horses.
George, who was accustomed to sudden surprises
and always expecting them, did not seem to be at
all disturbed by this very unpleasant piece of news.
Although he had never had any experience with
raiders, he was brave and self-reliant, knew just
123what to do in any emergency that might arise while
he was on the plains, and felt abundantly able to
take care of himself. He ran his eye over the
letter and postscript once more, to make sure that
he had read them aright, and then walked back to
his fire and sat down. He did not spend any more
time in repairing the cabin, for he knew now that
he should not occupy it that night. When his supper
was cooked, he ate it with great deliberation;
after which he put out his fire and returned to the
pack-saddle all the articles he had taken out of it.
There was a goodly supply of bacon and coffee left,
and this George intended should serve him for his
next morning’s breakfast.
“I may be out of reach of wood and water by the
time I grow hungry,” thought he, as he buckled the
pack-saddle and made it ready for Bony’s back. “I
can’t stop here to-night, for the timber is by no
means a safe place to camp when there are Indians
about. I wish Zeke had told me which way they
were going when he saw them, for I don’t want to
run right in among them before I know it!”
As soon as Bony’s burden was adjusted and
Ranger had been saddled and bridled, George
mounted and rode rapidly away from the grove,
124holding a straight course for Catfish Falls, but
making no effort to find Zeke’s trail. In fact, he
did not want to find it, and if he had stumbled upon
it accidentally, he would have ridden away from it
with all haste. The vicinity of that trail was as
dangerous a place as the grove he had just left. A
band of raiders might strike it at any time, and follow
it up for the purpose of capturing the herd, and
George, if he chanced to be in the way, would run
the risk of being captured, too.
The boy rode rapidly as long as he could distinguish
objects about him, and when the darkness had
shut him out from the view of any skulking Indian
or Mexican, who might chance to be watching him
from a distance, he slackened his pace and turned
off at right angles with the course he had been pursuing.
He rode about a mile in this direction, and
then went into camp, staking out his horse and
mule, and lying down to sleep, with his poncho for
a bed, his saddle for a pillow and his hair lasso for a
protection from the visitors of which his cousin Ned
stood so much in fear, the rattlers. He slept
soundly, too, relying upon Ranger and Bony to
arouse him, in case any one approached his camp,
and awoke at the first peep, of day, refreshed and
125invigorated. A couple of hard biscuits, added to the
coffee and bacon he had saved from his last night’s
supper, furnished him with as good a breakfast as
he cared for, and when it had been disposed of,
George was ready to begin his day’s journey.
The boy spent one more night alone on the prairie,
and on the afternoon of the second day found
Zeke’s camp. As he emerged from a belt of post-oaks,
through which he had been riding for the last
hour, he saw a small herd of cattle feeding on the
prairie, and was welcomed by a shrill neigh, which
came from the direction of a fire that was burning
in the edge of the timber a short distance away.
Bony answered the greeting with a long-drawn
bray, and Ranger, breaking into a gallop, carried
his rider into the camp, where he was met by a tall,
broad-shouldered man, who arose from his blanket
as he approached. This was Zeke. What his
other name was George did not know; in fact, he
did not believe that Zeke knew it himself.
If a stranger had judged Zeke by his appearance,
he would have put him down as anything but an
agreeable or safe companion. He was rough and
uncouth in person and manners, and as bronzed
and weather-beaten as any old salt. His hair,
126which fell down upon his shoulders, and the luxuriant
whiskers and mustache that almost concealed
his face, were as white as snow, and bore evidence
to the fact that he carried the weight of many years
on his shoulders; but his form was as erect as an
Indian’s, and his step as firm and quick as it had
been in the days of his youth. He looked like one
possessed of immense physical power, as indeed he
was; and those who had seen him in moments of
danger, knew that he had the courage to back up
his strength. He was as faithful as a man could
be, and ready to do and dare anything in defence
of his young employer. George had selected him
from among the numerous herdsmen employed on
his father’s ranche, and they had been almost inseparable
companions ever since.
“I am glad to see you, Zeke,” said the boy, as
he swung himself out of the saddle, and placed his
hand in the broad palm that was extended toward
him, “for, to tell the truth, I have felt afraid ever
since I found your letter down there in the grove.
I can’t help believing that something is going to
happen. Have you seen anything more of the
Indians?”
127“No,” replied Zeke. “They went t’wards the
settlements.”
“That’s bad for the settlers, but good for us.
We’re safe,” said George, drawing a long breath.
“Not by no means, we hain’t safe. Them
Apaches must come back, mustn’t they?”
George hadn’t thought of that. Of course, the
Indians must come back, if they intended to return
to their own country, and George did not like to
think of what would happen, if he and Zeke and
their herd of cattle should chance to cross their
path. They did cross the path of a band of raiders—some
who were looking for them and knew just
where to find them,—and before he was many days
older, George was the hero of one or two startling
adventures, and also gained some items of information,
from various sources, that almost overwhelmed
him with wonder and amazement!
CHAPTER VIII. NED’S NEW HORSE.
128
“Now, I’ll just tell you what’s a fact, father,”
said Ned, who stood on the porch with Uncle
John, watching George as he galloped away, “if
you are going to do anything you must come out
and make a square stand. You don’t want George
here any more than I do.”
“Be careful, Ned,” said Uncle John, in a suppressed
whisper, looking anxiously around. “Some
one might hear you.”
“I don’t care who hears me. I don’t see any
sense in being so sly. George will hang about here
just as long as he has that herd of cattle to take
care of. Take that away from him and perhaps he
will clear out.”
“But I don’t know how to do it,” said Uncle
John.
“Why, it is easy enough. Send some men out
there with orders to drive the herd in.”
129“That would only bring on a fight; for George
and Zeke would resist. Besides, you must remember
that all the herdsmen on the place are friendly to
George, and I don’t believe they would obey such
an order.”
“Then discharge them and hire others who will
do as they are told,” exclaimed Ned, impatiently.
“What’s the use of your trying to run the ranche
if you can’t do as you please?”
“But there’s one thing you don’t seem to understand.
George has rights——”
“Don’t he wish he may get them, though?” interrupted
Ned, snapping his fingers in the air.
“He can get them. If I go too far, he can
appeal to the courts, and have me put out and a new
guardian of his own choosing appointed in my
place.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Ned, opening his eyes in
great amazement. “Does George know that?”
“I don’t know whether he does or not; but I
know it; and I know, too, that there are plenty in
the neighborhood who will tell him of it; so you
see I must be careful and not let him get a good
hold on me. You wouldn’t like to go back to
Foxboro’ and work for your bread and clothes, after
130living at your ease, as you have ever since you have
been here.”
“No, I wouldn’t; and what’s more, I never will
do it,” replied Ned, walking up and down the porch
with his hands behind his back. “I’ll tell you
what to do,” he added, suddenly, while a smile of
triumph lighted up his face, “take his money away
from him. He keeps a lot of it in a box in his
room. I saw it there.”
“What good will that do?”
“Why, how is he going to keep a herdsman
unless he has money to pay him?”
“O, that would never do. He’d raise an awful
row about it, and then go off and sell some of his
cattle and get more money.”
“That’s so,” replied Ned, the triumphant smile
disappearing as quickly as it had come. “He’s got
luck on his side, hasn’t he? I wish the raiders
would jump down on him and take the last steer
he’s got. I’d be glad to see some of them long
enough to tell them where to find him. I’d tell
them to catch George too and hold fast to him,”
added Ned, under his breath, as his father turned
and walked into the house. “I never can carry out
my scheme while he owns those cattle; I can see
131that very plainly. If I could only make him lose
them some way, I should have things just as I want
them. But how can I do it? I must keep my mind
on it until I hit upon something.”
This conversation and Ned’s soliloquy will serve
to show that certain plans calculated to work serious
injury to the young herdsman had been laid by the
new occupants of the ranche, and that one of them,
at least, was ready to resort to desperate measures
in order to carry those plans into execution. Ned
had set himself deliberately to work to drive his
cousin away from his home. One would suppose
that if he had any affection for him, or had possessed
the least spark of honor, he would have been above
such a thing; but the truth was, Ned was not above
doing anything that he thought would advance his
own interests. He never forgot that clause in his
uncle’s will, which provided that in a certain contingency
all the immense property, of which his father
now had control, was to fall to himself. It was the
last thought he dwelt upon at night when he went
to bed and the first that passed through his mind
when he awoke in the morning. George was very
much in the way there. Ned thought so, and he
knew that his father thought so, too. They could
132not do as they pleased while he was about, for
George knew everything that was going on in the
ranche. He knew just what the expenses amounted
to every month, could tell how many cattle had been
sold, the price they brought, and how much money
his uncle ought to have put into the bank.
Uncle John did not like to be watched so closely,
and Ned didn’t like it either, for the reason that his
father could not give him as much money as he
wanted. Ned would have cut a fine dash if he had
possessed the necessary funds, and Uncle John would
have been only too glad to furnish him with all the
cash he demanded if he could have done so without
George’s knowledge. All Uncle John wanted was
to fill his pockets and Ned’s; and the latter, to
assist him in accomplishing his object, set himself to
work to make the house so unpleasant for George
that he would not stay there. He had determined
upon this before he had been two days at the
ranche, and he had succeeded beyond his expectations.
George seemed to think a great deal more
of Zeke’s company than he did of Uncle John’s and
Ned’s, and often said that he preferred a blanket at
night and a life in the saddle to his room at home
and the lonely existence he led while he was there.
133He spent more than half his time in camp, but
came home whenever he wanted supplies for himself
and herdsman, and spent three or four days in
riding about taking note of things. Ned always
dreaded these visits, and wished he could hit upon
some plan to put a stop to them.
“I thought I had hit upon something,” said Ned,
to himself, as he jumped down the steps and walked
toward the corral, which was the name given to the
enclosure in which the riding-horses belonging to
the ranche were kept. “And I believe yet that if
father would only take his herd away from him he
would be too discouraged to start another. He
would have to do something, of course—George
isn’t the one to remain long idle—and as there is no
other business he can go into in this country, perhaps
he would go off somewhere to seek his fortune
and leave us a clear field. I wish Gus Robbins was
here now. Two heads are better than one, and perhaps
he could suggest something.”
Ned was looking for his friend Gus every day,
although how the latter was going to find his way
over the hundred and fifty miles of wilderness that
lay between Palos, which was the end of the stage
route, and the rancho, Ned didn’t know. If Gus
134could have told him when he expected to reach
Palos, the case would have been different. Ned
could have sent one of the herdsmen down there to
meet him and show him the way home; but, as it
was, Gus would have to take his chances. He
would have to wait at Palos until he fell in with
some of the neighbors who might happen to go
there on business, as some of them did nearly every
month. But a month was a long time to wait.
He wished his friend was with him now, for he was
growing more lonely every day. He ought to be
on the way by this time, Ned often told himself,
and of late he had fallen into the habit of riding
to the top of a high swell about five miles from the
rancho, and spending the most of the day there
waiting for Gus. When he came he would pass
along the trail leading over the top of that swell,
and Ned could see him while he was yet a long distance
away.
When Ned was mounted and fully equipped for a
gallop, a stranger would have taken him for a masquerader
on his way to a ball. If he had sported a
big mustache and had a few more years on his
shoulders, he might have easily passed for the leader
of a band of brigands. He always wore a Mexican
135sombrero, buckskin coat, fawnskin vest, corduroy
trowsers, and high top-boots, the heels of which
were armed with huge silver-plated spurs. These
was intended for ornament and not for use, for Ned
could not have been hired to touch his horse with
them. He had tried it once. The animal was as
steady an old cob as Uncle John could find in the
settlement, but he did not like spurs, and on one
occasion he had convinced his rider of the fact by
throwing him head over heels into a ditch. That
was when Ned first purchased him, and before he
knew anything about riding on horseback. He was
growing somewhat accustomed to the saddle now,
and was beginning to look about him for a better
mount. There were plenty of horses on the ranche—fleet,
hardy animals they were, too—but Ned
wanted a thorough-bred, such as some of the settlers
were purchasing in Kentucky.
Besides his spurs Ned carried three other ornaments—an
ivory-handled riding-whip, a breech-loading
rifle and a silver-mounted hunting-knife. He
expected with that rifle to make sad havoc among
the big game which was so abundant in some parts
of Texas, but thus far he had not shot a single thing
with it. He knew nothing about rifles, and besides
136the weapon threw a bullet that was altogether too
small to possess any killing power. His cousin had
told him that it might answer for shooting hummingbirds
and ground-squirrels, but that nothing larger
need be afraid of it. George had knocked over a
jack-rabbit with it, and the rabbit had jumped up
and made off as though there was nothing the matter
with him, carrying the bullet somewhere in his
body. The elegant hunting-knife was intended for
skinning the game that fell to his rifle, but up to
this time Ned had found no use for it.
Ned looked as formidable as usual when he
mounted his horse that morning and rode away to
meet the first adventure that had befallen him in
Texas—the first one worthy of record of which he
had ever been the hero. He made his way directly
to the top of the swell of which we have spoken,
and after staking out his horse threw himself on his
blanket under the shade of the solitary oak that
grew beside the trail, and comfortably settled himself
to idle away the time and watch for his long-expected
friend.
“If he ever reaches Palos he will have no difficulty
in coming the rest of the way,” thought Ned.
“The people from this part of the country always put
137up at one hotel, and the landlord will know whether
or not there are any of our herdsmen or neighbors in
the town. It is the fear that Gus may not be able
to leave Foxboro’ that troubles me just at present.
If anything should happen to keep him at home,
wouldn’t we be a couple of disappointed boys,
though? I don’t believe I could stand it. Hallo!
What’s that?”
Just then a moving object in the horizon caught
Ned’s eye. He straightened up and looked at it,
and presently made out that the moving object was
a horseman. He was coming along the trail toward
the swell, and coming rapidly, too. Ned looked at
him for a few minutes and then settled back on his
elbow with an exclamation indicative of great disappointment.
“It can’t be Gus,” said he to himself, “for Gus
could never find his way here from Palos alone. It
is one of the settlers, probably. I hope he has
brought some mail for us.”
Ned placed his hands under his head and watched
the horseman’s movements, without feeling any particular
interest in them, until he saw him draw rein
and come to a sudden stand-still. He had just
caught sight of Ned’s horse. He sat motionless in
138his saddle, gazing earnestly toward the top of the
swell and evidently undecided whether to advance
or retreat.
“I wonder if he takes me for an Indian or a
Greaser!” thought Ned, and to show the horseman
that he was neither, he picked up his sombrero,
which lay beside him on his blanket, and waved it
over his head. The horseman saw the motion and
must have taken it for a friendly one, for he once
more put his horse into a gallop and came toward
the swell. He rode up within a few feet of Ned
before he stopped again, and the two took a good
look at each other before either of them spoke.
The newcomer was a stranger in that part of the
country; Ned knew that the instant he put his eyes
on him. He was a gentleman, if clothes make the
gentleman, and was the first one Ned, had seen in
long months. He was dressed in broadcloth, wore
fine boots on his feet, rings on his fingers and a
breastpin in his white shirt-front. He was a good-looking
man, too, and rode a horse that attracted
Ned’s attention at once. He was a perfect beauty—slender
and clean-limbed, with a long, arching neck,
well-shaped head and flowing mane and tail, and
although his sides were heaving and his glossy
139breast was flecked with the foam that had flown from
his month during the long and rapid journey he had
evidently made, his eye was bright, and the tight
rein his rider was obliged to keep upon him showed
that there was plenty of spirit left in him. The
saddle and bridle he wore were made after the
Mexican pattern, and were both gaudily ornamented.
“How do you do, sir?” said the stranger, after
he had looked at Ned and run his eye over the boy’s
horse, which had advanced to meet him as far as the
length of his lariat would permit. “Can you tell
me whereabouts in the world I am—I mean how far
from the Rio Grande?”
“Yes, sir; you will have to ride twenty-five
miles in a straight line to reach it,” replied Ned.
“By the trail, which leads to the nearest ford, and
takes in all the ranches, it is more than twice as
far.”
“Twenty-five miles!” repeated the stranger,
turning about in his saddle and looking back over
the way he had come. “That’s a long pull for a
tired horse!”
“Hadn’t you better stop and take a rest?” asked
Ned, who had learned how to be hospitable since he
140came to Texas. “My father’s rancho is only five
miles from here, and every house is a hotel in this
country.”
“I am obliged to you, but I can’t stop,” replied
the stranger, quickly. “I am in a great hurry. I
must take the straightest course for the river, and I
don’t want to go by any ranchos. When night
overtakes me I can camp on the prairie. I am
used to it. But I wish I had a fresh horse: How
will you trade?”
“Trade!” cried Ned, jumping to his feet, and
looking first at the stranger’s fine animal and then
at his own homely beast. “I’ll trade; but you’ll
have to go home with me to get the boot you
want.”
“I can’t stop for that, and besides, I may not
ask any boot. All I want is a fresh horse and a
fast one.”
“O, mine is fast and as fresh as a daisy!” exclaimed
Ned, highly elated over the prospect of
becoming the owner of the handsomest horse he had
ever seen. “And he can stand the pace, too. The
man I bought him of says there’s no tire out to
him.”
The Unlucky Horse Trade.
141“I know a good animal when I see him,” answered
the man, with a smile. “I’ll trade my
horse, saddle and bridle, even for yours. What do
you say?”
“I say, I’ll do it!” said Ned, who was so delighted
that he could scarcely speak.
“All right!” said the man, as he dismounted.
“Catch up!”
Ned lost no time in putting the saddle and bridle
on his own nag, and while he was doing it, the
stranger stood, holding his horse by the bridle and
looking back over the way he had come. When
Ned brought up his horse, the man said:
“You’re sure this nag belongs to you, are you?
I run no risk of being stopped by anybody, who will
lay claim to him, do I?”
“No, sir,” replied Ned, “he’s mine; and if you
will go to our rancho with me, I will show you a bill
of sale of him.”
“I asked the question because there are such
things in the world as horse-thieves, you know!”
said the stranger, as he placed his own bridle in the
boy’s hand and seized Ned’s horse by the bit.
“There are no such things in this country, I can
tell you,” replied Ned, with a knowing shake of his
head. “The settlers would turn out to hunt down
142a horse-thief as readily as they would to hunt down
a grizzly bear. It wouldn’t even be safe for a man
to be found here with a stolen horse in his possession,
no matter whether he was the thief or not!”
Why was it that Ned did not ask the man the
same question which the latter had just propounded
to him? Perhaps it was because he did not wish to
detain him. The stranger seemed very impatient to
mount and resume his journey, and Ned was impatient
to have him do so, for when the two horses
were brought closer together, anybody could see that
there was a vast difference between them. No sane
man would have proposed such an exchange, and
just then it occurred to the amateur horse-trader
that there might be something wrong with the
animal. Perhaps he wasn’t quite safe for so inexperienced
a person as himself.
“Is he perfectly gentle?” asked Ned. “He
won’t kick or bite or throw a fellow off, will he?”
“O no! he’s as quiet as an old cow. A child
can manage him.”
“What’s his name?”
“I call him Silk Stocking—sometimes Socks,
for short.”
As the stranger said this, he sprang upon Ned’s
143horse, looked behind him once more as if to make
sure that there was no one following him, and then
waved his hand to the boy and galloped away. Ned
stood looking first at him and then at his new horse,
fully expecting to see the man turn about and come
back to trade over again. But he did nothing of
the kind. He kept straight ahead (Ned had no idea
that his old horse could travel as fast as he did),
turning in his saddle now and then to look behind
him, and at last he disappeared over a swell. Then
Ned, with a long breath of relief, turned to give his
new horse another good looking over.
The animal’s name—Silk Stocking—suited him
exactly. His color was a very dark chestnut; but
his mane and tail were as white as snow, and so
were his feet and his legs, too, as high up as his
knees, and he had a white star in his forehead. The
longer his delighted owner looked at him the handsomer
he seemed to grow.
“That man, whoever he may be, is a born dunce,”
was Ned’s mental comment. “He says he knows a
good horse when he sees one, but I don’t believe it.
Why, I know more than he does. I’d never trade
a horse like this for an old crowbait like mine. I’d
144take a day longer for my journey, no matter how
great the hurry I might be in.”
Ned chuckling to himself over his good fortune,
fastened his horse to a swinging branch of the oak,
and proceeded to bundle up his blanket and poncho
which he tied behind his saddle. While he was
pulling up the picket-pin and curling his lasso, a
startling suspicion suddenly sprung up in his mind.
He stopped his work and looked at his horse and
then at the ridge over which he had seen the stranger
disappear.
“I wonder why I didn’t think of that before!”
said Ned, to himself. “He was very careful to
inquire if I owned the horse I traded to him, but it
never occurred to me to ask him how he came by
this one. Well, I don’t know that it makes so very
much difference after all,” he added, after a moment’s
reflection. “If he stole the horse—and if he didn’t
steal him why was he so anxious to trade?—he could
have told a lie about it very easily, and no doubt he
would.”
Ned was not at all pleased with the thought,
which now kept forcing itself upon him, that perhaps
he had not made so fine a bargain after all. If
the horse was a stolen one, and the lawful owner
145should succeed in tracing him, he could demand his
property, and Ned would have to give it up. This
was something he did not want to do. He had
already taken a great liking to his new horse, and
could not bear the thought of parting with him.
“And I never will part with him either, if I can
help it,” declared Ned, after he had taken time to
think over the situation. “I was going to show him
to father as soon as I got home, but now I’ll just
keep still about him. It isn’t likely that he was
stolen anywhere in the county, and perhaps the
owner will never be able to get on the track of him.
I’ll hold fast to him as long as I can, at any rate,
and keep his existence a profound secret, and if his
owner ever finds him I can say——Well, what’s the
use of thinking about that now? I can make up a
story on the spur of the moment that will get me out
of the tightest scrape a boy ever got into. At least
I always have been able to do it!”
With this reflection to comfort and encourage him
Ned hung his lasso upon the horn of his saddle,
mounted his new horse and set out for home. The
animal moved off at a free walk until Ned called on
him to go faster, and then he broke into a rapid
gallop; but his motions were so regular and easy
146that his rider was scarcely moved in the saddle.
Ned was a little afraid of him at first, for he carried
his head high and kept his ears thrown forward and
his eyes roving about as if he were trying to find
something to get frightened at; but he could be very
easily controlled, and Ned could stop him while he
was going at the top of his speed by a single word.
He seemed perfectly willing to travel at his best
speed all the time, but Ned, after enjoying the rapid
motion for a few minutes, gently checked him, and
then the animal settled down into an easy pace. He
proved to be what the natives would have called a
gated horse; that is, he had been broken to amble,
fox-trot, pace, run or square trot, just as his rider
desired. Ned knew that some of the ranchemen
in the neighborhood had paid two thousand dollars
apiece for just such horses.
“I declare it frightens me to think of it,” said
Ned, and almost involuntarily he faced about in his
saddle and looked behind him, just as the stranger
had done, to see if there was any one following
him.
“I wish he wasn’t worth so much money, for I
shall live in constant fear that his owner will be
along here some day hunting him up. I know that
147if he had been stolen from me I should never sleep
soundly until I found him.”
During the ride to the rancho, Ned often looked
behind him, fully expecting every time he did so to
see a horseman or two galloping along the trail in
pursuit; but he was alone on the prairie, and to his
great relief there was no one about the house or
yard to see him come home with his prize or to ask
him questions that he did not want to answer. He
hitched the horse under the shed and supplied him
with a good feed of corn, and no one was the wiser
for it.
While the horse was eating Ned stood by with
his hands in his pockets admiring him, and it was
with the greatest reluctance that he left him long
enough to go into the house to get his own supper.
He said nothing to his father regarding the events
of the afternoon, for he had made up his mind that,
for the present at least, he had better keep his own
counsel.
It was customary for Ned and his father to start
out every evening, as soon as it began to grow dark,
for a short walk up and down the trail in front of
the house, and on this particular evening they continued
their agreeable exercise until a later hour than
148usual. As they were about to retrace their steps
they heard the clatter of hoofs on the trail, and
presently two horsemen dashed up to them and
came to a full stop. They were rough-looking
fellows and carried revolvers in their belts. Ned,
believing that they were raiders, could hardly refrain
from screaming at the sight of them, and even
Uncle John acted as though he didn’t know whether
to stand still or run away. The latter’s fears, however,
if he had any, were speedily set at rest, while
Ned’s were increased a thousand fold.
“Good-evening, gentlemen,” exclaimed one of
the horsemen. “Do you live about here?”
“My rancho is about a quarter of a mile farther
down the trail,” answered Uncle John.
“Have you lived here long enough to know all
the people in the neighborhood?”
“I have lived here a little more than a year.”
“Have you seen a stranger pass through the
settlement to-day, either of you?”
“I have seen no one; have you, Ned?”
Ned, who was trembling in every limb, controlled
himself as well as he could and replied that he had
not.
“There has been one along here,” continued the
149horseman, “for we have traced him, and we know
that we are not very far behind him. He is making
for the river. He is a stylish-looking fellow, well
dressed, wears a good deal of jewelry, and rides a
chestnut-colored horse, with white mane and tail,
four white feet and a star in his forehead.”
“I haven’t seen any such man or horse,” said
Uncle John.
“I haven’t either,” said Ned, faintly.
It was well for him that it was so dark.
CHAPTER IX. A VISIT FROM THE RAIDERS.
150
“What has this man done?” continued Uncle
John.
“O, he got into a little trouble down there in
our settlement, and had to dig out; so he stole the
best horse in the state to help him along. That
will be the means of getting him into big trouble,
if we put our eyes on him; but we don’t much
expect to catch him, for the horse he stole can
travel for a week at his best pace, and our nags,
which were fresh this morning, are pretty nearly
whipped.”
“I am sorry that I can give you no information
concerning him,” said Uncle John; “but I will tell
you what I can do—I can give you some supper,
and you can take your pick out of twenty fresh
horses in my corral.”
Both the horsemen expressed hearty thanks for
this kind offer of assistance, and were prompt to
151accept it. They didn’t care much for anything to
eat, they said, for they were used to going hungry;
but they would take a hasty lunch, while Uncle
John was getting their fresh horses ready, and if he
would put them on a straight course for the nearest
ford, they would be much obliged, and would take
pleasure in doing as much for him, if he ever came
to their settlement.
Ned listened to all this in speechless amazement
and alarm. The stolen horse was hitched under
the shed, in plain view of the porch, beside which
the strangers would dismount, and if it had been
daylight, nothing could have saved him from discovery.
True, it was dark now—so dark that the
boy’s frightened face was effectually concealed,—but
Ned knew that the moon would rise in less than
a quarter of an hour, and if anything should happen
to detain the visitors at the rancho, or if they should
take it into their heads to pry into things after they
got there, something disagreeable would be sure to
happen. Ned did not like to think about it. He
accompanied the men to his home, where he made
himself very officious, taking charge of their horses,
and showing so much anxiety to have them go right
into the house, that it is a wonder their suspicions
152were not aroused. He could scarcely breathe until
he saw his father conduct them into the rancho, and
close the door behind them.
“What’s the trouble?” asked the herdsman who
had been sent out to catch and saddle the fresh
horses. “Who are those men, and where are they
travelling to at this time of night?”
“I don’t know,” was Ned’s reply. “They want
to reach the river as soon as possible, and you had
better hurry up and get the horses ready.”
“Humph!” exclaimed the herdsman, as he led
the strangers’ nags toward the corral. “Horsethieves,
for a dollar!”
Ned did not care what opinions the man formed
concerning the visitors, so long as he did not hit
upon the right one. It might be dangerous to let
any of the servants know that the men were in
search of a chestnut horse, with four white feet, and
a star in his forehead; for it was very probable that
some of them had by this time found out that there
was such a horse hitched under the shed, and it
would be just like them to say something about it.
There were a good many ways in which the
strangers might learn all they wanted to know, and
Ned would have been glad to hide himself somewhere,
153until they had taken their departure; but
he dared not go away, for fear that, during his
absence, his secret might leak out in some way.
He hoped to prevent such a calamity by staying
there and hurrying the men off when they came
out.
Ned walked up and down the porch, in a fever
of excitement and suspense, and at the end of a
quarter of an hour was greatly relieved to see the
herdsman coming with the fresh horses.
“Give them to me,” said Ned, when they had
been brought up to the porch. “I’ll hold them
until the men come out.”
“Well, you hold one and I’ll hold the other,”
answered the herdsman, putting one of the bridles
in Ned’s hand. “I want to have a good look at
those fellows.”
Ned was almost ready to cry with rage and
alarm. He could not send the man away, if he
was resolved to remain; and while he was wondering
if he had not better go himself and trust to
luck, a door at the farther end of the porch, which
gave entrance into the kitchen, was opened, and the
Mexican cook came out.
This was the man whom George declared to be
154mean enough for anything. The old cook, who had
had charge of the culinary department of the ranche
during Mr. Ackerman’s lifetime had been discharged
at the request of Ned, who had some fault
to find with the man, and this Mexican, who came
from, nobody seemed to know where, had been employed
to take his place. No one about the ranche
liked him. He was an excellent cook, but he was
always slipping about the house on tip-toe, as if he
were trying to find out something, and seemed to
have a way of getting at everything he wanted to
know. He walked up the porch in his stealthy,
noiseless way, looked all around, to make sure that
he was not observed, then bent his face close to
Ned’s, and was about to whisper something to him,
when he discovered the herdsman, who was standing
at the foot of the steps, holding the other
horse.
“Who’s that?” he demanded.
“Me!” answered the herdsman.
“O,” said the cook, recognising the voice. “Well,
go in and get your supper. It is all ready.”
“I’ll go as soon as I see these visitors off.”
“You’ll go now or you won’t get it at all,”
exclaimed the cook. “I shan’t keep it waiting for
155you. I want to get through in that kitchen some
time to-night.”
The herdsman muttered something under his
breath, passed the bridle of the horse he was holding
up to Ned and went into the kitchen. The
Mexican watched him until he disappeared, and
then, with another suspicious glance around, came
up to Ned.
“I know’ where that horse is,” said he, in a low
tone.
“What horse?” Ned almost gasped.
“The one that was stolen.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” stammered
Ned.
“O, I heard them talking about it in there while
I was dishing up the supper to them,” replied the
cook, nodding his head as if to say that it was of
no use whatever for Ned to feign ignorance of the
matter. “He’s a chestnut-colored horse, with four
white feet and a star in his forehead. He’s out
under that shed now, ‘cause I saw him there! Eh!
He belongs to the wife of one of those men inside,
and she calls him Silk Stocking; but all the men
folks about the ranche poke fun at her and make
her mad by calling him Socks. Eh!”
156The Mexican poked Ned in the ribs with his
finger and straightened up and looked at him. He
laughed, too, and seemed to regard the whole matter
in the light of an excellent joke—but Ned didn’t.
“Powerful men, those in there,” continued the
Mexican, jerking his thumb over his shoulders
toward the door. “They carry big revolvers in
their belts, and are dead shots; I know it by the
looks of ‘em. They’re mad, too—so mad that I
wouldn’t give much for the man in whose hands
they find that horse.”
“Gracious!” ejaculated Ned, who trembled all
over. He wished now from the bottom of his heart
that he had told everything at the start; and while
he was wondering if it were now too late to do so
and escape any very serious consequences, the door
opened and the men came out. One look at them
was enough to drive all thoughts of confession out
of the boy’s mind. How tall and broad-shouldered
they were, and how fierce they looked when the light
from the lamp in the hall fell full upon their bearded
faces. They stood upon the porch for a few seconds,
talking with Uncle John and listening to his instructions
regarding the course they ought to follow in
order to reach the ford, and then they took the
157bridles from Ned’s hand and were about to mount
when a loud, shrill neigh sounded from the direction
of the shed.
Three of those who heard it were visibly affected
by it. The visitors looked at each other in surprise,
while Ned leaned heavily upon the railing of the
porch for support. If there had been no railing
there he would have fallen to the ground, for there
was no strength in him.
“That sounds wonderfully like Sock’s voice,
doesn’t it?” exclaimed one of the visitors.
The other replied that it certainly did.
“What horse is that out there under the shed,”
asked Uncle John.
“It’s Ned’s old cob, sir,” said the cook, promptly;
and Ned was glad that the man answered for him,
for he could not have uttered a word to save his life.
Frightened as he was he wandered at the cook’s
reply. Why did he not say that the stolen horse
was there, and claim the liberal reward that had
probably been offered for his recovery?
“I never heard anything sound so much like
Socks’s neigh in my life,” declared one of the visitors,
as he jumped into the saddle. “But of course
it can’t be, for the horse is a long way from here by
158this time. Mr. Ackerman, we are indebted to you
for your kindness and hospitality.”
“You are very welcome,” answered Uncle John.
“I am only sorry that I can’t do more for you.”
The visitors lifted their hats and rode away out of
sight; Uncle John turned about and went into the
house; the cook returned to his quarters in the
kitchen, and Ned was left alone clinging to the railing
of the verandah. He could hardly believe that
the trying scenes through which he had just passed
were realities. They seemed more like a troubled
dream.
“If anybody can come as near getting caught as
I did and yet escape, I’d like to see him do it,”
thought Ned, when his mind became settled so that
he could think at all. “I never heard of a closer
shave, and I don’t believe there ever was one.”
Ned was not very highly elated over his escape,
for he knew that he was not yet wholly out of danger.
On the contrary, he would never be out of danger
while that horse was in his possession. Those two
men would come back some day to return the horses
they had borrowed of Uncle John and reclaim their
own, and they might come, too, when they were
least expected, and before Ned had opportunity to
159secrete the stolen horse. It was too late now to
avoid trouble by giving the animal up to his lawful
owner, for the latter would want to know why he
had not given him up before, and Ned did not know
what answer he could make to so awkward a question
as that. Besides, there was Philip, the Mexican
cook. Ned grew angry and alarmed every time
he thought of him. The man was up to something
beyond a doubt, for if he were not, what was the
reason he did not tell the strangers that the horse of
which they were in search was under the shed where
Ned had left him?
The boy was in a very tight place, and he did not
know which way to turn. He was in a scrape at
last that he could not lie out of. The longer he
dwelt upon it the plainer he saw the dangers of the
situation and the greater became his alarm. He
walked slowly down the steps and turned his face
toward the shed in which the stolen horse was confined.
The animal welcomed him with a low whinny
of recognition, and when Ned patted his sleek neck
he rubbed his head against his shoulders as if he
were glad to see him. Beyond a doubt he was
somebody’s pet, and the boy did not wonder that his
owner was anxious to recover him.
160Ned, whose nervousness and excitement seemed
to increase all the while, stayed there in the shed for
two long hours, walking restlessly about with his
hands in his pockets, and asking himself over and
over again why he did not tell his father all about
the new horse when he first came home, and what
he should do to bring himself out of the scrape he
had got into through his foolishness. When bed-time
came the servants began shutting up the rancho for
the night. He heard them closing the heavy shutters
and locking and barring the doors, but he did
not move. He could not bear to go to bed just
then, and he knew that when his nervousness abated
so that he could sleep he could gain admittance to
the house through the door that was always left
unfastened to accommodate any of the servants who
might happen to be out later than usual.
The rancho looked gloomy and dark enough after
the shutters and doors were closed. It stood out in
bold relief against the sky, looking like one of the
haunted castles of which Ned had so often read.
The bright moonlight gave it an almost unearthly
appearance, Ned thought; and when at last all
sounds of life about the building had died away, he
began to feel lonely and afraid—afraid to stay
161longer where he was and afraid to pass across the
lighted yard between the shed and the back porch
of the rancho.
“I really must go,” thought Ned, after he had
started toward the house two or three times, and as
often drawn back again to wait until he could
gather a fresh supply of courage. “I have been
frightened so many times to-night that I imagine all
sorts of things. Every tree and bush I look at,
turns into a horseman, and I am almost——”
Ned stopped suddenly, and stooping close to the
ground, looked sharply at some object in the distance.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, drawing his hand
across his dripping forehead, “it did look like a
long line of horsemen and—so it is. Yes, sir, I can
see them plainly enough. It’s all over with Ned
Ackerman now!”
The boy turned in the instant and placing his
hands on the side of the deep manger which ran the
whole length of one end of the shed, vaulted over it,
and concealed himself. He lay for a moment trembling
with alarm, and then pulling off his hat, cautiously
raised his head until he could see over the
top of the manger. The objects which had aroused
his fears were certainly mounted men. They were
162moving in single file by the side of the trail, and as
the long, thick grass deadened the sound of their
horses’ feet, their approach was almost noiseless.
“What are they?” thought Ned, ducking his
head after he had taken one short, quick glance
at the men. “Are they raiders, or have those
strangers found out something and come back with
reinforcements?”
Ned could not have told just then which he stood
the more in fear of—the angry owner of the horse
at his side or lawless Mexicans. He knew that it
would be dangerous to fall into the hands of either
of them. He could not reach the shelter of the
house—they could easily cut him off if he attempted
it—and his only chance to escape capture, or something
worse, was to remain quiet in his place of concealment,
and trust to luck. It was not at all likely
that the horsemen, whoever they were, would think
of looking in the shed for him even if they wanted
to find him.
Just then Ned’s new horse threw up his head,
looked over his shoulder and uttered a loud, shrill
neigh. Ned tried hard to stop it, but without success.
The animal neighed not only once, but two or
three times in succession, in spite of the furious
163jerks the boy gave at his bridle. Here was a new
cause for alarm. The animal wanted company, and
he would keep up that neighing as long as there
were any horses in sight. He would be sure to
attract attention by it too.
“You’ll keep me in trouble as long as you stay
with me,” said Ned, jumping to his feet to act upon
an idea that just then came into his mind, “and the
sooner you and I part company the better it will be
for me. There you go,” he added, as he pulled the
halter over the horse’s head and saw him gallop out
of the shed. “I hope I shall never see you again.
I wish I had never seen you in the first place.”
Ned felt a little more at his ease as he sank back
into his place of concealment. The danger of discovery
was considerably lessened by this piece of
strategy, but still his situation was anything but an
agreeable one. There he was, cornered in a manger
by a lot of men whose actions indicated that they
were there for no good purpose, who were approaching
the house in a stealthy manner, so as not to
alarm the inmates, and who, probably, would think
no more of making an end of him, if they knew he
was there in plain sight of them, than they would
of knocking over an antelope for breakfast. The
164situation would have tried the courage of a much
braver boy than Ned Ackerman.
The horsemen stopped when they saw the chestnut
galloping to meet them, but moved forward
again as soon as they saw that he was riderless.
They rode up to the fence which surrounded the
corral, and hitched their horses to it. The chestnut
followed and mingled with their nags, but the men
paid no attention to him. They gathered in a little
group in the shade of one of the oaks that grew
beside the corral, and held a consultation. Ned
watched their movements with a good deal of surprise.
“Why don’t those men catch that horse?” said
he to himself. “If they are raiders, they ought to
steal him; and if the man who owns him is there,
he ought to catch him, to keep him from straying
away. I don’t understand it at all.”
While Ned was talking to himself in this way, he
heard a latch softly raised. He turned his eyes in
the direction of the rancho, and saw that one of the
doors, opening on to the back porch, was ajar, and
that somebody was looking out of it. He stood for
a moment, turning his head first on one side and
then on the other, as if he were listening for something,
165and then came out into full view. It was the
Mexican cook. The moon’s rays fell full upon him,
and the boy could see him plainly.
“Now is my chance!” thought Ned, getting
upon his feet, but standing in a crouching attitude,
so that nothing but his head could be seen over the
top of the manger. “If I can run fast enough, I
can put myself in a place of safety and warn Philip
at the same time.”
Ned jumped quickly out of the manger, as he
said this; but his feet had scarcely touched the
ground before he turned like a flash and jumped
back again, crouching down in his hiding-place as
low as he could, and still see all that was going on
outside the shed. The men were coming in a body
toward the house. There were fifteen or twenty of
them in all, and as soon as they had moved out of
the shade of the trees, so that the moon’s rays could
fall plainly upon them, Ned saw that they were
dressed in Mexican costume—short jackets, wide
trowsers and sombreros—and that they were armed
to the teeth. They were cattle-thieves, of course;
but what did they mean by approaching the rancho
in that stealthy manner? The boy, trembling in
every limb, turned his eyes from the Mexicans to
166the porch, where he had last seen the cook. He
was there yet, and standing out in plain view of the
raiders, who must have seen him, for he was not
more than twenty feet away. Philip saw them, too,
beyond a doubt; but, instead of running into the
house and arousing the inmates, as Ned expected
him to do, he walked up to the rail and rested his
hands upon it. One would have thought from his
actions that he was expecting the raiders. Ned
thought so, and in an instant it flashed upon him
that there was some treachery intended.
“Father always said that Philip was a rascal!”
soliloquized Ned, his rage for the moment getting
the better of his terror, “and now I know he is
one! He is a cattle-thief himself, and he and the
rest are after the money-box! But how could
Philip have found out that we had a money-box?”
added Ned, as he recalled the fact that the cook
belonged in the kitchen, and had probably never
seen the inside of his father’s office; “and even if
he had known all about the box, how could he have
told his friends of it? He hasn’t been away from
the house an hour at a time since he has been
here.”
Ned might have kept on propounding to himself
167questions that he could not answer, but his thoughts
were carried into other channels by the actions of
the raiders, who walked straight up to the porch
where Philip was standing, and entered into a whispered
conversation with him. Ned could not overhear
what was said, but he saw the cook turn
toward the house and extend his hands in different
directions, as if he were trying to give his friends
(for such they undoubtedly were) some idea of its
internal arrangements. Probably he was telling
them where to find the office and the strong box.
If such was the case, it took him but a moment to
do it; and when the raiders had learned all they
wanted to know, they stepped lightly upon the
porch and followed Philip toward the open door.
When they reached it, Philip pushed it farther
open, stood on one side to allow them to pass, and
the raiders filed in, one after the other, on tip-toe!
Half their number had disappeared in the house,
when all at once a deafening uproar arose. There
was a fight going on in the hall. First there was a
loud yell, that was evidently given by one of the
servants to arouse his sleeping companions, and the
yell was accompanied rather than followed by a
crash which made Ned believe that the inside of the
168house was being torn in pieces. It was the report
of a revolver. Another and another followed, and
an instant afterward, the raiders, having failed in
their efforts to surprise the inmates of the rancho,
appeared in great confusion, crowding through the
door in a body, and in their haste prostrating the
cook, who was knocked off the porch to the ground.
He lay for a moment as if stunned by the fall, and
then sprang up and ran away with the rest.
The baffled raiders scattered in every direction,
and taking refuge behind the outbuildings and lumber
piles opened a hot fire on the rancho from their
carbines. To Ned’s intense alarm two of them ran
straight for the shed. He saw them coming, and
ducking his head crept swiftly into the farthest
end of the manger and crowded himself into the
darkest corner. One of the men dodged behind a
wagon, but the other dashed into the shed, jumped
into the manger and taking up a position in the
opposite end, scarcely fifteen feet from the trembling
boy, fired his carbine at the door from which he and
his companions had just been driven. Ned was
almost ready to scream with terror, but knowing
that his safety depended upon his preserving the
strictest silence, he choked back the cry while it was
169trembling on his lips, and covering his face with his
hands awaited the issue of events with all the fortitude
he could command.
Fortunately the Mexican in the other end of the
manger was so busily engaged in loading and firing
that he could not take time to look about him during
the very few minutes that he remained in his
hiding-place. The inmates of the rancho defended
themselves with spirit, and one of their number,
becoming aware that there was an enemy in the
shed, fired three shots from his revolver in that
direction. Ned’s hair fairly stood on end as he
heard the bullets crashing through the planks which
formed the outside of the manger. The eccentric
and hurried movements of the Mexican proved that
he was no less embarrassed by them, and when the
third bullet came in, striking closer to his head than
the others, he uttered an exclamation in Spanish,
and jumping out of the manger ran off to find a less
exposed ambush. Ned was glad to see him go.
“I wonder what they mean by such work, any
how?” thought Ned, who, frightened as he was,
could not resist the temptation to get upon his knees
and look over the top of the manger. “Haven’t
they got sense enough to see that our fellows have
170the advantage of them, and that there is nothing to
be gained by shooting at stone walls? There! I
guess they are going now!”
Just then one of the band uttered a shrill whistle,
and the firing ceased almost immediately. Ned
looked to see them mount and ride away without
loss of time, but the sequel proved that they were
not yet ready to give up all hopes of handling the
money in the strong box, if that was what they were
after. The whistle was given to call the band
together for consultation. They gathered behind
the shed out of sight of the house, and one of them
leaned against the boards so close to Ned that if the
latter had pushed his finger through one of the
cracks he could have touched him. The boy could
hear their slightest whisper, but could not understand
a word that was said, for they talked altogether
in Spanish. They quickly decided upon a
new plan of operations, and separated to carry it
into execution. A portion of the band opened fire
on the rancho again, and the others, having secured
an axe, crept around to the opposite side and
furiously attacked one of the doors; but the tough
oak planks of which it was made resisted the blows
of the axe until the herdsmen had time to run to the
171other side of the building and drive them away by
firing through the loopholes with their revolvers.
Then the attack was renewed on another door with
the same result; finally, the Mexicans, growing discouraged,
hurled a volley of Spanish oaths at the
defenders of the rancho, which had about the same
effect on them that their bullets had on the walls,
and ran toward their horses.
Ned kept his eye on the thieves while they were
crossing the yard, and was gratified to see that they
had not come off unscathed. Three of their number
were limping along with the assistance of some
of their comrades, and a fourth was being carried in
a blanket. Whether he was killed or badly wounded
Ned could not tell. He saw them mount and ride
away, and the last object that caught his eye as they
passed out of sight was the stolen horse, prancing
and curveting behind them, his white legs showing
plainly in the moonlight.
CHAPTER X. THE TWO FRIENDS.
172
The raiders were gone at last and so was the
stolen horse. When the animal passed out of
sight in the darkness, and the sound of his hoofs on
the hard trail died away in the distance, Ned arose
slowly to his feet, but sat down again in much less
time than he had consumed in getting up. The
intense excitement which had thus far kept up his
strength was over now, and he was too weak to
stand. He had never passed through such an ordeal
before, and it was no wonder that he was terribly
frightened. He wondered how he had lived to see
the end of it.
“But it is an awful mean wind that blows nobody
good,” thought Ned, making another effort to stand
on his feet after he had rested awhile. “This one
has brought good to me in that it has taken off the
stolen horse. I thought I had got an elephant on
my hands, and I am glad he is gone. It takes me
173out of a scrape very nicely. The Mexicans are the
only ones who suffered by this raid. They didn’t
get their hands on the safe, and four of their number
were shot, which served them just——”
“Carrajo!” exclaimed some one near him, in
muffled tones.
Ned looked up and was almost ready to drop
back into the manger again, when he saw a Mexican
standing in the open part of the shed; but a second
glance reassured him, for it was nobody but the
cook. The man was probably sneaking back to the
house after seeing his friends off, and had approached
so noiselessly that Ned had not heard his footsteps.
“I have learned one thing to-night,” said the boy,
following out the thoughts that were in his mind,
“and that is, that you are a rascal, Mr. Philip.”
“What are you doing out here?” demanded the
Mexican, who was so amazed that he could not
speak immediately.
“I was treed out here, and couldn’t get into the
house,” replied Ned. “I have been out here ever
since those strangers went away, and I saw all that
passed between you and the raiders. I wouldn’t
give much for you if the settlers should find out
what you have been about to-night.”
174When Ned had said this much, he paused and
looked at the man. He was sorry he had spoken
his mind so freely, for if he made Philip angry
there was no telling what might come of it.
“And I wouldn’t give much for you if the settlers
should find out that you stole that horse,”
retorted Philip, after he had said something angry
in Spanish.
“I didn’t steal him. I traded my own horse for
him.”
“Then why didn’t you give him up when the
owner came for him?” asked the Mexican.
“Well, he’s gone now,” said Ned, who did not
know how to answer this question, “and the owner is
welcome to him if he can find him. I can tell why
you kept my secret: You knew the raiders were
coming here to-night, and you intended to tell them
about the horse, so that they could steal it. I didn’t
know before that you were a thief, but I have often
told myself that you looked like one.”
The Mexican was on the point of replying, and
had already prefaced the remarks he intended to
make, by a Spanish oath, when the rattling of a
chain and the sudden opening of a door in the
rancho, put a stop to the conversation. Ned at
175once jumped out of the manger and started toward
the house, and the Mexican, instead of hiding himself,
as the boy thought he would, followed close
behind him.
“Who’s that?” demanded the herdsman, who
had opened the door; and Ned saw his revolver
glisten in the moonlight, as the weapon was raised
and pointed straight at his head.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried, quickly.
“Wal, I’ll be dog-goned!” exclaimed the herdsman.
“Where have you two been? We have
been looking all over the house for you, and we
began to believe that the raiders had carried you
off with them!”
Ned said just enough in reply to excite the man’s
astonishment, but not enough to explain what had
happened, and made his way toward his father’s
room, still followed by the cook. The latter seemed
to say by his actions, that he intended to hear all
Ned had to tell his father, and that if the boy knew
when he was well off, he wouldn’t tell too much.
Ned perfectly understood this silent threat, and
during the interview with his father, whom he
found in his office, almost prostrated by excitement
and fear, was careful to say nothing at which Philip
176could take offence. He said that, being unable to
sleep, he had gone out into the shed and stayed
there, with his horse for company; that the raiders
had appeared so suddenly that he could not reach
the house without running the risk of being captured
or shot by them; that his horse had called to
them, and that he had been obliged to turn the animal
loose, for fear that he would lead the raiders to
his place of concealment; and that he had lain
there in the manger, an unwilling witness to the
first (and he sincerely hoped it would be the last)
fight he had ever seen carried on with firearms.
“I can’t begin to tell you what a time I had out
there!” said he, in conclusion. “I never had bullets
come so close to me before!”
“Probably not,” said his father. “Where were
you all the while, Philip?”
“I was under the porch, sir,” was the answer;
and Ned, who would have been glad to expose the
villain then and there, did not contradict the statement.
“I didn’t have time to get into the house,
so I concealed myself.”
“I could not imagine how that door came to be
open,” said Uncle John, with something like a sigh
of relief, “for I took particular pains to lock and
177bolt it myself. I was almost afraid that there was
a traitor among us, and some of the herdsmen
thought so, too; but this explains everything to my
satisfaction. Philip went out after I locked the
door, and before he came back the raiders arrived,
found the door open and thought they would walk
in and surprise us. But Jake surprised them, I
guess! He happened to be awake, and that was all
that saved us.”
“Was there anybody hurt?” asked Ned.
“Not on our side, I am glad to say. We escaped
without the least damage.”
After the various exciting incidents connected
with the events of the night had been talked over,
the herdsmen, who had followed the boy into the
office, to listen to his story, went out one by one,
and finally Ned and the Mexican followed. The
hall through which they passed was still filled with
smoke; the walls and doors were dotted here and
there with bullet-marks, and the floor was littered
with weapons, sombreros and various other articles,
which the raiders had left behind them in their hurried
flight. The sight of these things made Ned
tremble again. The Mexican accompanied him as
far as the door of his own room, and when the latter
178was about to slam the door in his face, the man gave
him a look and a nod that were full of meaning.
“That fellow means to make trouble for me,
sooner or later,” said the boy to himself, after he
had lighted his lamp and securely fastened his door.
“I can see it in his eye. I wish I had asked father
to discharge him long ago, for I never did like him;
but if I have him sent away now, he will spread it
among the men that I had that stolen horse in my
possession and wouldn’t give him up. If that story
ever gets wind in the settlement, I don’t know what
will become of me.”
Ned threw himself upon a sofa—he was still so
very nervous and frightened that he dared not undress
and go to bed—and thought over the exciting
adventures which had been crowded into the last
few hours, and racked his brain in the vain hope of
finding some way out of the difficulties he had got
into. Two things were plain to him: Philip was
there in the rancho for no good purpose, and he did
not intend to expose Ned, unless the latter said
something to direct suspicion toward himself. It
was humiliating, to say the least, to have a servant
in the house who could get him into serious trouble
at any time he chose to open his mouth; but Ned
179could think of no way to get rid of him, and there
was no one to whom he could go for advice. He
must keep his own counsel until Gus Robbins
arrived. Ned knew that his friend had been in
many a scrape himself; that it was a very serious
difficulty indeed out of which he could not work his
way, and perhaps Gus could help him. In the
meantime, he resolved he would have as little to do
with the Mexican as possible. He would not speak
to him, or even look at him, if he could help it, and
at the same time he would show him by his actions
that he was not afraid of him.
Having made up his mind to this Ned rearranged
his pillow and tried to go to sleep; but his brain
was too active and his senses too keenly alive to
every external impression. If he kept his eyes open
he saw the raiders as plainly as he could have seen
them if they had been there in his room; and if he
closed his eyes to shut them out from view he distinctly
heard their yells, the reports of their revolvers
and carbines, and could feel the sofa vibrate
under his hand just as the planks which formed the
manger had vibrated when the bullets passed through
them. Once or twice he started up in great alarm,
believing that he heard the porch creak just as it did
180when he saw the raiders step upon it. At last the
creaking sounded in the hall; and so positive was
Ned that the thieves had returned and the Mexican
cook had let them into the house again that he took
his rifle out of the wardrobe which served him for a
closet, put a cartridge into it and sat down on the
sofa, holding the weapon in readiness to send a ball
through the door the instant a hand was laid upon
the latch.
In this way Ned passed the night. It was a long
and dreary one to him, but morning came at last,
and then Ned mustered up courage enough to draw
the curtains and throw open the shutters. He felt
perfectly safe now, and being overcome with weariness
he sunk back upon the sofa and fell into a
sound sleep. He slept until almost dinner-time, and
felt weak and exhausted when he got up. To his
great surprise no one, except his father, had anything
to say about the fight. The servants, who
were all old frontiersmen (there were no women
about the house), had passed through so many similar
scenes that they had became accustomed to them,
and seemed to think that they were hardly worth
talking about. He found his father in the office, and
his first words were:
181“Well, Ned, the raiders did us some damage,
after all. After we drove them away from here they
went out and caught Edwards napping, and we are
ten thousand dollars poorer than we were yesterday!”
Edwards was one of the herdsmen. His cattle,
numbering over a thousand, had been brought in a
few days before for the inspection of a drover who
had purchased half the herd. These the drover had
taken to Palos, and Mose, another herdsman in
Uncle John’s employ, had been sent along to assist
him. Edwards ought to have been well out of the
way with the rest of the herd by this time, but he
had loitered on the road in order to visit some of his
friends, and the thieves had taken him off his guard.
“I found Edwards here when I awoke this morning,”
added Uncle John.
“Where is he now?” asked Ned. “I should
like to hear him tell his story.”
“O, he had no story to tell. He went into camp
a few miles from here, and early this morning the
raiders surrounded his stock and drove it off.
Edwards saved himself by jumping on a horse without
saddle or bridle, and came down to tell me about
it. I have told him where our other herds are, and
182sent him out to see if they are safe. Ten thousand
dollars is a large sum to lose in one night.”
Ned made no reply. Indeed, he did not seem to
take the least interest in the matter. The money
was no loss to him, but it came out of the pockets
of one who could lose three times that amount every
year and still have enough left to support Uncle
John and his graceless son in better style than they
had ever been able to support themselves.
While Ned was eating the breakfast that Philip
had kept warm for him, he talked with his father
about the raiders and discussed Gus Robbins’s
chances for meeting Mose at Palos. Ned had given
the herdsman a description of his expected guest,
and had also taken it upon himself to order him to
stay in Palos at least a week and wait for Gus. He
hoped that Gus would be on his way to the rancho
in company with some of the neighbors long before
Mose reached Palos with his cattle, and it was this
hope that took him to the top of that swell every day.
It did not take him there on this particular morning,
however, for he knew now by experience that
their troublesome neighbors had a way of appearing
when they were least expected; and, although he
had never heard that a band of raiders were ever
183seen in broad daylight, he thought it best to remain
within hailing distance of the rancho.
Ned’s first care, after he had eaten his breakfast,
was to dispose of the gold-mounted saddle and bridle
which had come into his possession the day before,
and which were now hanging up in the shed ready
at any moment to bear testimony against him.
Fortunately for him no one had had occasion to
go to the shed that morning, and consequently the
only one who knew they were there was the Mexican
cook.
Ned walked out on the porch, and after making
sure that there was no one in sight to observe his
movements, he darted into the shed and as quickly
darted out again with the saddle and bridle thrown
over his shoulders. He ran to the rear of the shed,
and there found a pile of lumber which had been
there since he came to the ranche, and which he
had never known to be disturbed. He pulled the
lumber all down and at the end of a quarter of an
hour had piled it up again over the saddle and
bridle, arranging the shorter boards on the ends of
the pile so that nothing could be seen.
“There!” said he, with a sigh of satisfaction. “I
feel a great deal better. Those things can stay there
184until I find time to put them in a safer place. The
next thing is to select a horse. Father told me that
I could take my pick of the lot.”
There were a score or more of horses in the corral
that had been broken to the saddle. They were
all fine animals, too, and it was a matter of some
difficulty for Ned to make up his mind which one he
wanted. He had grown very particular during the
last two days. Having enjoyed the luxury of a ride
on Silk Stocking’s back, he knew what a good saddle
horse was, and he was hard to suit. He wanted one
that looked and carried himself exactly like the stolen
horse, and he finally decided that a small sorrel nag
with light mane and tail and one white foot approached
nearer to the mark than any other horse
in the corral. Ned rode him up and down the trail
in front of the house for an hour or two, and looked
longingly toward the solitary oak on the summit of
the swell, under whose friendly branches he had
dreamed away so many hours while waiting for his
friend, Gus Robbins. But the fear of the raiders
kept him at home, and a week passed away before
he could gather courage enough to venture out of
sight of the house.
On the morning of the eighth day after the raid,
185one of the herdsmen told Ned that the band of
Hangers who had pursued the thieves in the hope
of overtaking them and recovering the stolen stock,
had returned unsuccessful, the Mexicans having
made good their escape across the river, taking the
cattle with them. If that was the case, travelling
was safe, and Ned was only too glad to take his
accustomed gallop again. Of course breakfast was
late that morning and everything bothered—it
always does when one is in a hurry; but the horse
was brought to the porch at last, and Ned hastened
into the house after his rifle and silver-mounted
riding-whip. These ornaments having been secured,
he went into the kitchen after the lunch which he
had ordered Philip to prepare for him, and while he
was putting it into his pocket, he heard the clatter
of a horse’s hoofs in the yard, and voices in conversation.
He ran out on the porch, and found his
father talking earnestly to a roughly-dressed man,
who, upon closer examination proved to be Zeke,
George’s herdsman. Uncle John’s face wore an
expression of interest, while Zeke’s was gloomy
enough. He looked and acted like a man who had
met with some great misfortune.
“I don’t know whar he is, more’n the man in
186the moon,” Zeke was saying when Ned came out.
“I ‘sposed, in course, that I should find him here.”
“Well, he isn’t here, and we haven’t seen him
since the day he left with the supplies,” said Uncle
John. “Can’t you tell me just what has happened?
I may be able to do something.”
“Thar ain’t much of anything to tell, an’ ye
can’t do nothing, either,” replied Zeke. “He brung
them supplies to my camp all right, an’ a few nights
arterwards the Greasers dropped down on us an’ run
off the last hoof we had to bless ourselves with, doggone
‘em!”
Ned caught his breath, and turned his head
quickly away, for fear that the herdsman, who just
then happened to be looking his way, might see the
expression of delight and triumph that came upon it.
“That’s the best news I ever heard,” thought he.
“The Greasers have cleaned George out at last.
Serves him right.”
“But we got ‘em all back again, me an’ the settlers
did,” continued Zeke.
The exultant smile faded from Ned’s face as
quickly as it had appeared. “That’s the worst
news I ever heard,” said he to himself. “George
often declares that he is the luckiest boy in
187Texas, and I believe he is. I know I am the
unluckiest.”
“You got them all back!” exclaimed Uncle
John. “I am very glad to hear it.”
“Yes, we did. The Greasers didn’t get away
with nary horn. But I hain’t seed nor heared
nothing of George since the night they jumped
down on us. I thought mebbe he’d got a trifle
outer his reckonin’ an’ come hum to take a fresh
start; so I brung the critters nigher in to wait fur
him. But seein’ as how he ain’t here—good-by!”
As Zeke said this, he wheeled his horse and rode
away at a full gallop, paying no attention to the
entreaties and commands to come back that Uncle
John shouted after him. He was out of hearing in
a moment more, and then the father and son turned
and looked at each other.
“What is the meaning of all this, anyhow?”
asked Ned, who had not been able to gain a very
clear idea of the state of affairs.
“You know as much about it as I do,” answered
his father. “George hasn’t been seen since the
night his herd was stampeded. That’s all.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to send a man to make inquiries
188among the neighbors. That’s all I can do; for I
don’t know where to look for him. He may have
been killed or carried off by the raiders.”
Uncle John walked into the house with great
deliberation, put down the newspaper he had held
in his hand during his conversation with Zeke, and
then came out and moved slowly toward the corral
where one of the herdsmen was at work.
After watching him for a few minutes Ned struck
up a lively whistle, mounted his horse and rode
away. He did not act much like a boy who had
just heard that his cousin had been missing for
days, and might be a captive in the hands of the
Mexicans. Suppose he was in George’s place!
Would his father be so very deliberate in his movements,
and would he be satisfied with sending
jut a single man to make inquiries among the
neighbors?
Ned seemed to be in the best of spirits. He
kept his horse in a full gallop, until he reached the
top of the swell, and there he reined him in very
suddenly, for he caught sight of two horsemen on
the other side. Shading his eyes with his hand, he
gazed earnestly at them for a few minutes, and then
started down the swell to meet them. He recognised
189one of them as the herdsman who had been
sent to assist the drover in driving down the cattle
he had purchased of Uncle John, and something
told him that his companion could be none other
than the long-expected Gus Robbins. We know
that it was Gus, and we have already described the
meeting that took place between the two boys. We
know, too, that Mose rode on to the rancho, to
report his arrival to his employer, and that the boys
followed him leisurely, talking every step of the way.
“I say, Ned,” said Gus, suddenly, “you live in
an awful lonesome place, don’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Ned; “it is very lonely, and
that is one reason why I wanted you to come down
here.”
“There is plenty of hunting, I suppose,” continued
Gus; “but that is something I don’t know
much about. I can handle a yard-stick better than
I can handle a gun. Is there any fishing, or are
there any good fellows to run with?”
“I haven’t heard of anybody going fishing since
I have been here; and as for the fellows, I don’t
know a boy in the neighborhood.”
“Why, what in the world do you do to pass the
time away?”
190“I don’t do anything. I just keep still and let
it pass itself away.”
“That’s a jolly way to live!” said Gus. “It’s
better than standing behind a counter all day, handling
over goods for people who don’t want anything,
and who, after they have tired you out, spend five
cents for a spool of thread, and think they have
paid you for the trouble they have caused you.
But, Ned, we can’t get into any scrapes here, can
we?”
“Can’t we, though!” exclaimed Ned. “I know
a story worth two of that. Why, boy, I am in a
worse scrape to-day than you ever dreamed of, and
I got into it just as easy! It was no trouble at
all.”
“You have been talking too much,” said Gus,
who remembered that his friend had more than
once got himself into serious trouble by the too
free use of his tongue.
“No, I haven’t,” said Ned, quickly. “I have
been talking too little; that’s the trouble. But it
is a long story, and I must take a spare half hour
in which to tell it to you; then I want you to give
me your advice, for I don’t know what to do.”
“I guess I can help you, if anybody can. I
191have helped you out of more than one close corner,
haven’t I? Do you remember how we used to go
about Foxboro’ of nights, changing gates and signs,
and stretching ropes across the walk to trip the people
who passed by?”
“I haven’t forgotten. Are you up to such
things now?”
“Yes, or anything else that has fun in it!”
“All right. Some day, when you are in just
the right humor for it, I’ll tell you how you can get
yourself into as lively a mess as you ever heard
of—something that will set the whole settlement in
a blaze.”
“I’m your man,” said Gus, readily. “If one is
going to raise a row, let him raise a big one, while
he is about it. That’s what I say!”
The five miles that lay between the swell and the
rancho had never seemed so short to Ned as they
did that day. He and Gus had so much to talk
about that they took no note of time, and their ride
was ended almost before they knew it. When they
reached the rancho, they found Uncle John standing
on the porch, waiting for them.
CHAPTER XI. GUS HEARS FROM HOME.
192
Gus spent the two days following his arrival at
the rancho in resting; and even at the end of
that time he had not fully recovered from the effects
of his long, hard ride on horseback. He and Ned
passed the time in roaming about the house and
grounds, and at every turn Gus found something to
interest him. The rancho and everything about it,
Uncle John’s manner of living, the appearance, customs
and language of the men he met every day—all
these were new to Gus, who could have enjoyed
himself hugely now if it had not been for two disagreeable
reflections which constantly intruded upon
him in spite of all he could do to keep them out of
his mind. There were cattle-thieves in that country
who made a practice of shooting everybody who
came in their way, and they had been in that very
house not a great while ago. They might come
again at any moment, and there might be another
193fight—and Gus did not like to think of that. He
would have been safer in his father’s store than he
was in that country, but would he ever be permitted
to return to that store after what he had done? On
the whole he was sorry that he had come to Texas,
and Ned was almost sorry that he had invited him,
for Gus didn’t act and talk like the boy he had
known in Foxboro’. He was not so jolly and full
of life as he used to be.
Mr. Ackerman never asked the visitor if he had
left home with his father’s full and free consent.
He, no doubt, took it for granted that Gus had
talked the matter over with Mr. Robbins, and so
said nothing about it. This relieved Ned of a burden
of anxiety, and another thing that pleased him
was the fact that Gus never asked any questions concerning
the hunting adventure which Ned had so
graphically described in his first letter.
During these two days nothing was heard of the
missing George. The herdsman who had been sent
out to make inquiries among the neighbors brought
back the information that he had not been able to find
any traces of him, and that seemed to settle the matter,
so far as Uncle John and Ned were concerned.
The two boys seldom spoke of him. They had more
194important matters to occupy their attention. They
talked over old times to their hearts’ content, and
Ned told Gus everything of interest that had happened
to him since he came to Texas. The story
of the stolen horse and the description of Philip’s
strange conduct on the night of the fight were so
incredible that Gus wouldn’t believe a word until he
had seen the bullet holes in the manger and the
lumber pile behind the shed had been torn down so
that he could see the gold-mounted saddle and bridle.
Then he looked bewildered, and, contrary to Ned’s
expectation, could suggest nothing more than he had
already thought of himself.
“You ought to have given the horse up when the
owner came for him,” said he. “You would have
made something handsome by it probably.”
“I know that as well as you do,” replied Ned.
“But seeing I didn’t do it, how am I going to get
myself out of the scrape?”
“I don’t see that you are in any scrape. How
far does the man who owns the horse live from
here?”
“Fifty or sixty miles.”
“Did you ever see him before that night?”
“I never did.”
195“Well, comfort yourself with the thought that
you may never see him again. There’s nothing to
bring him back here.”
“O, yes there is. Didn’t I tell you that he and
his companion rode off two of father’s horses? Of
course they must bring them back. It isn’t a safe
piece of business in this country, I tell you, for a
man to keep a horse that doesn’t belong to him.
The people won’t allow it.”
“And you knew this all the while, and yet held
fast to that stolen horse!” said Gus.
“Now, look here,” exclaimed Ned, angrily, “I
know that I was a blockhead. I was bound to
keep the horse, and didn’t stop to think of the consequences.
When I had a chance to give him up I
did not dare do it, for fear that the owner would
do something to me before I could explain matters
to him.”
“Well, the horse is gone now, and you are all
right. If you are afraid to meet those men, keep
your eyes open and dig out when they come back
with your father’s horses.”
“But suppose that while I am gone Philip should
take it into his head to tell them that I had the
196horse in my possession when they were here before,
and wouldn’t give him up?”
“If he does that, tell your father that he was the
one who let the raiders into the house.”
“Now, what earthly good would that do me?
Would it get me out of the scrape?”
“No; but you would have the satisfaction of
knowing that you had repaid Philip by getting him
into just as much trouble as he got you into.”
“But that isn’t what I want. I want to clear
myself, and I don’t know how to do it.”
“I don’t know either. You’ll have to trust to luck.”
“I’d rather trust to anything else in the world.
Luck never served me a good turn yet.”
“You said your father discharged the old cook
because you asked him, didn’t you? Very well;
ask him to discharge Philip. You had better get
him away from here as soon as you can. I judge
from what you say, that he had made up his mind
to have that safe in your father’s office, and the first
thing you know he’ll bring men enough here to take
it. He’s not a safe person to have about.”
Ned was very well aware of that fact, but still he
could see no way of getting rid of him without rendering
himself liable to exposure, and neither could
197Gus. As often as they discussed the matter, they
arrived at this conclusion: that Philip was there in
the rancho; that he meant to stay there; and that
Ned could not have him discharged without getting
himself into serious trouble. One would suppose,
that while this state of affairs continued, there
would be no such thing as pleasure for Ned. He
never did see a moment’s peace while he was awake,
but those around him did not know it. He seemed
to be enjoying himself to the fullest extent.
On the third day, Gus began to feel a little more
like himself, and when Ned proposed a short gallop
to get up an appetite for dinner, the visitor did not
object. The first thing was to select a gentle horse
for his use; for the one he had ridden from Palos
was a borrowed animal, and must be returned in
good order, at the very first opportunity. Ned
made the selection for him, and then went with him
into the store-room to pick out a saddle and bridle.
As they came out into the hall, a horseman drew up
beside the porch long enough to throw a letter at
them, after which he turned about and galloped
back in the direction from which he had come.
This was the only way in which the neighboring
ranchemen and farmers would have anything to do
198with Uncle John. They inquired for his mail when
they went to Palos, and brought it to him, if there
chanced to be any, but they did it simply as an act
of courtesy, just as they had banded together and
pursued the raiders in the hope of recovering the
stock they had stolen from him. They did not ask
Uncle John to join them in the pursuit, and when
they brought him his mail they never visited with
him or stopped to hold conversation, as they did
with their other neighbors.
Gus picked up the letter and handed it to Ned,
who, after glancing at the name on the envelope
passed it back to his companion. The letter was
addressed to him in care of Uncle John. The visitor’s
face grew red and pale by turns, as he looked
at his father’s well-known writing.
“Sam Holmes has blowed the whole business!”
he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak.
“Well, you expected it, didn’t you?” returned
Ned. “What do you care for Sam Holmes now?
You are out of his reach and your father’s too.
Why don’t you read the letter?”
Gus didn’t want to read it—that was the reason.
It took him by surprise, for it was something he did
not expect to receive. In accordance with Ned’s
199suggestion, however, he tore open the envelope, and
ran his eye hastily over the few lines the letter contained.
“Well, I call that pretty cool!” he exclaimed.
“Any objections to telling what they say?”
asked Ned.
“None whatever. Read it for yourself, and read
it aloud, so that I may be sure I have made no
mistake.”
Ned took the letter and read as follows:—
“My Dear Boy:—I learn that you have gone
to Texas, to visit Ned Ackerman. I am sorry you
thought it best to leave us without saying good-by,
for if we had known that you were resolved to go,
we should have given you all the aid in our power.
I am sorry, too, that you went when you did, for
we had anticipated much pleasure in your company
during our summer’s visit to the trout streams of
the Adirondacks. If you think you would like to
come home when your visit is ended, I will send you
the necessary funds. I do not suppose Mr. Ackerman
will care to pay your expenses both ways.
Your mother and I would be glad to hear from you
as often as you may feel in the humor to write. I
have paid all your debts.”
200Ned was very much astonished, and went over
the letter twice, to make sure that he had read it
aright.
“What do you think of it?” demanded Gus.
“It is cool, that’s a fact,” answered Ned, who
did not know what else to say; “very cool!”
“It’s—it’s impudent!” exclaimed Gus, angrily;
“downright insulting! Now, isn’t he a pretty
father for a fellow to have!” he added, snatching
the letter from Ned’s hand. “Just listen to this:
‘If we had known that you were resolved to go, we
should have given you all the aid in our power;’
and ‘if you think you would like to come home
when your visit is ended!’ He might as well say
that if I don’t want to return, I can stay away and
welcome!”
“It seems that the rest of them are going to the
Adirondacks,” said Ned. “You know you always
wanted to go there.”
“That’s just what provokes me!” cried Gus,
thrashing his boots angrily with his riding-whip,
as he walked up and down the porch. “Of course,
I always wanted to go there. I have tried more
than once to induce father to consent, but he
wouldn’t do it. He treated me like a dog and
201drove me away from home, and now he coolly
informs me that he’s going trout-fishing this summer!
I hope he’ll catch a whale, and that the
whale will smash his old boat into kindling-wood,
and tumble him out into the water!”
This remark showed Gus to be possessed of so
mean and paltry a spirit, and the wish expressed in
it was so perfectly ridiculous, that Ned burst into a
loud laugh. He could not help it. Gus looked
sharply at him for a moment, and continued his
walk up and down the porch, whipping his boots at
every step. He was greatly amazed, as every
young fellow is, when he learns for the first time
that he is not an absolute necessity, and that the
world will wag just as well without him as it will
with him. Gus thought, of course, that his parents
were very much distressed over what he had done,
and that the letter was written to urge him to
return at once and relieve their suspense; but,
instead of that, his father seemed to take the matter
very coolly, and did not even give up his contemplated
trip to the mountains, because Gus was not
there to take part in it.
“I’ll never go back!” declared the boy, flourishing
his whip in the air. “I’ll stay here until you
202get tired of keeping me, and then I’ll go to work at
something—I don’t care what it is—so long as I
don’t have to sell dry-goods!”
“I wish that letter had been lost on the way,”
said Ned, “for it has taken all the spirit out of you.
You were bright and lively this morning, and were
beginning to act like the Gus Robbins I used to
know in Foxboro’.”
“I’m the same fellow now!” said Gus, tearing
the letter into the smallest possible fragments, and
throwing them over the railing for the wind to
carry away. “Let’s go somewhere and do something!”
The boys mounted their horses, which were
standing, saddled and bridled, at the foot of the
stairs, and rode away; but the gloom which had
been thrown over their spirits went with them, and
the letter was the only thing they could talk about.
Gus could not forget that trouting excursion to the
Adirondacks. He had longed and hoped for that as
he had never longed and hoped for anything else,
and it was very provoking to know that it was to
take place now, after he had put it out of his power
to enjoy it. He would have done a year’s hard
work in the store and given up his Texas scheme
203for it very gladly. He didn’t care for horses, guns
or dogs; but he was an enthusiastic fisherman, and
nothing suited him better than to get away by himself,
and wander up and down the banks of some
retired stream, in which the pools were deep and
the speckled beauties abundant. But all his chances
for such sport were gone now—lost, too, by a deliberate
act of his own—and Gus felt angry at himself
when he thought about it.
“Then don’t think about it at all,” said Ned, as
Gus gave utterance to the thoughts that were passing
through his mind. “Think about something
more agreeable. Give up all idea of ever going
back to Foxboro’!”
“O, I have given it up!” said Gus. “But it
provokes me almost beyond measure when I
think——”
He finished the sentence by shaking his riding-whip
in the air.
“That they can be happy and lay plans for their
amusement when you are not there; eh, Gus?”
said Ned. “I know right where the shoe pinches.
Stay here, and we’ll make money by raising wheat.
Do you see that field over there? That’s mine!”
“I saw it some time ago,” answered Gus, “but I
204thought it was a pasture that somebody had fenced
in. I see some cattle in it.”
“In my wheat field!” cried Ned, with great indignation.
“Where? So do I!” he added, after he
had run his eye along the fence.
Ned put his horse into a gallop and rode toward
the field at the top of his speed, his companion following
closely behind. As they drew nearer they
saw that there was a wide gap in the fence, that the
field looked as though somebody’s cattle had used it
regularly for a pasture, and that some of the animals
that had caused the mischief were in the enclosure
now. As they drew rein at the gap and looked over
the desolated field the cattle shook their heads as if
they were indignant at the interruption, and went
off toward the opposite fence in a gallop.
“What wild-looking fellows!” exclaimed Gus.
“I should think you would be afraid to go near
them.”
“They are wild, too,” replied Ned. “They’d
just as soon go for us as not if we were on foot, but
they’ll not trouble us so long as we are in the saddle.
But just look at this wheat! It’s ruined, isn’t it?”
“I am no farmer,” returned his companion.
“It doesn’t need a farmer to tell whether or
205not there is any wheat here, does it?” cried Ned
angrily.
“Can’t you make the man who owns the cattle
pay damages?”
“No; you can’t collect a cent. That thing has
been tried.”
“Then shoot the cattle!”
“I’d do it in a minute if I wasn’t afraid. You
remember the story of that neighborhood row I told
you last night, don’t you?”
“Yes; and if I were in your place I’d raise
another. There’s nobody in sight, and how is the
owner of the cattle going to know who did the
shooting? Knock one of ‘em over! I dare you
to do it!”
Ned hesitated. He had talked bravely enough,
when in the presence of his cousin, about doing this
very thing, but since that time he had seen a fight,
had heard the reports of firearms and the yells of
excited and angry men, and thought he had some
faint conception of the scenes that had been enacted
during that neighborhood row, and which would, no
doubt, be repeated if another should arise. But
here was his fine field of wheat so nearly destroyed
that it would not pay for the harvesting; within
206easy rifle shot of him were some of the cattle which
had done the mischief and which probably belonged
to one of the neighbors who wouldn’t visit with him
or his father because they wore good clothes and
claimed to be gentlemen; and there was no one in
sight.
“Knock one of them over,” repeated Gus, “and
perhaps it will teach their owner to keep his stock
out of the way of your field, the next time you plant
wheat in it. Hand me your gun, and I’ll show you
that I am Gus Robbins yet, and not afraid to do
anything.”
The boy leaned forward in his saddle as he said
this, and taking the rifle out of his friend’s grasp,
rode toward the cattle (there were probably a dozen
of them in all) which were dashing along the fence
and trampling down the wheat that had escaped
destruction during their former raids. As Gus
approached them, they charged in a body in the
direction of the gap; but instead of going through
it they ran on by, kicking up their heels and shaking
their heads as if they enjoyed the sport. While
Ned galloped through the field to head them off,
Gus dismounted, and taking his stand near the gap,
207cocked the rifle in readiness to shoot one of the herd
the next time they went by.
Ned succeeded in turning the cattle after a short
race, and, as before, they took no notice of the gap,
but dashed by it and started for another gallop
around the field. At that moment the rifle cracked,
and one of the finest steers in the herd threw his
head and tail higher in the air, galloped faster for a
short distance, then sank to his knees and rolled
over on his side. By the merest chance, Gus had
sent a bullet smaller than a buckshot into some vital
part, and there was one less steer in somebody’s
herd to break down fences and destroy wheat crops.
“What do you think of that?” cried Gus, in
great glee.
“It was a splendid shot,” replied Ned, who just
then rode up and extended his hand for the rifle.
“You did it, didn’t you? Since we have begun the
work, we’ll do it up in shape. If they won’t go out
they can stay in; but they’ll stay dead!”
The horse that Gus rode, having been broken to
stand fire, was not at all alarmed by the report of
the rifle. He allowed the boy to catch and mount
him again, and by the time he was fairly in the
saddle, Ned had placed a fresh cartridge in his rifle.
208“You head them off and drive them back,” said he,
“and I’ll wait here at the gap to salute them as
they go by.”
In accordance with this request Gus rode off, and
in a few minutes the herd came dashing along the
fence again. They must have been growing tired
of the sport by this time, for they headed straight
for the gap, and all got through; but one of them
carried a bullet somewhere in his body, the effects
of which very soon became apparent. The rest of
the herd began to leave him behind, and when he
followed them over a ridge, which lay about a
quarter of a mile from the field, he was staggering
about as if he could scarcely keep his feet.
While the work of driving the cattle out of the
field was in progress, a horseman appeared on the
ridge of which we have spoken, riding slowly along,
with his eyes fastened on the ground, as if he were
following a trail. Just as he reached the top, he
heard the report of a rifle, and looked up to discover
that the cattle of which he was in search, were running
about a wheat field, and that two persons were
engaged in shooting them down. One of the cattle
fell just as he raised his eyes. When he saw this,
he placed his hand on one of the revolvers he carried
209in his belt, and seemed on the point of dashing
forward to take satisfaction for the loss he had sustained;
but he evidently thought better of it a
moment later, for he backed his horse down the
swell until nothing but his own head could be seen
over it, and there he sat and saw all that Ned and
Gus did. When the wounded steer came over the
swell, staggering from the effects of the bullet Ned
had shot into him, the man shook his clenched hand
in the direction of the wheat field, muttered something
to himself, and galloped off in pursuit of the
uninjured cattle, leaving the wounded one to take
care of himself.
“There!” exclaimed Ned, when the laggard of
the drove had disappeared over the swell, “it’s done,
and I am glad of it. If the owner of those cattle
finds out that we did it and has anything to say
about it, I shall tell him that this is my land—it
may be mine some day, you know, and before long,
too—and that no cattle except my own have any
right on it.”
“I wish that steer had got over the fence before
he died,” said Gus.
The boys seemed to be highly elated over what
they had done. They had performed the same feat
210which, not so very many months ago, had set the
whole settlement together by the ears, and no one
was the wiser for it. Of course some rancheman
would some day find out that one of his fattest steers
had been killed and another badly wounded, but how
was he going to find out who did the shooting?
Ned fully expected that there would be trouble
about it; that there would be threats and inquiries
made, and that he and Gus, being safe from discovery,
would have many a hearty laugh in secret
over the storm they had raised.
“Remember one thing,” said he. “No matter
what is said or done, we don’t know anything about
it. They can’t crowd us into a corner tight enough
to make us own up. That would only make matters
worse.”
Gus readily agreed to this, and the boys shook
hands on it. In order to make assurance doubly
sure they rode around the rancho and approached
it, just at dark, from a direction opposite to that
they had taken when they rode away from it in the
morning. When the events of the afternoon became
known nobody could fasten the guilt upon them by
saying that they had been seen coming from the
direction of the wheat field. They found supper
211waiting for them, and when they had eaten it they
went into the office to spend the evening in reading
and conversation.
While they were thus engaged inside the house, a
proceeding which looks strange at the first glance,
but which will be plain enough when all the circumstances
connected with it are known, was going on
outside of it. A horseman, who was riding rapidly
along the road toward the rancho, turned off just
before he reached it, and made his way to the corral
that was located a short distance to the right of the
shed in which Ned had taken refuge on the night
of the fight. He stopped in front of the gate and
uttered an exclamation of disappointment when he
found that it was secured by a heavy padlock.
After looking about him for a moment, as if he
were turning some problem over in his mind, he
dismounted, pulled the bridle over his horse’s head
and hung it upon the horn of the saddle; whereupon
the animal turned and galloped toward a
watering-trough a short distance away, where he
was joined by a small, dark-colored mule which had
followed the horseman down the trail. The horseman
himself moved toward the house, pausing every
now and then to listen and reconnoiter the ground
212before him, and presently reached the steps leading
to the porch. These he mounted with cautious
tread, and was about to place his hand upon the
door when it was suddenly opened from the inside,
a flood of light streamed out into the darkness, and
the horseman was confronted by a stalwart herdsman
who started back in surprise at the sight of
him.
Arresting by a hasty gesture the cry of amazement
that arose to the herdsman’s lips, the visitor
stepped into the hall, and, closing the door behind
him, uttered a few short, quick sentences in a low
tone of voice which the other received with subdued
ejaculations of wonder. When he ceased speaking
the herdsman hastened away, and the visitor, who
seemed to be perfectly familiar with the internal
arrangements of the house, moved quickly along the
hall, turning several corners, and finally opening
a door which gave entrance into Mr. Ackerman’s
office.
There was a happy party gathered in that office,
if one might judge by the ringing peal of laughter
which echoed through the hall, when the door was
opened; but it was quickly checked at the sight of
the boy who entered as though he had a perfect
213right to be there, and whose appearance was so sudden
and unexpected that it brought two of the three
persons in the room to their feet in an instant.
“Why, George!” they both cried in a breath—and
a quick ear would have discovered that there
was more surprise than cordiality in their tones—“Is
this you? Where in the world have you been
so long? We have been worried to death about
you!”
“Yes it is I,” answered George Ackerman, for he
it was. “I have come back safe and sound, and
that is all I can say to you now about myself. I
want to talk to you about yourselves, and especially
to you Ned. By the way, I suppose this is the
friend from Foxboro’ whom you have so long been
expecting.”
Ned replied that it was, but he forgot to introduce
the two boys to each other, and so did Uncle John.
There was something about George that made them
forget it. When they came to look at him they saw
that he was very much excited, and that his face
wore an expression they had never seen there before.
They could not tell whether he was frightened or
troubled.
“Why, George!” exclaimed Uncle John, in some
214alarm. “What is the matter? Any bad news?
Are the Indians or Mexicans——”
“Yes, I have bad news,” interrupted George,
almost impatiently, “and but little time to tell it
in. Ned, you and your friend must pack up and
leave this rancho, and this county, too, without the
loss of an hour’s time. You are in danger, and I
have placed myself in danger by coming here to tell
you of it!”
The boy’s words produced the utmost surprise
and consternation among those who listened to them.
CHAPTER XII. A NARROW ESCAPE.
215
George found his herdsman eager for news
from the settlement, as he always was, but he
had nothing to tell him that was very interesting.
He could have given him some information that
would have made him open his eyes and put him in
fighting humor at once; but he thought it best to
avoid that subject altogether. If he told Zeke that
Uncle John had threatened to take his herd of cattle
away from him, under the plea of reducing expenses,
but really as George believed, for the purpose
of turning it over to Ned, the old man would have
been as angry as George was when he first learned
of the fact. But the boy didn’t want to let Zeke
know how mean his uncle was, and so he said
nothing about his plans. They never could be carried
out while Zeke was there to protect his stock,
and George could afford to be magnanimous.
George and his herdsman made an early start on
216the following morning, and the third night found
them at Catfish Falls. They now felt perfectly safe,
for the raiders had never been known to penetrate
so far into the country. Their depredations were
principally confined to the counties bordering on the
river, it being their object to stampede all the stock
they could find in one night’s raid, and drive it
across the river into Mexico, before the settlers could
gather in sufficient numbers to pursue them. They
tried as hard to avoid a fight as the ranchemen did
to overtake them.
George made the camp and cooked the supper,
and when they had satisfied their appetites, the
former laid down on his blanket in front of the fire
with his saddle for a pillow, and listened to Zeke,
who talked and smoked incessantly. Their work for
the day was over now. The cattle were always
brought close in to camp at dark, the horses and
mule were staked out, and the campers went to bed
at an early hour. If they awoke during the night,
they replenished the fire with some of the fuel that
was always kept close at hand, and walked around
the herd to see if there were any restless ones in it
who felt inclined to stray away. George performed
this necessary duty twice on this particular night
217making the first round about twelve o’clock. To
his surprise, he found the most of the cattle on their
feet, and saw that some of them were exhibiting
unmistakable signs of uneasiness and alarm. They
stood snuffing the air eagerly, carrying their heads
high and their ears thrown forward, and now and
then they would walk a few steps out of the herd,
lower their horns and paw the ground as if challenging
the object that had excited them, whatever it
was, to come out and give them battle. The rest of
the cattle were lying down, chewing their cuds contentedly,
and apparently not at all disturbed by the
antics of their nervous companions.
George threw himself flat upon the ground and
swept his eyes around the horizon. In this position,
he could distinctly see any object that might
be approaching the camp (provided, of course, that
it was taller than the grass) for it would be clearly
outlined against the sky. But he could see nothing.
He arose to his feet again and listened intently, but
could hear nothing calculated to excite his alarm.
The wolves which serenaded them every night were
holding a concert a short distance away, and that
made George believe that if there was any danger
approaching, it was yet a long distance off; for he
218knew that the wolves would be the first to discover
it, and that they would then bring their concert to a
close and take to their heels.
“There’s something up,” thought George, once
more turning his eyes toward the cattle. Some of
the uneasy ones, reassured by his presence, were
walking about among their companions, as if they
were looking for a good place to lie down, while the
others remained in a defiant attitude and snuffed the
air as before. “There’s something up,” repeated
George, “and I have been expecting it. I have felt
very nervous and timid for two or three days, and I
don’t know how to account for it. If there is anybody
within hearing or smelling distance who has
no business here, I can find it out.”
George walked back to the camp, picked up his
rifle, and after unfastening the lasso with which his
horse was confined, he jumped on the animal’s back
without saddle or bridle and rode away in the darkness,
paying no heed to a bray of remonstrance from
Bony who followed as far as the length of his lariat
would allow him to go. He rode out on the prairie
for a hundred yards or more, and then stopped his
horse and listened again. The animal stood perfectly
quiet for a few seconds, looking first one way
219and then another, and turning his ears toward all
points of the compass, and apparently satisfied with
the result of his reconnoissance, he put down his
head and began cropping the grass.
“Hold up, here!” exclaimed George, seizing the
horse by the mane and tapping him gently on the
side of his head with the muzzle of his rifle to make
him turn around. “We have nothing to be frightened
at yet—that’s evident. Now, old fellow, I shall
leave you loose. Keep your ears open and wake us
up if you hear anything!”
George rode back to camp and sought his blanket
feeling a little more at his ease. He had as much
faith in his horse as he had in Zeke (the latter used
to say that he could smell an Indian or a Greaser at
night as far as he could see him in the daytime),
and since the animal could not discover anything
suspicious, it was as good evidence as he wanted that
there was nothing to fear. No doubt some of the
wild members of the herd felt as nervous and uneasy
as he did, and took their own way to show it.
Although George brought back to his blanket a
most refreshing feeling of security, he did not sleep
as soundly as he usually did. He went through all
sorts of terrible things in his dreams, and started
220every time the fire snapped. He was wide awake
again at one o’clock, and set out on his second tour
of inspection. The moon, now nearly half an hour
high, had brought up with it a cooling breeze which
gently rustled the long grass of the prairie, and
sent the sparks from the camp-fire circling high in
the air. The wolves had closed their concert and
gone off to find a more appreciative audience, and
there was an air of peaceful quiet brooding over the
scene. George forgot all his fears and continued
his round with a light heart. He found the cattle
quiet, but some of them had begun feeding and were
straying away from the rest of the herd. While
George was engaged in driving them back, and
forcing the remainder of the herd into a more compact
body, a yell, so sudden and startling that it
made the cold chills creep all over him, arose on the
air, and out from a little thicket of willows that
grew a short distance from the belt in which the
camp was located, dashed a party of horsemen who
charged toward the herd at the top of their speed.
They were Mexicans; George could see that at a
glance. They had doubtless been hovering about
the camp all night, and it was while they were working
their way around to the leeward of the herd that
221their presence had been detected by the wakeful
cattle.
George stood for an instant as if he were rooted
to the ground; and then with a wild cry of alarm
he dashed forward, running diagonally across the
front of the herd, hoping almost against hope that
he might succeed in passing them, and thus avoiding
the rush which he knew would come in a moment
more. It was the only way in which he could
escape being trampled to death. He ran as he had
never run before, but he had made scarcely half a
dozen steps when a rumble like that of an avalanche
sounded close at his side, telling him that the cattle
were coming. The strongest fence that was ever
built would not have stopped them now, and George,
had he attempted to drive them back or turn them
aside, would have been trampled under their feet
like a blade of grass. He saw and fully realized
his danger, but could not escape it. Even Zeke,
who was as light of foot as an antelope, could not
have saved himself by his speed; and George, giving
himself up for lost, fell flat upon the ground, clasped
his hands over his head and awaited his fate. By
the merest chance he threw himself into a little
excavation in the prairie, which, in the years gone
222by, had doubtless served as a wallow for some old
patriarch of a buffalo; but now it was covered with
grass, and there were two or three little willows
growing out of the bottom of it.
This protection, slight as it was, saved the boy’s
life. He had barely time to crowd himself close
against the frail stems of the willows before the
frantic cattle were upon him. The roar of their
hoofs on the hard ground was almost deafening. It
was louder than the roar of all the northers he had
ever heard crowded into one; but even while he was
wondering why some of the cattle did not jump
upon him the roar subsided, and George, looking up
through the willows which had been bent over his
head, saw the moon shining down upon him. Every
steer had jumped the wallow, and George had
escaped with nothing more than a terrible fright.
While he was congratulating himself upon his good
fortune, a clatter of hoofs sounded near, and he
ducked his head just as two horsemen, riding side
by side, dashed over the wallow in pursuit of the
flying herd.
The boy’s first thought, after he had satisfied himself
that he had escaped without injury, was of
Zeke. What had become of him? There was one
223thing certain—George knew it now as well as he
did a few minutes later—and that was that the
herdsman had made a fight, and a good one, too.
Although the old fellow appeared to be a sound
sleeper, he would jump to his feet the instant he
heard any unusual noise, and he was wide awake
the moment he opened his eyes. More than that,
he kept his Winchester close at hand, and could discharge
it with a rapidity and accuracy that George
had tried in vain to imitate. Zeke was probably on
his feet before the yell that frightened the cattle was
half uttered, and as soon as he got there he was
ready to begin shooting. Of course George had not
heard the report of his rifle, for the rumble of that
multitude of hoofs about his ears would have drowned
the roar of a cannon.
“But I know, all the same, that he did shoot,
and that some of those raiders didn’t get away,”
thought George, as he once more raised his head
and looked over the grass in the direction of the
camp. “I think I had better stay here. Zeke will
know when the danger is over, and then he will call
to me. I wonder if he is there now? Somebody
is punching up the fire, sure!”
The old buffalo wallow into which George had
224thrown himself, was about a hundred yards distant
from the willows, and the grass was so high that he
could not see the camp; but he could see the smoke
of the fire as it arose through the tops of the trees
that hung over it. Just now the fire was blazing
brightly, and the sparks were rising from it in
volumes. This was what led George to believe that
there was somebody in the camp. It couldn’t be
one of the raiders, he told himself, for they never
stopped. They stampeded the cattle and dashed on
after them to get out of reach of the bullets in the
herder’s rifles.
“Of course Zeke is there,” thought George as he
arose from his place of concealment; but he had
scarcely placed himself fairly upon his feet before he
dropped back among the willows again. There were
several figures moving about the fire, and there were
riderless horses and mounted men near by. The
men were all dressed in Mexican costume—the wide
brims of their sombreros were plainly visible in the
moonlight—and there were at least a dozen of them
in sight. One of them seemed to be poking up the
fire for the purpose of making as bright a light as
possible, while the others were going into the willows
with blazing fire-brands in their hands. Some of
225their companions had already gone in there armed
in the same manner, for George could see the lights
dancing about among the trees.
The boy saw all this during the instant of time he
was on his feet, and when he dropped back into his
concealment again, his fear had given place to a feeling
of exultation. The raiders were searching the
woods in the vicinity of the camp, and of course
they could be looking for nobody but Zeke. Probably
the old fellow had given them a very warm
reception. No doubt he had tumbled three or four
of them out of their saddles, and the survivors were
hunting him up with the intention of taking vengeance
on him if they caught him.
“But they’ll never catch him,” chuckled George,
“because he’s too old a ‘coon. He has fought
Indians too long to be beaten by a lot of lubberly
Greasers.”
George drew the tops of the willows closer together,
confining them in that position by twisting
their branches, and having thus formed a screen
that was large enough to cover his head, he raised
himself upon his knees, so that he could look over
the grass and watch the motions of the raiders.
They were certainly looking for somebody, and they
226seemed resolved to find him, too, for they did not
grow discouraged and go away, as George hoped
they would. Their failure only seemed to make
them the more determined. First one and then
another seized fire-brands and joined their companions
in the woods, and finally those who were
mounted, swung themselves out of their saddles
and went in too, leaving the camp to take care of
itself.
“I wonder what Zeke has done to make them
so persistent!” said George to himself. “Perhaps
they’ve got an old grudge against him. They might
as well go away, for they’ll not find him. He’s safe
long before this time, and if I could only make my
horse hear me, I’d soon be safe too.”
George could always find something to feel happy
over, no matter how unpleasant the situation in
which he might be placed, and he found something
now. He had lost his fine herd of cattle, but Zeke
was left to him, and so were his horse and pack-mule.
The former had been stampeded with the cattle, but
George knew he would not run far before he would
leave them and strike a straight course for home.
The two Mexicans who had followed the herd to
head it off and turn it away from the settlements
227toward the river, would not bother their heads about
him, for while they had three hundred fat cattle to
look out for, they could not afford to waste time in
pursuing a single horse. Bony was still staked out
near the camp, and so was Zeke’s nag. They both
made the most desperate efforts to escape with the
herd, but the lariats with which they were confined
were too strong to be broken, and the picket-pins
were driven so firmly into the ground that they
could not be easily pulled up. The Mexicans, when
they were ready to leave the camp, would probably
turn these animals loose, expecting them to follow
their own horses, just as Silk Stocking had followed
off the raiders who made the attack on the rancho;
but that was something Bony would not do. He
was very much afraid of strangers, and when left to
himself he would make the best of his way home.
The search for Zeke was continued? until broad
daylight, and all this while George lay in his concealment
watching the motions of the raiders and
wondering what his herdsman had done to make
the thieves so anxious to find him. When day began
to dawn he discovered something that seemed to
explain it all: there were five wounded men sitting
and lying beside the fire. George knew that they
228were wounded, for he could see that they wore bandages,
and that one who limped considerably and used
a stick to walk with, would now and then get up to
bring a cup of water from the bayou to two of his
companions who kept their blankets. Probably one
of these men was the leader of the band, and that
was the reason why the others were so determined to
find Zeke. But they had to give up the search and
go away without him, as George knew they would.
Shortly after daylight they began to come into camp
by twos and threes, and when they were all assembled
George counted eighteen of them. They talked earnestly
together for a few minutes and then set about
preparing a hasty breakfast, helping themselves
bountifully to the contents of the pack-saddle, and
using the cooking utensils which George had provided
for his own use and Zeke’s.
George waited with no little impatience to find
out what they were going to do when they made an
end of the bacon and coffee, and was very glad to
see that they were preparing for an immediate departure.
When all was ready the wounded members
of the band were assisted into their saddles, Zeke’s
horse and George’s pack-mule were set at liberty,
and the raiders moved slowly along the willows in
229the direction the cattle had taken when they were
stampeded. It was a wonder that their suspicions
were not aroused by the actions of the mule which,
foolish as mules generally are, ran at once to the
buffalo wallow in which George was concealed, and
not content with shying at the sight of it and giving
it a wide berth, as Zeke’s horse did, Bony circled
around it two or three times, and finally stopping,
thrust out his neck, threw his long ears forward
and looked suspiciously at the crouching form of
his master.
George, who had been in a fever of suspense for
long hours, and who began to breathe more freely
when he saw the raiders moving away, was frightened
again; but, as it happened, the thieves paid no
attention to the mule’s actions. Better than that,
Zeke’s horse kept on his way without stopping, and
Bony, seeing that he was going to be left behind,
started in pursuit. The danger was over now, but
George was much too wary to run any risks. He
saw the raiders disappear over the nearest swell, but
he allowed another hour to pass before he left his
hiding-place. Then he moved very cautiously, crawling
along on his hands and knees, stopping every few
feet to look over the grass and listen, and examining
230the ground about the camp very thoroughly before
he ventured into the woods.
He found the camp in the greatest confusion.
His rifle and revolvers were gone, so were his
blankets and poncho, and also a good portion of the
contents of the pack-saddle; but there was still a
little of the bacon and hard-tack left, and the
raiders had forgotten to take his haversack and frying-pan.
He replenished the fire at once, and while
waiting for it to get fairly started, employed himself
in cutting up the bacon with an old rusty hunting-knife
which one of the thieves had probably left in
exchange for his own new one. While he was thus
engaged he did not neglect to keep an eye open for
any straggling raiders who might have fallen behind
the main body; but there were none in sight. He
placed the bacon in the frying-pan, and when it was
done to his satisfaction he put it into his haversack,
together with the small supply of hard-tack that
was left, extinguished the fire and set out for home.
“I am glad the thieves left me provisions enough
to last me until I can get more,” said George, to
himself. “If I have to travel all the way on foot,
it will take me four or five days to reach the nearest
rancho, and I have no fears of getting hungry during
231that time. What brought those raiders so far
from the river? That’s what I can’t understand.”
During the two days that followed, while the
young cattle-herder was trudging painfully over the
lonely prairie, he had ample leisure to turn this
question over in his mind. He travelled early and
late, but his progress was necessarily slow, for one
who spends the most of his time in the saddle,
finds it hard work to go on foot, and soon grows
weary. He kept a bright lookout for Zeke, and
stopped on the top of every swell to scan the prairie
before and on both sides of him, in the hope of
discovering his horse or pack-mule; but Zeke was
miles ahead of him, hastening toward the settlement,
intent on alarming the ranchemen in time
to cut the raiders off from the river, while Bony
and Ranger were making the best of their way
toward home.
“They are all safe, I know, for they are able to
take care of themselves. So am I; but there’s no
fun in looking forward to three days more of such
walking as I have had. I shouldn’t mind it so much
if I hadn’t lost my cattle,” said George, with a long-drawn
sigh. “Those lazy Greasers have robbed me
of years of hard work, and now I must begin all
232over again, or else go to herding cattle for Uncle
John. Of course I can’t loaf about the house all
the time and do nothing, as Ned does. Hallo!”
While George was talking to himself in this way
he came to the top of a ridge, and found before him
a long line of willows which fringed the banks of a
water-course. A solitary horse was feeding near the
willows, and this it was that attracted the boy’s
attention and called forth the exclamation with
which he finished his soliloquy. The sight of the
animal alarmed him, for it was not at all likely that a
horse, wearing a saddle and bridle, would be feeding
contentedly in that wilderness, so far from all signs
of civilization, unless there was some one with him.
George dropped to the ground, and ran his eyes
along the willows in search of a camp. If there was
one in the neighborhood he could not find it. There
was no smoke to be seen, nor were there any other
indications of the presence of human beings.
“But there’s somebody here all the same,”
thought the boy, shifting his position a little, so
that he could obtain a better view of the willows,
“for that horse never came here without a rider.
Somebody has stopped in the willows to rest, and
he’s a Mexican, too. I know it by the silver ornaments
233on the saddle. I wish I could think up some
way to capture that horse. Shall I try it?”
Not knowing what else to do just then, George
lay there in the grass and considered the matter.
Weary and footsore as he was, the thought of
finishing his journey on horseback was a most
agreeable one. The animal was loose—when he
raised his head, George could see that he was not
confined by a lariat—but if he attempted to creep
up to him the horse would doubtless take fright and
run off; and that would excite the suspicions of his
owner, who might be tempted to send a bullet from
his carbine in that direction. There was too much
danger in it George found when he came to think
it over. He sighed regretfully, thought almost
with a shudder, of the long, weary miles that lay
between him and the nearest rancho, and was about
to crawl back down the swell again, when he was
astonished almost beyond measure, to hear his own
name pronounced in a weak and trembling, but still
distinct voice.
“George! George Ackerman!” came the hail
from the willows.
George jumped to his feet, and looking in the
direction from which the voice sounded, saw a sombrero
234waved in the air, and could dimly discern the
figure of a man, dressed in Mexican costume, who
was sitting on the ground, with his back against one
of the willows.
“George!” repeated the man.
“Hallo!” was the reply.
“Come here, will you? I am badly hurt and in
need of help!”
George grew more and more astonished. The
man was a Mexican beyond a doubt, but the voice
sounded strangely familiar.
“Don’t be afeared, George!” continued the man,
in a pleading tone. “I couldn’t hurt you if I
wanted to! I’ve got something to tell you!”
“Who are you?” asked the boy.
“Why, don’t you know Springer, who used to
herd cattle for your father?”
Yes, George knew him, and he didn’t know anything
good of him either.
“If you are Springer,” he shouted “what are
you doing there with those clothes on?”
“Come here, an’ I’ll tell you all about it!” was
the answer. “I’ll tell you something else, too—something
that’ll make you open your eyes. Do
235come, George, and give me a drink of water! I’ve
got a chunk of lead through each leg!”
“Aha!” said George, who thought he understood
the matter now. “You were with the raiders, and
Zeke got two pulls at you with his Winchester!”
As he said this he ran down the swell, and in a
few minutes more was standing beside the wounded
man. It was Springer, sure enough, but he was so
much changed that George could scarcely recognise
him. His face was very pale and his strong frame
was convulsed with agony. The sash he usually
wore around his waist had been cut in two, and the
pieces were bound tightly about his legs above the
knee to stanch the flow of blood from the wounds
made by the herdsman’s rifle. He was a hard-looking
fellow, and any one would have taken him for
just what George knew him to be—a cattle-thief.
Without stopping to ask any more questions
George seized the man’s hat, and hastening to the
bayou presently returned with the crown filled with
water. The wounded raider drank eagerly and sank
back against his tree with a sigh of great satisfaction.
CHAPTER XIII. GEORGE HAS COMPANY.
236
George knew Springer well. The latter had
once been in his father’s employ; but being
of no use as a herdsman or anything else, he had
been discharged, to make room for a more industrious
and pains-taking man. This enraged Springer,
who threatened vengeance, and followed up his
threats by attempting to fire the rancho. He had
been detected in the act and almost captured; but
he succeeded in making his escape, and since then
George had never met him until this particular day.
He had often heard of him, however, as a member
of a band of cattle-thieves, who now and then made
a raid through the country farther down the river.
There were a good many others just like Springer,
on the opposite side of the Rio Grande—renegade
Americans—who, having left their country for their
country’s good, had taken refuge among the Mexicans,
and joined with them in raiding upon the
well-stocked farms and ranches of their Texan
neighbors.
George returns Good for Evil.
237“You needn’t be afeared, George,” repeated
Springer, seeing that the boy cast uneasy glances
about him, as if half expecting to see the rest of the
band start up from some ambush among the willows.
“Thar’s nobody here but me.”
“Where are your friends?” asked George.
“They’ve gone on, an’ I s’pose they’re acrosst
the river by this time.”
“Did they leave you here to take care of yourself?”
inquired George, who found it difficult to
believe that men could be so heartless.
“What else could they do?” asked Springer,
wincing a little, as he tried to move one of his
wounded legs into a more comfortable position.
“A man who is fool enough to get hurt, must take
his chances. If he can keep up with the rest, well
an’ good; if he can’t, he must fall behind an’ look
out fur himself. I’m glad I ain’t in the settlement.
I’d rather stay here an’ starve, fur want of grub an’
water, than have the ranchemen catch me. I ain’t
had a bite to eat fur two days.”
“You haven’t!” exclaimed George. “I’ll divide
with you.”
238He opened his haversack, as he spoke, and producing
from its capacious depths a goodly supply
of bacon and cracker, placed it in the hands of the
wounded man, whose eyes brightened as he received
it. George stood by and saw him eat it, and was
glad to see that he enjoyed it, although he knew
that by thus diminishing his store he put himself in
a fair way to go hungry for many a weary mile of
his journey. The man was a scoundrel—no one
except himself could tell what deeds of violence he
had been guilty of during his raids—but for all that
George was glad that it was in his power to relieve
his distress.
“I am sorry to see you in this situation,
Springer,” said he, when the bacon and cracker
had disappeared.
“Are you, though?” exclaimed the man, wiping
his mouth with the back of his hand, and looking
up in surprise. “I didn’t s’pose you would be.”
“Well, I am; and I hope that when you get
well, you will behave yourself and live among white
men.”
“That’s unpossible; ‘kase why, white men won’t
have nothing to do with me,” replied Springer,
239almost fiercely. “Would you hire me to herd
cattle fur you?”
“Yes, I would. I know you threatened that
you would be revenged on my father for discharging
you, but I don’t see why you should follow me
up. I haven’t done anything to you. How did
you get shot? And how came you here?”
“Wal, you see, we made the dash on your camp,
kalkerlatin’ to take you by surprise; but Zeke, he
allers sleeps with his rifle in his hand an’ one eye
open, an’ I was the fust feller he got a crack at.
He took two pulls at me, an’ this yere is the consequence,”
said Springer, pointing with both forefingers
toward his bandaged legs. “When we left
your camp, the fellers put me on my hoss, an’ I
kept up with ‘em fur a few hours; but the pace was
too fast fur me—I couldn’t stand the joltin’; so I
had to pull up. When I reached this bayou, I
thought I’d get a drink of water; but when I got
down I fell, lettin’ go my bridle, an’ my hoss
walked away. I was too weak an’ bad hurt to
crawl to the water; I couldn’t ketch my hoss, an’ I
reckoned I’d got to stay right here. I happened to
see you when you come to the top of the ridge, an’
called to you, thinkin’ mebbe you wouldn’t refuse
240to give me the drink I was a’most ready to die fur.
But you wouldn’t a done it, if you knowed as
much as I do!”
“Yes, I would. I don’t bear you any ill-will
because you stole my cattle.”
“But that aint all!” exclaimed Springer.
“I know it isn’t! You tried to burn my home
over my head; but I don’t bear you any ill-will for
that, either; and I’ll prove it to you by putting you
on your horse and giving you a chance to save yourself!”
“But that aint all!” said Springer. “How do
you reckon we knowed whar to look for you?”
“I’m sure I can’t tell! I never knew raiders to
venture so far from the river before!”
“An’ they never did, nuther! Whar was you
when we was in your camp?”
“I was lying in a buffalo wallow about a hundred
yards away!”
“Did you see the fellars while they was a pokin’
around in the willows with their fire-brands? What
do you reckon they was a lookin’ for?”
“I supposed they were looking for Zeke!”
“Wal, they wasn’t lookin’ for Zeke, nuther!
241They didn’t care nothing about Zeke! You was the
fellow they wanted to find!”
“I was!” exclaimed George. “What did they
want of me?”
“They wanted you ‘kase there’s a thousand head
of fat steers wrapped up in you, ‘sides them three
hundred we stole from you the other night!”
The boy was greatly astonished, and he was certain,
too, that he knew what Springer was trying to
get at. He seated himself on the ground with his
back against a neighboring tree, and said as calmly
as he could:
“You must speak plainer than that if you want
me to know just what you mean!”
“I mean jist this yere,” said Springer; “an I’ll
tell you ‘cause you was good enough to come here
an’ give me the drink of water I was starvin’ fur,
an’ feed me outen your grub when you haint got
enough to eat yourself. George, you are in danger
every day you spend at your rancho! Your uncle
and cousin don’t want you there, an’ they aint goin’
to let you stay nuther!”
George thought from what Springer said before
that he had some such revelation as this to make,
but when it came it almost took his breath away.
242He had long been of the opinion that his relatives
didn’t want him at the rancho, but how could this
cattle-thief, who lived miles away on the other side
of the river, have found it out? The man talked in
a positive tone, as though he knew all about it, and
this was what surprised George. There was one
thing certain, however: He was not going to discuss
family matters with any such fellow as Springer.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” said he, as he arose to
his feet and slung his haversack over his shoulders.
“I’ll not stay here if you are going to insult my
uncle and cousin!”
“Say, George, whar you goin’?” demanded
Springer.
“I am going to start on again. Shall I put you
on your horse before I go?”
“You needn’t go off mad,” said the man, earnestly,
“‘cause every word I’m tellin’ you is the gospel
truth. We got it all through Philip!”
“Got all what through Philip?” asked George.
“I mean we done all our business through him;
an’ if I was in your place, I’d go home an’ bundle
him outen the house, neck an’ heels. He’s makin’
mischief thar, I tell you. He told us we’d find
you in that grove on Brown’s Run; an’ when we
243didn’t find you thar, we follered your trail to Catfish
Falls.”
“But how did Philip know I was going to that
grove?” demanded George, growing more and more
bewildered.
“What’s the use of me tellin’ you when you’ll
get mad?” asked Springer in reply. “The under-standin’
atween us, was, that arter we had drove
off your three hundred head of stock, we was to
come over agin, in a week or two, an’ we would
find a thousand more head whar we could get ‘em
easy.”
“Who was going to put them where you could
get them easy?”
“If I tell you, you’ll get mad at me. But mind
you, we wasn’t to get them thousand head unless we
gobbled you. The fellers done their level best, but
couldn’t find you!”
“What were you going to do with me if you
found me?”
“That’s something I can’t tell. Nobody but
Fletcher knows that.”
“Who’s Fletcher?”
“He’s the boss—the cap’n.”
“Who told you to gobble me?”
244“What’s the use of me tellin’ you when you’ll be
sartin to go off mad? You see, we kalkerlated to
make twenty-six thousand dollars clear by two
night’s work, but that didn’t satisfy us. Philip, he
told us that thar was a whole bit of gold and silver
in your uncle’s office, an’ we wanted that too;
so we slipped down thar, an’ Philip, he opened
the door an’ let us in.”
“Into our house!” cried George, who now
learned for the first time of the attack that had
been made upon the rancho.
“Yes, into your house; but we didn’t get nothing
but bullets an’ one hoss fur our pains.”
“It served you just right,” said George, indignantly.
“They are not all traitors in that house, I
tell you.”
“Not by no means they ain’t,” said Springer,
with a knowing shake of the head. “One of the
herders, who was awake, aroused the others by
firing his revolver, an’ it’s the biggest wonder in the
world that any of us got out. We tried to cut down
the doors, but they drove us off, and then we made a
strike fur Brown’s Run, whar we allowed to find
you. On the way we run into about five hundred
head of stock, an’ thinkin’ that a bird in the hand
245was worth a dozen in the woods, we drove ‘em off.
We got ‘em across the river all right, an’ dodgin’
the rangers who follered us, we came back arter you.
We found you too, an’ some of us got more’n we
wanted,” added Springer, looking down at his
bandages and groaning faintly.
George listened to all this in the greatest amazement.
He remembered now, that just before he left
home with his supplies, his uncle had questioned
him closely about some things in which he had previously
shown no interest whatever, and that he
seemed particularly anxious to know where his
nephew expected to find his herd, and which way
Zeke would probably drive it after George joined
him. The boy never would have thought of the circumstance
again, if it had not been for this interview
with his father’s old herdsman; but now it was
recalled very vividly to his mind, and he was obliged
to confess to himself that the half-formed suspicions
he had long entertained were not without foundation.
His Uncle John was at the bottom of all his
troubles, and Philip, the Mexican cook, was his confidential
assistant. The boy’s heart sank within
him while he thought about it. He didn’t know
246what to do, and there was only one man in the
settlement to whom he could go for advice.
“Well, Springer,” said George, suddenly, “we
have wasted time enough. I have a long journey
to make, and so have you. I hope you will succeed
in getting safely over the river, and that the lesson
you have received will be the means of making you
an honest man. I will put you on your horse and
divide my provisions with you, and that is all I can
do for you.”
“An’ it’s a heap more nor any body else would
do for me,” said Springer, gratefully. “You won’t
tell none of the settlers that you seed me, will
you?”
“I’ll not put any of them on your trail,” replied
the boy. “I may be obliged to say something
about you; but if you have good luck, you ought to
be safe across the river before I reach Mr. Gilbert’s
house, and that is where I am going.”
After bringing Springer another hatful of water
from the bayou, and dividing with him the small
supply of bacon and crackers he had left, George
brought up his horse, and with infinite difficulty
assisted the man to mount. Springer groaned a
little and swore a great deal during the operation,
247and being a heavy man and almost unable to help
himself, it required the outlay of all George’s
strength to put him into the saddle. After thanking
the boy over and over again for what he had
done, he rode slowly away, and George feeling as
though there was nothing in the world worth living
for now, once more turned his face toward the settlement.
He looked back now and then to see how
Springer was getting on. The last time he saw the
man he was standing on the top of a high swell
holding his hat in his hand. When he saw George
looking at him he waved it in the air and rode down
the swell out of sight.
“If he can keep in his saddle for forty-eight
hours—and he would have no trouble at all in doing
it if it were not for his wounds—and can dodge the
rangers who are probably out looking for the raiders,
he will be all right,” thought George; “but if he
is compelled to dismount, I don’t know what will
become of him. He can’t possibly get on his horse
again without help. Now, what shall I do? I am
going back to a home where I am not wanted.”
This was the burden of the boy’s thoughts all the
rest of the day. He could not make up his mind to
any course of action, for he was so stunned and
248bewildered by what he had heard that he could not
think clearly. The only thing he determined upon
was, that he would lay the case before Mr. Gilbert,
and be governed by his advice. Mr. Gilbert was a
wealthy cattle-raiser and a prominent man in the
settlement, who had gained his start in life through
the assistance of George’s father. He was a firm
friend of the family, and the boy knew that he could
trust him. Toward his rancho he directed his course,
making all the haste he could. He would have been
glad to travel all night, but his weary limbs demanded
rest, and when it grew dark George was
obliged, much against his will, to go into camp.
He built a fire in the edge of a belt of post-oaks
that ran across his path, and after gathering fuel
enough to last all night, he ate a very light supper
and sat down to think over the situation. When
eight o’clock came he scraped a few leaves together
for a bed, and was about to throw himself down upon
it, when he was brought to his feet by the clatter of
hoofs, which sounded a short distance away.
George seized his haversack and waited with a
beating heart for the horsemen, who he knew were
approaching his camp, to come in sight. They came
a moment later, and to the boy’s intense relief the
249light from his fire shone not upon silver buttons,
gaudy sashes and wide trowsers, but upon a couple
of red shirts and slouch hats. With a long-drawn
sigh, indicative of the greatest satisfaction, George
threw down his haversack and stepped forward to
greet the new comers.
“Good-evening, stranger,” said the foremost
horseman. “Have you any objections to good company
to-night?”
“None whatever,” answered George, readily.
“I shall be only too glad to have it, for it is lonely
work keeping house all by one’s self.”
“We saw the light of your fire,” said the other,
“and as we have got a little out of our reckoning,
we made bold to come here, thinking that perhaps
you could set us right.”
“I am glad to see you,” answered George; “but
I hope you have brought your supper with you, for
it is little I can offer you.”
“O, that’s nothing. It is no uncommon thing
for ranchemen to go supperless to bed, you know.
Where did you stake out your horse, my lad?”
“I haven’t any, sir. He was stampeded when
the Greasers stole my cattle, and I haven’t seen him
since.”
250“Ah! been cleaned out, have you? That’s provoking.”
The man said this in much the same tone of voice
he would have used if he had been speaking of an
event that was of every-day occurrence. They both
listened while George, in accordance with their
request, hurriedly related the story of his loss, and
then staked out their horses and came back to the
fire. George offered them what was left of his supply
of provisions, but the ranchemen declined it
with thanks, and proceeded to fill their pipes.
“We need an adventure now and then to give a
little variety to our life,” said one of the men, after
he had taken a few pulls at his pipe, to make sure
that it was well lighted. “My friend and I have
been on the trail of a horse-thief.”
“Did you overtake him?” asked George.
“Yes; but we didn’t get the horse, and we
wanted him more than we wanted the thief. He
had disposed of the animal, traded him off for a
fresher one, you know, and we offered him his
liberty if he would tell us where the horse was.
He told us, and we started back with him to make
sure that he told us the truth, and he gave us the
slip. But we think we know where the horse is.”
251“Is he anywhere about here?” inquired George.
“Is there anybody living about here who goes by
the name of Ackerman?” asked the rancheman.
“Yes, there is,” answered George, opening his
eyes in great surprise.
“Well, my horse is at his rancho. We’re going
there after him, and we’re going to smash things
when we get there, too.”
George was so utterly confounded that he could
not say a word. He sat looking from one to the
other of the ranchemen, who fortunately did not
notice the expression of astonishment that settled on
his face. One of them sat on the opposite side of
the fire, where he could not see the boy, and the
other was stretched out on his blanket, with his
hands clasped under his head, watching the clouds
of smoke that arose from his pipe.
“It’s a little the strangest piece of business I
ever heard of,” said the latter, “and it doesn’t seem
to me that anybody of ordinary common sense could
do such a thing. The thief told us that he traded
Silk Stocking to a young fellow who looked as
though he might be going to a fancy-dress ball
somewhere, for he sported a buckskin coat with
silver buttons, high patent-leather boots, and so on,
252and we saw just such a fellow as that at Ackerman’s
rancho. We stopped there and got fresh horses—those
nags out there belong to Ackerman—and took
supper; and when we came out on the porch Silk
Stocking called to us. He was hitched under an
open shed a short distance from the house. I recognised
the call and so did Joe; but we never suspected
anything, and so we didn’t look into the
matter as we ought to have done.”
George had never been more astonished in his life.
He was greatly alarmed too, for he knew that his
cousin had got himself into serious trouble. The
man on the blanket, who told the story, looked like
one who could smash things if he once set about it,
and the tone of his voice and the decided manner in
which he puffed at his pipe, indicated that he had
fully made up his mind to do it. He and his companion
would certainly make it warm for somebody
when they reached the rancho. Was there any way
in which he could save Ned from the consequences
of his folly? George did not believe there was, for
he knew too well the estimation in which horse-thieves
and everybody connected with them were
held in that country; but still he determined to
make the attempt. Ned was his cousin, the only
253one he had in the world, and it was plainly his duty
to stand by him. Controlling himself as well as he
could, he said:
“You told me, I believe, that this boy, whoever
he is, traded his horse for yours: Perhaps he didn’t
know it was stolen!”
“Probably he didn’t at the time he made the
trade,” replied the man; “but he knew it when
Joe and I stopped at his father’s rancho, for he
heard us tell the story. Why did he not give him
up?”
“No doubt he was so badly frightened that he
dared not do it,” answered George. “This boy, I
believe, has not been long in Texas, and he don’t
know much about the customs of the country.”
“Now just see here, stranger!” said the rancheman,
taking his pipe out of his mouth and looking
steadily at George. “If he knows anything he’d
ought to know that it is a dangerous piece of business
for a man to have stolen property in his possession,
knowing it to be stolen, hadn’t he?”
George could only nod his head in reply. He had
made the best excuse for his cousin that he could
think of on the spur of the moment, but it was a
very flimsy one, and he saw plainly that he could
254not make any more without arousing suspicion
against himself.
“It is my private opinion that there is a regular
nest of thieves in that house!” said the other rancheman.
“It’s mine, too!” said the man in the blanket.
“If that Ackerman is an honest fellow why does
he go about wearing his boiled shirt and broadcloth
suit every day? The moment I got a fair look at
him I told myself that there was something wrong
about him. If that chap in the silver buttons was a
man I’d fix him; but seeing that he’s nothing but a
boy, I’ll snatch him so bald-headed that his hair will
never grow again. I’ll teach him that one who
receives and holds fast to stolen property, knowing
it to be stolen, is as bad as the man who steals it,
and that the law holds good here in Texas as well as
it does in Maine!”
The man did not bluster when he said this—those
who mean just what they say seldom do—and that
was just what made George believe that his cousin
was in a fair way to be severely punished. What the
man would do to him when he found him, George
of course did not know, and he dared not ask; but
he was satisfied that it would be something Ned
255would always remember. The angry rancheman
said several other things in a very decided tone of
voice, all going to show that no boy’s-play was
intended, and when he and his companion had
finished their pipes they arranged their blankets,
bade George good-night, and lay down to sleep.
But there was no sleep for George. He was keenly
alive to Ned’s danger, and a thousand wild schemes
for extricating him from his troubles suggested themselves
to George’s busy brain; but he could hit upon
only one thing just then. If that succeeded Ned’s
peril might be averted until he could have an interview
with Mr. Gilbert. George was certain that
that gentleman could tell him just what ought to be
done.
“I shall put myself in danger by doing it, but it
can’t be helped,” thought the boy. “My cousin
must be saved at all hazards; and if these men, or
any of the settlers, want to take revenge on me for
putting him out of harm’s way, they are welcome to
do it. How easy it is to get into trouble and how
hard it is to get out of it!”
With this reflection George scraped his bed of
leaves a little closer together, threw another stick of
wood on the fire, and tried to follow his two guests
256into the land of dreams; but the sleep he so much
needed to prepare him for the next day’s journey
would not come at his bidding. All the night long
he tossed restlessly about on his hard couch, and
about half an hour before daylight sank into an
uneasy slumber.
CHAPTER XIV. GOOD AND BAD NEWS.
257
When George awoke it was just daylight.
The ranchemen were already stirring, and
one was folding the blankets, while the other was
punching up the fire to obtain a light for his pipe.
“Good-morning, my lad,” said the latter, cheerfully.
“We thought, seeing we had no breakfast
to eat, that we would solace ourselves with a smoke.
Now, if you will put us on our course, we shall be
much obliged to you.”
“The rancho you want to reach lies directly east
of here and is about thirty-five miles distant,” answered
George, after he had returned the man’s
greeting. “Hold a straight course for the sun,
until you strike a big trail running north and south.
Turn south on that trail, and when you have followed
it about ten miles, you will strike Mr. Gilbert’s
rancho. He will direct you the rest of the
way. I have thought a good deal about what you
258told me last night, and I can’t understand why that
boy kept that horse.”
“Neither can I,” said the rancheman.
“As he is a boy, I hope you will be easy with
him,” continued George.
“I will; but the next time he sees a stolen horse
he will run from it, I bet you!”
It was plain that the rancheman had not yet
relented, and that he never would relent; so
George fell back on the plan he had determined
upon the night before.
“Yes, the boy needs a lesson,” said he; “but
for his father’s sake, I hope you will not be too
severe. I have been acquainted with Mr. Dickerman
for a long time, and I know him to be an
honest man. You needn’t think he would——”
“Dickerman!” interrupted the man who had
been called Joe. “Who said anything about Dickerman?
Ackerman is the fellow we are talking
about.”
“O, Ackerman!” repeated George, with a tone
of voice and an expression of countenance which led
the man to believe that he had all the while been
mistaken as to the identity of the person they
wanted to find. “Well, you don’t want to travel
259east, then. Your course lays off here,” he added,
pointing almost due north. “If you ride in that
direction, you ought by dark to strike some of the
ranches in the settlement in which this man lives.”
“Then we were completely turned around, Joe.
I thought we ought to travel that way,” said one
of the men, pointing almost directly toward the
Ackerman rancho. “Well, my lad, good-by.
Many thanks for your information, and the best
of luck to you!”
The men mounted their horses, which they had
brought in and saddled while this conversation was
going on, and rode away, leaving George standing
beside his fire. As soon as they disappeared behind
the nearest ridge, he caught up his haversack,
plunged into the woods and drew a straight course
for home. His face was whiter than it usually was,
and his heart beat audibly.
“I did it,” said he to himself, as he hurried
along, “and whether or not I have done any good
by it, time will tell. If they don’t get off their
course, they’ll reach Dickerman’s to-night about
dark, and then they’ll find out that they have been
put on a wrong scent, and gone forty miles out of
their way. Dickerman will set them right, and the
260question is: Can I see Mr. Gilbert and reach home
before they can get there? I never needed a horse
so badly before.”
Little did Ned Ackerman, who spent this particular
day in company with his friend Gus Robbins,
shooting down the cattle that had broken into his
wheat-field, know of the race that was begun that
morning—a race between a pair of swift horses,
which had between seventy and eighty miles to
travel, and a frightened, panting and footsore boy,
who dragged himself wearily over thirty-five miles
of prairie, to save a scapegrace relative, who would
not have lifted a finger in behalf of that same weary
boy, had their situations been reversed. The odds
were sadly against George. He could have spent a
week in the saddle with little or no inconvenience,
but three days on foot tested his endurance to the
utmost. Nothing but his will kept him up. He
won the race, but, as we shall see, with little time
to spare.
As the day wore away, and George drew nearer
to Mr. Gilbert’s rancho, which was the first one he
would reach on his way to the settlement, he kept a
good lookout for some of that gentleman’s herdsmen,
hoping that he could prevail upon them to lend him
261a horse; but as he did not see any of them, he was
compelled to make the entire journey on foot. He
reached his destination shortly after nightfall, and
found Mr. Gilbert sitting on the porch, enjoying his
after-supper pipe. The gentleman started up in
surprise, when he saw George approaching, and
hurried down the steps to meet him. His greeting
was as cordial and friendly as usual, but there was
something in his manner that the boy had never
noticed before. He could not have told what it was,
but he could see it plainly.
“Come right in, George,” said he, seizing the
boy’s hand and shaking it heartily. “You walk as
though you were completely tired out; so I’ll not
trouble you with questions until you’ve had a supper
and a good night’s rest.”
“I would be thankful for some supper,” replied
George, “but I can’t stay all night. I am in an
awful hurry.”
“And why should you be in such an awful
hurry, I’d like to know?” said Mr. Gilbert, as he
assisted George up the steps and led him into the
house. “Here’s an easy-chair, and I know you
will find——”
“Not in there, please,” said George, drawing
262back as Mr. Gilbert was about to open the door
leading into the cosy living-room, in which his
family was assembled. “Let’s go into the office.
I have something particular to say to you.”
Again George told himself that Mr. Gilbert did
not act as he usually did. He turned at once, and
leading the way into the office, closed and locked
the door; after which he took the boy’s hat and
haversack, and having placed him on the lounge,
drew a chair up in front of him and sat down.
“Where did you hear of it, George?” said he.
“But hold on a moment,” he added, hastily.
“Let’s talk about pleasant things first. Your horse
and mule are here in my corral.”
“Good!” exclaimed George. “I shall need
Ranger at once. I would thank you to lend me a
saddle and bridle, and have him brought to the door
without loss of time.”
“If you must go on to-night, I’ll do it,” said Mr.
Gilbert, rising to his feet; “but you must have
some supper first.”
He left the office as he ceased speaking, and
George lay down on the lounge to rest for a few
minutes. He was used to hard work, but he had
never before been so nearly exhausted. It did not
263seem to him that he could possibly spend the rest of
the night in the saddle, and yet he knew he must do
it in order to save his cousin.
Mr. Gilbert was gone but a few minutes, and
when he came back, he locked the door behind him.
“Another piece of good news I have for you,
George,” said he, as he resumed his seat, “is that
all your cattle have been recovered, and one of my
men is now pasturing them on my ranche, about
three miles from here.”
“Good again!” exclaimed George, brightening a
little. “That is encouraging news indeed.”
“That Zeke is worth two or three ordinary men,”
continued Mr. Gilbert. “Not being able to find
any signs of you or your horse after the Greasers
jumped down on you, he struck out for the settlements
on foot. On the way he fell in with a party
of rangers, and with their assistance, he succeeded
in cutting the thieves off from the river and recapturing
every hoof you had lost. He came down
here with the cattle, chuckling over his good luck,
and was frightened almost out of his senses when he
found that your horse and mule had come here without
you. He begged me to take care of the herd
while he went back to look for you, and I have done
264so. Where were you all the while, George? You
haven’t walked all the way from Catfish Falls?”
“I was hidden in a buffalo wallow while the robbers
were in our camp, and I have walked every
step of the way from there. But I don’t mind that.
What troubles me is the bad news I heard on the
way. I have come here to talk to you about it, for
you are the only friend I have in the settlement.”
“O no, George; don’t say that,” exclaimed Mr.
Gilbert, quickly. “If you knew what a commotion
your disappearance has created among the neighbors,
you wouldn’t talk so. Everybody likes you and
everybody is a friend to you.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said George, drawing
a long breath of relief and looking a little more
cheerful. “I want them to show their friendship
now, and not be too hard on Ned. You know what
I mean.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Gilbert, heaving a deep sigh
and fastening his eyes on the floor, “I know all
about it. The settlers are going to meet at Cook’s
to-morrow and talk it over. They are very angry,
and I don’t know what they will make up their
minds to do.”
“Are you going to be at Cook’s with them?”
265“Of course. I am as much interested in the
matter as anybody.”
“Well, you will do your best for Ned, won’t
you? He is my cousin, you know. You won’t let
them hurt him, will you?”
“I’ll do the best I can, certainly; but you might
as well try to stem the Rio Grande with a straw, as
to stand in the way of a whole settlement, when
every man in it has made up his mind to a particular
course of action. It was a most outrageous
act, and Ned richly deserves punishment.”
“I know it; but if the settlers are such friends
to me they will let him off this time, and I’ll
promise that he will never do the like again.
Remember, Mr. Gilbert, that he is young and
foolish, and that when the horse came into his possession
he didn’t know it was stolen.”
“Horse!” exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, opening his
eyes. “Stolen! What are you talking about,
George!”
“What are you talking about, Mr. Gilbert?”
asked the boy, slowly raising himself on his elbow,
and gazing steadily into the face of his friend.
“Why, I refer to something that happened this
afternoon in Ned’s wheat field, when Ned and that
266Yankee friend of his shot down Cook’s cattle,”
answered Mr. Gilbert.
“What!” exclaimed George, jumping to his feet
in great excitement. “Do you mean to tell me that
Ned has been shooting stock?”
“That’s just what he has done, and that is what
I was talking about. Cook caught him in the very
act.”
“Worse and worse!” said George, sinking back
on the lounge again. “Tell me all about it. I
want to hear the whole story so that I may know
just how to act.”
“That is all there is to tell,” was Mr. Gilbert’s
reply. “Ned and his friend found Cook’s cattle in
the wheat field, and shot two of them, killing one
and severely wounding the other.”
“He did it with his eyes open,” said George.
“He has often threatened it, and I told him just
what would happen.”
“You said something about a horse,” remarked
Mr. Gilbert, when the boy paused.
“Yes. Ned met a stranger somewhere and traded
horses with him; and when the owner came to
our rancho that night, Ned wouldn’t give the horse
up.”
267“That is something I hadn’t heard of,” said Mr.
Gilbert, while an expression of surprise and anxiety
settled on his face. “Now, tell me your story from
beginning to end. If you want my advice I must
know everything.”
George had a good deal to tell, but he did not
consume much time with his narrative, for every
moment was precious. He knew that the two ranchemen
had by this time been made acquainted with
the deception that had been practised upon them,
and no doubt they were at that very minute on their
way to Mr. Gilbert’s rancho. It was necessary that
George should be well on his way home before they
arrived, both to escape the vengeance they would
doubtless visit upon him if they chanced to meet
him, and also to warn his cousin. He described the
attack on the camp, and told how he had concealed
himself in the buffalo wallow and watched the raiders
while they were searching the woods. He told of
his accidental meeting with Springer, and repeated,
as nearly as he could, all the conversation he had
had with him, so that Mr. Gilbert might be enabled
to judge whether or not his suspicions concerning
Uncle John were correct. He also repeated the conversation
he had had with the ranchemen who spent
268the night in his camp, and told what he had done to
put them on the wrong scent.
“I didn’t have more than half an hour’s sleep
last night,” said George, in conclusion. “I lay
awake turning these matters over in my mind, and
I have thought about them all day. The decision at
which I arrived was, that Ned was not safe here in
the settlement, and that I had better take him out on
the plains for a few weeks and let this affair of the
stolen horse blow over; but if he has been shooting
cattle, I think I had better show him the nearest
way to the coast and let him go north, where he
came from.”
Mr. Gilbert heard him through without interruption,
and when the boy ceased speaking he
leaned back in his chair, looked up at a picture
hanging on the wall over the lounge and rubbed
his chin meditatively. Then he arose and walked
up and down the room with his hands behind his
back and his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the
floor.
“I don’t think you could decide upon a better
plan,” said he, at length. “Take them both to the
coast by the shortest route, put them aboard a
steamer and let them go north on a visit. Ned can
269come back after the matter is forgotten, but when
that Yankee friend of his gets home, he had better
stay there. We have no use for fellows of his
stamp down here. Your uncle can perhaps settle
the matter by giving up the stolen horse, paying his
owner for the trouble he has had, and also paying
Cook for the cattle that were shot. And in regard
to yourself, you had better apply for a new guardian
at once.”
“I should be only too glad to do so,” replied
George, eagerly, “for home isn’t home to me any
longer. But there’s one question I want to ask
you, Mr. Gilbert: If I should apply for a new
guardian, would any of these things I have told you
about Uncle John become known—I mean the plans
he has laid to get me out of the way, so that the
property would fall to Ned?”
“Probably they would. The thing would have
to be done by process of law, for it is your father’s
will that gives him the property in trust and makes
him your guardian.”
“Then I’ll not have a new guardian!” said
George.
Mr. Gilbert stopped and looked at the boy in
great surprise.
270“O, I mean it,” said George, decidedly. “I’ll
not disgrace the only brother my father ever had.
He may do better after a while.”
“You are the most confiding boy I ever saw,”
said Mr. Gilbert.
“You must remember that I have nothing but
Springer’s word for all this,” continued George,
“and Springer is a rascal, who would just as soon
tell a lie as eat a good dinner. I shall satisfy myself
of the truth of his story before I make any
move in the matter.”
“Well, keep your eyes open and look out for
treachery while you are doing it,” said Mr. Gilbert.
“It is my opinion that you would be safer anywhere
in the world than you are here in Texas.
If I were in your place, and was determined to let
Uncle John stay where he is, I would go off somewhere
and stay until I became of age. Listen!
What’s that?” exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, holding up
his finger warningly.
The clatter of hoofs on the hard trail came faintly
to their ears. It grew louder every instant, and
presently a couple of horsemen galloped around the
building at full speed and drew rein beside the
porch in front of the lighted windows of the office.
271“Hallo, the house!” came the hail, in stentorian
tones.
George sprang to his feet, and his face grew as
pale as death.
“There they are!” he exclaimed, in an excited
whisper.
“I was in hopes they would not come until you
were well on your way home,” said Mr. Gilbert, in
the same low whisper. “It wouldn’t be safe for
you to fall into their hands.”
“I don’t care for myself,” replied George.
“But, Mr. Gilbert, if you don’t do something for
Ned now——”
“Don’t get excited. Stay in here and trust
to me. I have seen persons in tight places before
to-night, and I know just what you want me to
do.”
George found a world of encouragement in these
words. He sank back on the lounge again, while
Mr. Gilbert hurried out of the office, locking the
door behind him. George heard him pass along
the hall and open the door that led to the porch.
“Good-evening, stranger!” exclaimed a voice,
which the boy knew belonged to the owner of the
stolen horse. “Is this Mr. Gilbert’s rancho?”
272“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Get down and
walk in.”
“Thank you; we can’t stop. We would be
obliged if you would put us on the road to Ackerman’s.”
“I am afraid I can’t direct you so that you can
find your way there in the dark. There are a good
many trails branching off the main road. Better
come in and wait until morning.”
“We can’t do it. We are in a great hurry.”
“Then wait until the moon rises, and I will send
a man to show you the way. Have you ridden far
to-day?”
“We have just come from Dickerman’s.”
“Then you and your nags need food and rest.
Here, Tom! take these horses.”
George heard the men dismount on the porch,
and presently heavy steps sounded in the hall. He
caught the words “Ackerman’s,” “regular nest of
horse-thieves,” “get my hands on that rascally boy
who sent us so far out of our course,” and then the
closing of a door shut out the voices. After a few
minutes’ silence, during which George could plainly
hear the beating of his own heart, footsteps once
more sounded in the hall, the door was unlocked
273and Mr. Gilbert came in. He shook his finger
warningly at George, and, without saying a word,
seized his haversack and hurried out again. In
about five minutes he came back, and George could
see that there was something in the haversack.
“You’ll have to eat your supper as you go along,”
said Mr. Gilbert, in a cautious whisper. “I have
tried to reason with them but it is of no use. Somebody
has told them that Ned has been shooting cattle,
and they declare that they are going to make an
example of him.”
“What do you suppose they will do?” asked
George.
“Haven’t even the shadow of an idea. The least
they can do with him is to put him in jail as a
receiver of stolen property; but they act as though
they were going to take the law into their own
hands, and for that reason I think you had better
get Ned out of the way. As soon as they have
eaten supper I am going to send a man to guide
them to your house, so you’ll have to ride fast. I’ll
delay them in every way I can, but they are very
impatient. Your horse is at the porch on the other
side of the rancho. Keep me posted as to your
movements, and I’ll keep you posted in all that goes
274on in the settlement. Good-by, and good luck to
you.”
George slung his haversack over his shoulder,
shook Mr. Gilbert warmly by the hand and hurriedly
left the office. He found the horse at the end of the
porch, saddled and bridled, and Bony was cropping
the grass a little distance away. Both the animals
recognised and welcomed him, one uttering a low
whinny and the other a suppressed bray, and the
man who was holding the horse nodded his head
vigorously and patted George on the back as if to
say that he knew all about it.
“I am to show them the way,” whispered the
herdsman. “Them trails twist an’ turn about a
good deal, an’ mebbe I’ll get lost: I’m a’most afeard
I will, ‘kase it’s so dark.”
“There’s one thing about it,” said George, to
himself, as he mounted his horse and rode slowly
away from the rancho after taking a cordial leave
of the herdsman. “If I have no other friends in
the settlement, I have some here at Mr. Gilbert’s.
They are all on my side. So Ned has been shooting
cattle! He always said he’d like to see a
‘neighborhood row,’ and now I’ll see whether or
275not he has the pluck to face the consequences of his
foolish act.”
George kept his horse by the side of the trail
until he was out of sight of the house, and then putting
him into a gallop went ahead with all his speed,
Bony following close behind. Ranger knew the road
and kept it without any guidance from his master.
The ten miles that lay between Mr. Gilbert’s and
his home were quickly passed over, and as George
drew near to the end of his ride he gradually
slackened his pace and became cautious in his movements.
There was one man about the house who
seemed to have a way of finding out everything that
went on there, and who, George told himself, must
know nothing whatever of this night’s work. Philip
might be his Uncle John’s confidential assistant, as
Springer had intimated, and then again he might
not; but even if he were, it was not at all likely
that Uncle John would care to have him know that
Ned had got himself into such serious trouble as
this, and George’s object was to warn his cousin and
his guest, and get them out of the house and into
the saddle before Philip knew anything about it.
He first made his way to the corral, intending to
put Bony in there; but the gate had already been
276locked for the night. Then he turned his horse
loose to drink and made his way cautiously to the
house, at the door of which he was met by one
of the herdsman, who started back in surprise at the
sight of him. Every one about the rancho had given
him up for lost.
“Why, George,” exclaimed the man, springing
forward as soon as he had recovered himself, and
extending both hands toward the boy, “you don’t
know how glad—Eh?”
“Not a loud word,” whispered George, raising
his finger warningly. “Jake, you are one of
father’s old herdsmen, and I know I can trust you.
My cousin has got himself into a scrape, and it is
necessary that he should leave here at once. I want
you to saddle a couple of horses, and bring them to
the door and assist me to get Ned and his friend out
of the house without Philip’s knowledge. That
Philip is a born rascal, Jake.”
“I was sartin of it,” whispered the herdsman.
“Me an’ the rest have always suspicioned that he
let the Greasers in here that night, for we know the
door was locked. But what’s the matter with Ned?”
“I can’t stop to tell you now. It’s all over the
settlement, and you will know everything to-morrow.
277Now go into the kitchen and keep Philip there until
I can reach the office; then saddle up and keep a
bright lookout for a couple of horsemen. If you
hear anybody coming down the trail, let me know.”
The man hastened away to obey these orders, and
as soon as George heard the door of the kitchen
close behind him, he ran on tip-toe toward the office.
The peals of laughter that fell upon his ear, told
him that there was a happy party in there, and
George wondered how the members of it would feel
when they heard the news he had to tell. Excited
and anxious as he was when he opened the door, he
could still take note of the fact that his presence
there was most unwelcome. He saw it plainly
enough. Uncle John and Ned were very much surprised
by his abrupt entrance, and there was not the
least cordiality in their greeting. George watched
his uncle’s face and actions closely, and told himself
that Springer’s story was nothing but the truth.
“Why, George, what is the matter?” asked
Uncle John, growing alarmed when he saw how
pale and nervous his nephew was. “Any bad
news?”
“Yes, I have bad news. Ned, you and your
friend must pack up and leave this rancho and this
278county, too, without the loss of an hour’s time,” was
the astounding reply. “You are in danger, and I
have put myself in danger by coming here to tell
you of it!”
“Why, George,” exclaimed Uncle John, sinking
back in his chair, almost overwhelmed with amazement
and alarm, “explain yourself. I don’t understand
you at all. Why should Ned and Gus be in
danger?”
“Because they have deliberately placed themselves
there,” answered George, locking the door to
prevent interruption, and at the same time lowering
his voice, so that he could not be overheard by any
eavesdropper who might chance to pass through the
hall. “Ned, the owner of that stolen horse is
between here and Mr. Gilbert’s. He’s looking for
you.”
Ned’s face grew as white as a sheet. He grasped
the back of his chair and leaned heavily on it for
support, while Uncle John started up in his seat
and looked first at George and then at his son. The
look of alarm on his face had given away to an
expression of intense astonishment.
“Stolen horse!” he exclaimed. “Looking for
Ned! What do you mean?”
279“You remember those two men who came here
one night, searching for a horse they called Silk
Stocking, don’t you?” said George. “Well, the
horse was here in Ned’s possession all the while,
and the owner has found it out. He and his companion
are on their way here now.”
“Ned,” said Uncle John, “you told me that you
hadn’t seen that horse.”
“I know it,” whined the frightened boy. “I
wanted to keep him.”
“But after you found out he was stolen, why
didn’t you give him up?” demanded his father.
“I was afraid the men would do something to
me,” gasped Ned. “They looked so awful mad!”
“You only made a bad matter worse!” said
George. “They will do something to you now, if
they catch you, and they are bound to do it if they
can!”
“Wh—what will they do?” stammered the culprit.
“They may put you in jail!”
“Gracious!” gasped Ned. He walked rapidly
across the floor once or twice and then came back
and caught hold of his chair again. His strength
280was all frightened out of him, and he could not long
keep his feet without a support of some kind.
“But Mr. Gilbert thinks they are going to take
the law into their own hands, as people very often
do it in this country, and that is the reason I am so
anxious to get you away from here,” continued
George. “And that isn’t all. You and your
friend have been shooting cattle this afternoon!”
“It isn’t so! It isn’t so!” cried Ned, with so
much earnestness that he condemned himself on the
spot. “Is it, Gus?”
“No!” replied Gus, in a feeble voice.
“I haven’t seen any cattle to-day!” declared
Ned, gathering a little courage as he proceeded.
“I haven’t been near my wheat field for a week!
Somebody else did it; didn’t they, Gus?”
The latter made no reply. He did not even act
as though he heard the question, and probably he
did not, for he was frightened almost out of his
wits.
“All I know is, that Mr. Cook lost two steers to-day,
and that he saw you shoot them,” said George.
“He has been around to see all the neighbors about
it, and you will hear from them before this time to-morrow
if you are in this house!”
281“Have you any idea what they will do?” asked
Uncle John, who seemed to be as badly frightened
as Ned was.
“Not the slightest; but they will make it warm
for Ned in some way, you may depend upon it. He
has raised a storm, and Mr. Gilbert’s advice to him
is to get out of reach of it. It is my advice, too.”
Just then somebody tapped lightly on the door.
George turned the key, the door opened a little way
and Jake, the herdsman, thrust his head in.
“They’re comin’,” said he, in a thrilling whisper.
“I can hear their horses a-gallopin!”
This startling announcement seemed to take the
courage out of everybody except George. Uncle
John and the two trembling culprits sank helplessly
into the nearest chairs, their faces betraying the
utmost consternation.
CHAPTER XV. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE RANCHO.
282
“How far away are they, Jake?” asked George,
who seemed to be the only one besides the
herdsman who had any of his wits left about him.
“They’re so fur off that I couldn’t have heard ‘em
at all if the wind hadn’t brought the sound of their
horses’ feet to me,” was the herdsman’s answer.
“But they’re comin’ fast, an’ they’ll be here in five
minutes. The horses are waitin’ at the door!”
“You have not an instant to lose,” said our hero,
turning to the frightened boys and speaking as rapidly
as he could.
“Where are you going to take them, George?”
asked Uncle John, as soon as he had recovered the
use of his tongue.
“I intend to show them the way to the coast—we
shall probably bring up at Brownsville—and send
them up north. But you will have plenty of time
to communicate with us after we get out of harm’s
way, and we can then decide what ought to be done
283Mr. Gilbert thinks Ned can come back after a while,
but that Gus had better go home and stay there.”
“I think so, too,” cried Ned. “I wish I had
never seen him. If he hadn’t come here I’d never
got into this miserable scrape!”
“But what am I to do?” asked Uncle John, who
seemed to have no mind of his own.
“You’ll have to stay here until you have settled
this matter, and then you had better follow us to the
coast. Pay Mr. Cook for his cattle and give up the
stolen horse, making the best excuses for Ned that
you can think of.”
“Where is the horse now, Ned?” asked his father.
“I don’t know,” replied the boy. “He went off
with the raiders. Hurry up, George! Don’t stop
to talk any more!”
“I am ready if you are. If the horse is gone
you’ll have to pay for him, Uncle John. Ned will
need some money to bear his expenses. I’ll be back
in a minute.”
George left the office and hurried to his own room.
He stayed there just long enough to empty the contents
of his money-box into his pocket, and was
back again by the time Ned had received the money
his father counted out to him. There was no leave-taking
284whatever; the boys were in too great a hurry
for that. They ran through the hall, and found
Jake standing on the porch holding three horses.
Ned and Gus lost no time in getting into the saddle,
but George paused a moment to listen. He could
distinctly hear the sound of hoofs, but they did not
seem to be coming toward the rancho. They were
moving off to the right, and when George became
satisfied of that fact, he told himself that Mr. Gilbert’s
herdsman had purposely lost his way and was
leading the pursuers out of their course.
“That’s all right,” said he. “Now put out every
light about the house, or close the shutters, to make
them believe that you have gone to bed, and be as
long in answering their hail as you can. We shall
stop in Brownsville, Uncle John, and we shall expect
you there in the course of a few days. Good-by!
Easy, boys! We’ll go fast enough after a while!”
Ned and Gus would have dashed off at the top of
their speed and tired their horses out before they
had gone ten miles if George had not checked them.
The latter knew that they were comparatively safe
now, and he breathed a good deal easier than he did
while he was in the rancho. If the owner of the
stolen horse had arrived while they were in the office,
285something unpleasant might have happened; but
now that he and his companions were in the saddle
there was little danger to be apprehended. The
ranchemen could not compete with them in a fair
race, for the horses they rode were weary with their
day’s journey, while those on which the boys
were mounted were fresh and vigorous. George
explained this as they rode away from the house,
adding:
“They can’t follow us in the dark, for they have
no means of knowing which trail we have taken.
Their only chance is to wait until morning and
make inquiries among the settlers.”
“That is just what they will do,” said Ned, “and
everybody will tell them all about us. The neighbors
are down on me because I am so far above
them.”
“But we must keep out of sight of the neighbors,”
said George, who did not think it best to notice his
cousin’s last remark, “and then they can’t tell anything
about us. The people who live along the
river trail are strangers to us, so we’ll go that way.
It is the safest.”
George kept his horse in a rapid walk until he
was out of sight of the rancho, and then he put him
286to the top of his speed. Although he had no fear
of being overtaken, he was very anxious to keep out
of sight of the ranchemen, for they carried revolvers
and would not hesitate to use them if they found
that Ned could not be captured in any other way.
George was resolved to stand by his cousin, no matter
how much risk he might run by so doing; but
perhaps he would not have been so determined on
this point if he had known what was transpiring at
the rancho he had just left.
In spite of the care he had taken to enter and
leave the house without Philip’s knowledge, that
crafty individual knew all about it. As it happened,
he was standing on the porch when George
first made his appearance. He recognised the boy
at once, and was not a little surprised to see him.
He knew, and so did Uncle John, that George had
succeeded in eluding the raiders when they made the
descent upon his camp, and that he was probably on
his way home; but Philip did not expect him to get
there, for, as we shall presently see, arrangements
had been made to intercept him. When Philip saw
him coming, he said something angry in Spanish,
and retreated into a dark doorway, so that George
could not see him.
287“I never expected to put eyes on him again on
this side of the river,” said the Mexican, to himself;
“but here he has gone and run the blockade, and
there is no telling when we can get another chance
at him. Where are those fellows who ought to have
been watching the trail? I wonder if he has heard
any news! He acts as though he wanted to get
into the house without being seen.”
The man crouched down in his place of concealment
and watched George’s movements. He saw
him when he mounted the steps and placed his hand
on the door leading into the hall. He heard almost
every word of the conversation between him and the
herdsman who met him there, and the ejaculations
he uttered under his breath indicated that he was
both astonished and enraged by it. When the conversation
ceased, and he heard Jake moving along
the hall, Philip softly opened the door near which
he was concealed, and slipped into the kitchen.
When the herdsman entered, he was filling his pipe,
preparatory to indulging in a smoke. Knowing that
the herdsman had been sent in there to watch him,
he remained in the kitchen until Jake went out to
catch and saddle the horses; then he threw down
his pipe, and running swiftly but noiselessly along
288the hall, stopped in front of the office door. Placing
his ear close to the key-hole, he listened intently,
hoping to overhear the conversation that was carried
on by those inside; but George, as we know, spoke
in a low tone of voice, and Philip had little more
than his trouble for his pains. When he heard Jake
coming with the horses he ran back to the kitchen,
the door of which he left ajar. He saw the boys
when they came out, and heard George tell his uncle
that they were going straight to Brownsville, and
should expect to see him there in a few days.
When George and his companions had ridden
away out of sight, and Uncle John and the herdsman
had gone back into the hall, Philip softly opened
the kitchen door and stepped upon the porch.
Almost at the same instant the door which gave
entrance into the hall, was cautiously opened and
Uncle John came in. He looked all around the
room as if he was searching for somebody, and went
out upon the porch. He pronounced the Mexican’s
name two or three times, in a low tone of voice, and
walked around the building, looking everywhere for
him; but he could neither hear nor see anything of
him, and finally he gave up the search, and went
back to the office again.
289Philip, in the meantime, having caught up a saddle
and bridle, belonging to one of the herdsmen,
ran to the corral, opened the gate with the key
which he had taken from its nail in the kitchen,
and hurried in. When he came out, he was leading
a horse, which was soon saddled and bridled,
and carrying the Mexican at a full gallop away
from the rancho. The rider directed his course
down the trail, and had gone about half a mile,
when he heard the sound of voices away off to his
right. It was so dark that he could not see anybody,
but Philip, being confident that he knew
whom the voices belonged to, checked his horse and
rode just fast enough to intercept the horsemen,
who were coming along one of the side-trails. In a
few minutes a hail came through the darkness, telling
him that he had been discovered.
“Hallo, there!” cried a voice.
“Hallo yourself!” replied Philip, stopping his
horse and turning him around, so that his head
pointed toward the rancho, instead of away
from it.
“O, now you’re all right,” said another voice.
“That’s one of Ackerman’s men. He’ll show you
290the way, an’ I’ll go hum. I’m sorry I lost the
trail, an’ tuk you so fur outen your way—I am so;
but it’s powerful dark, an’ my eyes ain’t none of the
best.”
“Well, I should think a ten-year-old boy ought
to know the trails in his own neighborhood,”
growled the man who had shouted out the hail.
“You have delayed us more than half an hour.”
“And he did it on purpose, too,” thought Philip.
“That’s Gilbert’s man, and he knows the country
like a book for two hundred miles around.”
“Hallo, there!” came the hail again.
“Hallo yourself!” was Philip’s answer.
“Can you show us the way to Ackerman’s?”
“I can. I am going right there.”
“Then you can go home,” said the horseman,
addressing himself to the man whom Mr. Gilbert
had sent to act as guide. “We’ve seen enough
of you.”
The herdsman, taking him at his word, rode off
at once; and presently the owner of the stolen
horse and his companion galloped up to the place
where Philip was standing. The latter looked
closely at them for a moment, and exclaimed:
“O! I know who you are now. You’re the
291gentlemen who came to our rancho the other night
and borrowed two fresh horses. Did you catch
him?”
“No,” growled one of the horsemen.
Philip waited for him to say something more, but
the man did not seem to be in the humor for talking
just then. No doubt he was reserving all he
had to say for Uncle John’s private ear. After
they had ridden a short distance, Philip said:
“I’m sorry you didn’t catch him. Mr. Ackerman
will be sure to ask particularly about it, when
he comes home.”
“When he comes home!”
“Yes; he isn’t here, you know.”
“Where is he?”
“He and his son started for Palos this morning.”
The horsemen looked at each other and uttered
a volley of exclamations, that seemed to astonish
Philip greatly.
“Perhaps you wanted to see Mr. Ackerman?”
said he.
“I should say we did!” replied the owner of the
stolen horse.
“I am sorry. He’ll not be back for two or three
292weeks, for he took a mule-wagon with him, and is
going to bring back a heavy load.”
“You say his son went with him. Did he go in
the wagon?”
“O, no; he rode on horseback.”
“What sort of a looking horse was it?”
“A dark chestnut, with white mane and tail and
four white feet. It was a new horse he traded for
a few days ago. The house is open, just the same
as if Mr. Ackerman was there, and we shall be glad
to give you——”
“We wouldn’t stay in his house to-night under
any circumstances!” was the angry reply. “Bring
out our horses as quick as you can, and let us get
away; that’s all we ask of you!”
“I’ll do that. Any word to leave for Mr. Ackerman?”
“Not a word! We’ve got plenty to say to
him and that boy of his, but we’ll say it to their
faces.”
“It is nothing bad, I hope!”
“It is no business of yours, whether it is or
not!”
These words and the tone in which they were
uttered, silenced the Mexican most effectually.
293He knew some things that the owner of the stolen
horse did not know; but still he was obliged to
exhibit some curiosity, in order to avoid exciting
the man’s suspicions. Not another word was said
during the ride.
The ranchemen went into the corral with Philip,
turned their borrowed horses loose and caught their
own, and, having placed their saddles upon them,
they mounted and rode away. Philip watched
them as long as they were in sight, and when they
had disappeared in the darkness, he closed and
locked the gate of the corral, sprang into his
saddle and turned his horse’s head away from the
rancho.
“That was pretty well done if I did do it myself,”
thought he. “They’ll be back again to-morrow or
next day, but if Ackerman is sharp they’ll find him
gone, sure enough. I’ll have to go, too, for I
shouldn’t like to have them see me after they learn
how they have been tricked.”
While the Mexican was talking to himself in this
way he had ridden around the corral, and was now
galloping at full speed toward a belt of timber which
lay about two miles from the rancho. All was dark
before him, but Philip seemed to know just where
294he was going. He brought his horse to a walk when
he reached the woods, and after riding through a
dense thicket of bushes he struck a bridle path, into
which he turned. He followed it for a short distance,
ducking his head now and then to avoid some
overhanging branch, and finally dismounted at the
door of a dilapidated cabin that had once been the
property of a pig-raiser, who lived there and watched
his droves while they fattened on the acorns which
so plentifully covered the ground at certain seasons
of the year. There was a window beside the door,
and a bright light shone out of it. The light came
from the fire-place, which was heaped high with
blazing logs. In front of the fire were two men,
dressed in Mexican costume, who were reclining at
their ease on their ponchos and smoking cigarettes.
But they were not Mexicans. They were renegade
Americans, and members of the band that made the
attack upon George’s camp. When they heard the
strokes of the horse’s hoofs on the hard path, they
started up and turned toward the door which Philip
pushed open without ceremony.
“You are a pretty pair, I must say!” exclaimed
the newcomer, after he had somewhat relieved his
mind by uttering a volley of heavy Spanish adjectives.
295“What were you put here for, anyhow—to
waste your time in smoking and loafing?”
“We have just this moment come in,” replied
one of the men.
“Didn’t you see anybody while you were watching
the trail?” inquired Philip.
“Yes; there was somebody went by on horseback.”
“Was there a small, dark-colored mute following
the horse? Then it was the boy you were looking
for, and you let him go by.”
“Of course. You told us to look out for a boy
on foot!”
“So I did,” said Philip, after reflecting a moment.
“I didn’t think, at the time, that he would be likely
to find his horse and mule, but it seems he did.
However, you’ve got a chance to try your hands
again. George has just started for Brownsville!”
Both the men uttered ejaculations when they heard
this, and one of them began to roll up his poncho.
“There are three of them together,” continued
Philip, “but you will have no trouble in recognising
George when you find them. He’s the largest of
the lot, wears a red shirt and high boots, and rides
a black horse. You want to look out for that same
296black horse, for if you give him the least show he’ll
carry George so far out of your reach that you’ll
never see him again. He’s just lightning. Your
best plan would be to wait until the boys go into
camp, and then jump down on them before they
know it. Hold fast to George when you get him,
but don’t harm the other two. Don’t waste your
time, either, in following the big trail. Put for the
river as fast as you can, and there’s where you will
find them.”
While Philip was giving these commands the men
were busy rolling up their blankets and ponchos
and making their preparations for an immediate
departure. Their horses, which were staked out
close by, were quickly caught and saddled, and
when all were mounted, Philip led the way out of
the timber. He paused when he reached the open
ground long enough to add a few words more to the
instructions he had already given, and then galloped
off toward the rancho, while the Americans rode
away in pursuit of George.
When Philip reached home he put his horse into
the corral and let himself into the kitchen without
being seen by anybody. After making sure that
the rest of the servants had retired for the night, he
297hastened along the hall to the office, at the door of
which he paused for a moment to listen. He heard
the sound of footsteps passing back and forth at regular
intervals, but there was no murmur of conversation,
and so Philip knew that the man he wanted to
see was alone. He entered without taking the trouble
to knock, and having closed the door and pushed the
bolt into its socket, he hung his sombrero upon the
knob to cover the key-hole. Uncle John, who was
walking restlessly about the room, turned quickly
and hastened forward to greet him.
“Philip, I am overjoyed to see you,” he exclaimed.
“Where have you been? I have hunted
the house over to find you. Do you know what has
happened here to-night?”
“I know all about it,” replied Philip, taking possession
of one of the easy chairs, with the air of a
man who felt perfectly at home. “I heard everything
that passed while George was here except
the conversation he had with you in this office.
He talked so low that I couldn’t hear much of that,
but I know about what he said.”
“Then tell me what to do,” said Uncle John, who
had not yet recovered from his fright. “What shall
I say to those men when they come here? I don’t
298see what keeps them. I have been looking for them
every minute since the boys went away.”
“They have been here and are gone,” answered
Philip. “They’ll not trouble you to-night.”
Uncle John could not speak. He could only look
the astonishment and delight he felt.
“Yes,” continued Philip, “they have come and
gone. I sent them away. I met them on the road
and told them you and Ned had gone to Palos, and
that you would not be back under two or three
weeks. I told them, too, that Ned had ridden away
a new horse he traded for a few days ago. I knew
they wouldn’t stop here after hearing that. I helped
them catch their horses, and they left as soon as they
could put the saddles on them.”
Uncle John drew a long breath and sat down in
the nearest chair. He was greatly relieved to know
that he would not be called upon to face the owner
of the stolen horse that night.
“They must have gone away with a very poor
opinion of themselves,” Philip went on. “They’ve
been fooled at every turn. The horse they are looking
for was under the shed the night they came here;
George sent them more than thirty-five miles out of
their way; Mr. Gilbert sent a herdsman to guide
299them to the rancho and he lost them on purpose;
and now I have sent them off on a wild goose chase.
It’s lucky for you I did, for they were just boiling
over.”
“But they’ll come back some day,” said Uncle
John, growing frightened again when he thought
of it.
“Of course they will, but if they catch you here,
it will be your own fault. They’ll not find me, I
tell you. You ought to be well on your way toward
Brownsville by this time to-morrow, and I don’t see
why you didn’t go with the boys. I would if I had
been in your place.”
“Why, I thought I ought to stay here and settle
the matter.”
“You can settle it easier through somebody else.
You’ll have to pay full value for that horse, for he
went off with the raiders. I saw him go. If I
were in your place, I’d put money enough in Mr.
Gilbert’s hands to straighten up the whole business—he’ll
do it if you ask him, just because he knows
it would please George—and then I’d dig out. I
wouldn’t come back either, until Mr. Gilbert
thought it safe for me to do so. But before you
go, you might as well tell one of the men to bring
300in a thousand head of cattle and pasture them
between here and the river.”
“What do you mean by that?” exclaimed Uncle
John, starting up in his chair.
“I mean that you won’t find George in Brownsville
when you get there. You know those two
fellows who were sent here to watch the rancho,
don’t you? Well, they let George go by them to-night.”
Uncle John was well aware of that fact. If they
had not allowed him to pass he could not have
reached the house. That was what caused him to
exhibit so much astonishment when his nephew first
entered the office. He knew that the trail was
watched, and he could not imagine how George had
escaped capture.
“George came on horseback, and they were looking
for a boy on foot,” said Philip. “He is safe
now, however. I have put them on his trail, and a
few hours more will see him on the other side of the
river.”
“But what will become of Ned and Gus?”
“I told the men not to trouble them.”
“But they can never find their way without a
guide.”
301“Haven’t they got a pair of tongues, and isn’t
the trail as plain as daylight?”
Uncle John settled back in his chair and fastened
his eyes on the floor. He was silent for a long
time, but finally he said: “I wish you hadn’t done
it.”
“It is too late to talk that way,” answered Philip,
drumming with his fingers on the arms of his chair,
and looking up at the ceiling. “You told me what
you wanted done, and what you were willing to
give, if it was done, and I have tried my best
to do it.”
“If I had waited until to-night, I never should
have said a word to you about it. Suppose it
should become known among the neighbors!”
“Now, how are the neighbors going to find it
out? Who is going to tell them?”
While this conversation, and much more like it,
was going on, George was leading his companions
rapidly across the plain, toward the trail which ran
along the bank of the river, in the direction of
Brownsville. He had brought upon himself the
wrath of men who would have treated him roughly,
if they could have overtaken him; had run away
from his home like a thief in the night, and he had
302done it to save a boy whose father was at that very
moment hearing and consenting to plans, which
were intended to bring him into serious trouble.
If George had known what we have just recorded,
his after life would not have been what it was, and
a good many thrilling scenes we have yet to describe,
and of which he was the hero, never would
have happened. It all came out after a while, and
it came, too, in such shape that George was fully
convinced that Mr. Gilbert was wiser than himself,
and he wondered why he had not seen it before.
Philip spent more than an hour in conversation
with his employer, minutely describing all the
events of the night, in which he had borne a part,
and at last he arose to go. As he was about to
leave the room, a most unexpected and alarming
incident occurred. No sooner had he crossed the
threshold, than he received a blow full in the face
that would have felled an ox. It lifted him off his
feet, sent him with crushing force against the wall,
and doubled him up on the floor, all in a heap.
“Set Greasers on the trail of a white boy, will
ye?” exclaimed a voice. “Take that thar fur yer
imperdence! Evenin’, Mr. Ackerman!”
303The voice, and the clenched hand that struck the
blow, belonged to Jake, the herdsman, who thrust
his head in at the door and nodded to his employer,
as if to say:
“I know all about it!”
CHAPTER XVI CAUGHT AT LAST!
304
“Let’s hold up a little, boys. We mustn’t tire
our horses out at the start, you know. We
are safe now, for even if those ranchemen should
come in pursuit of us, they’d never think of looking
for us here.”
The fugitives were five miles from the rancho,
and they had not consumed a great deal of time
in accomplishing the distance, either. They had
scarcely exchanged a dozen words since they began
their flight, for George led the way at a pace so
rapid that conversation was impossible. Ned and
Gus had never travelled so fast on horseback before,
and the former was obliged to confess to himself
that he was by no means so fine a rider as he
thought he was. It was comparatively easy to
keep a firm and upright seat while his nag was
ambling leisurely along a smooth trail, but it was
not so easy when the horse was running at the top
305of his speed, over rough ground. His feet were
out of the stirrups more than half the time, while
Gus was jolted up and down and from side to side
with such violence that it was a wonder he kept in
his saddle at all. Fortunately, Ned’s departure
from home had been so hurried that he had forgotten
to take with him the ornaments he usually
wore when he went riding. If he had had his
spurs on while his heels were digging into his
horse’s sides, he might not have kept his seat as
well as he did. Both he and Gus were glad when
George checked his horse and allowed him to settle
down to a walk.
“Texas isn’t so dull a place to live in after all,
is it?” said George, who knew he must say something
to keep up the spirits of his companions.
“One can get all the excitement he wants, without
half trying, can’t he?”
“I never would have been in this scrape if it
hadn’t been for Gus,” declared Ned, who, mean-spirited
fellow that he was, always tried to shift the
responsibility for any wrongdoing upon the shoulders
of somebody else. “I wish I had never brought
him here!”
“So do I,” replied Gus, who might, with just as
306much show of reason, have accused Ned of being
the author of all his misfortunes. If Ned had not
written him those letters and offered to pay his
travelling expenses, he never would have been in
Texas. “I don’t see how you can blame me for
anything that has happened. Did I have a hand in
stealing that horse?”
“You had just as much to do with it as I did.
What I mean is, that if you had been at home,
where I wish you were this very minute, those cattle
never would have been shot.”
“That’s a pretty way for you to talk!” exclaimed
Gus, angrily. “I hadn’t been in your house an
hour before you told me that you intended to do that
very thing, just to get up a breeze and show the
neighbors that you had some pluck.”
“But I never would have done it if you hadn’t
dared me. What are we going to do when we reach
Brownsville, George?”
“We’ll put up at a hotel and wait for Uncle
John,” was George’s answer. “When he comes
we’ll talk the matter over and decide upon something.
I think we had all better go off somewhere.
I am going, for I don’t want to see anybody in our
settlement until this trouble is forgotten.”
307“You haven’t done anything to be ashamed of,”
said Gus, who looked upon George as a hero. He
had been perfectly cool and collected while everybody
else was too badly frightened to talk plainly,
and Gus greatly admired his courage. He told himself,
too, that he had formed a wrong opinion of the
boy from Ned’s description of him. He was not a
boor by any means. He was more of a gentleman
in appearance, in spite of his rough clothes, than
his cousin was, and knew more in five minutes than
Ned could ever hope to know.
“No; I have done nothing to be ashamed of, but
I am taking you out of danger, and the people will
think hard of me for it,” replied George. “Besides,
I deceived the owner of the stolen horse, and that
will raise a storm against me. The folks in these
parts are down on anybody who befriends a horse-thief.”
“I am not a horse-thief!” exclaimed Ned.
“Of course you are not. But you acknowledge
that you kept Silk Stocking in your possession after
you knew he was stolen, and that’s a crime in
the eyes of our people!”
“Don’t you think I can ever come back?” asked
Ned.
308“O, yes! It will all blow over after a while,
but you must be very careful in future, for a second
offence of this kind would be sure to lead to something
serious.”
Ned was overjoyed to hear this. Now that he
had recovered from his fright so that he could think
clearly, he began to ask himself what the future had
in store for him. How could he live if he were
obliged to leave Texas? He knew that his father
would be quite willing to support him, no matter
where he might choose to take up his abode, but he
could not do it without drawing heavily on the revenues
of the estate, and it was not at all likely that
George would consent to that; consequently Ned
would be compelled to go to work and earn his own
support. That was something the boy did not want
to do. He had lived so long in idleness that the
very thought of work was most distasteful to him.
He told himself that he would indeed be careful
how he acted when he came back to the ranche,
and that nothing could ever again induce him to
foolishly jeopardise his chances of living a life of
ease.
“Mr. Gilbert has often advised me to go away
and see a little of the world, especially of my own
309country, and I don’t know that I shall ever have a
better opportunity,” continued George. “I’d like
first to go up the Mississippi, clean up to its source,
and come back in a canoe. Canoeing is getting to
be a favorite sport with some people.”
“That would be splendid,” exclaimed Ned, with
great enthusiasm. “I’ll go with you.”
George made no reply. He had not looked for
so prompt an endorsement of an idea that had but
just suggested itself to him, and besides, his cousin
was the last boy in the world he would have chosen
for a companion during a journey of that kind. If
he made it at all, he wanted to make it a pleasure
trip; and for that reason he wanted Ned to have
nothing to do with it.
“I have read about the cruise of the Rob Roy on
the Jordan,” continued Ned, “and I’d like to make
one just like it. I think a voyage down the Mississippi
would be the next best thing. We ought to
take our guns and some fishing tackle with us, and
we shall need a tent and cooking utensils. Won’t
we have fun, though? Let’s go, George.”
“And while you are having so much fun what
will I be doing?” asked Gus.
“You!” said Ned, as if he had forgotten that
310there was such a boy as Gus Robbins in existence.
“O, you had better go home.”
“Now, Ned, you know very well that I can’t do
it,” said, Gus; and he spoke so calmly that Ned
looked at him in surprise.
“Yes, you can. Your father said so in his
letter.”
“But I haven’t money enough to pay my way.”
“Well, I can’t help that. You can’t expect me
to pay your bills all the while.” Ned caught his
breath when he said this, and looked toward his
cousin, wondering what the latter would think, if he
knew that a hundred dollars, which ought to have
been placed in the bank for his future benefit, had
been spent to bring Gus Robbins to Texas. “Write
to your father,” added Ned.
“What shall I do while I am waiting for an
answer?” asked Gus. “How shall I live?”
“You’ll have to go to work at something. I
don’t know of anything else you can do.”
Gus did not continue the conversation any longer.
He had learned all he wanted to know. Drawing
in his reins, he gradually slackened his pace, and
allowed George and his cousin, who rode side by
side, to pass on in advance of him. As soon as
311they had done so, Gus fell in behind them and
shook his fist angrily at Ned.
“He’s the meanest boy that was ever heard of,”
said he, to himself. “I knew it all the while, and
the trouble I have got into is nothing more than I
deserve. I ought to have had nothing to do with
him. He has got himself and me into a scrape, and
now he throws me overboard, and lets me look out
for myself, while he depends upon his cousin to see
himself safely through. He’s got a big pile of money
he can draw on, and can go off and enjoy himself,
while I’ve got to stay here. For I shall not go
home,” added Gus, with a most emphatic shake of
his head. “Everybody in Foxboro’ knows by this
time that I ran away, and I’ll not go back there and
face them. There’s plenty of work to be had in
this country, and right here I’ll stay until my father
writes me a decent letter.”
Perhaps we shall see that Gus made a great mistake
when he came to this determination. If he
had made up his mind to return to his home as soon
as he could get there, he would have saved himself
a great deal of trouble that afterward came to him.
He decided that he would accompany Ned as far as
Brownsville, and that when he arrived there he
312would leave him and strike out for himself. He
would not stay with a boy who did not want his
company.
As the hours wore away, and the rancho was left
farther and farther behind, and all fears of pursuit
died away, Ned’s spirits and courage all came back
to him, and he began to speak of the events of the
night and the incidents that led to them as a
“lark” that was just a little ahead of anything
he had ever heard of. He seemed to forget all
about Gus, who took no part in the conversation.
Now and then George turned about in his saddle,
and addressed some remark to him, but Gus replied
only in monosyllables, and George, finding that he
did not feel in the humor for talking, left him to the
companionship of his own thoughts.
It was an hour after daylight when the boys came
within sight of the woods which lined the banks of
the Rio Grande. By this time Ned and Gus were
completely tired out, and even George began to
show signs of weariness. They were all glad of a
chance to rest, and believed they would be the better
for a few hours’ refreshing sleep. They staked out
their horses in the edge of the timber, spread their
blankets and ponchos on the ground, and throwing
313themselves down upon them, went to sleep almost
immediately.
There was no one in sight when they went into
camp, for George took particular pains to satisfy
himself of this fact; but for all that there were two
persons near enough at hand to observe all their
movements. They had been on the trail of the
fugitives for more than half an hour, following
behind them at a respectful distance, and making
use of every inequality in the ground to conceal
them from the view of the boys, should any of them
chance to look behind. When the travellers staked
out their horses one of them was lying on the summit
of the nearest ridge, looking at them over the top of
the grass. When he had seen all he cared to see he
returned to his companion, who sat on his horse at
the foot of the swell awaiting the result of his observations,
and the two rode along under cover of the
ridge until they reached the woods, about half a
mile above the place where the boys had made their
camp. Keeping their horses in a rapid walk they
moved along just outside the timber, and were soon
discovered by Ranger, who lifted his head and gave
them a good looking over. But he raised no alarm
thinking, no doubt, if he were able to think at all,
314that as it was daylight his master ought to be able to
take care of himself.
When they had approached a little nearer the two
men put their horses into a gallop, and dashed into
camp. One of them threw his bridle to his companion,
and swinging himself out of his saddle
hurried up to George and placed his hand on his
shoulder just as the boy, aroused out of a sound
sleep by the clatter of the horses’ hoofs, raised himself
on his elbow to see what was the matter. He
saw a bearded face bending over him, and felt a
strong grasp on his collar. His two companions
were sitting up on their blankets looking on with
mouths and eyes wide open. Ned probably did not
consider this incident a part of the “lark” he had
been talking about, for he was trembling like a
leaf.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
demanded George, as soon as he could speak.
“We’re somebody who won’t harm you so long as
you do just as you’re told!” replied the man. “We
came after you—that’s what’s we are doin’ here!”
“Well, now that you have found me, what do you
want with me?” asked George.
“We want you to get on your hoss an’ take a ride
315with us. Thar’s somebody over on the other side of
the river who wants to see you powerful bad!”
George arose slowly to his feet and looked first at
the man who held him by the collar, and then at the
man who sat in his saddle. He knew who they were
before he asked them, and he knew, too, who it was
on the other side of the river who wanted to see him.
He was caught at last, and there was no chance for
escape. There was but one course open to him, and
that was to submit and trust to luck.
“Answer another question while you are about
it,” said George. “Are you Fletcher’s men?”
“What do you know about Fletcher?” demanded
the ruffian, in surprise.
“I know all about him, and I know what he
wants of me, too.”
“Who told you?” asked his captor, still more
astonished.
“That’s my business!” answered George, who
knew better than to mention Springer’s name.
“Now, what in the world does this mean?”
whined Ned, who just then recovered his power of
speech. “Who are these men, George, and what
are they going to do with us?”
“We aint agoin’ to do nothing with you an’ the
316other feller thar,” said the man, pointing at Gus,
“so you don’t need to get so white an’ act so powerful
skeered. This yere is the chap we’ve been
lookin’ fur. Now you two can lay thar an’ sleep
jest as long as you please, an’ then you can strike
out fur Brownsville, and nobody won’t say a word to
you.”
“But what are you going to do with George?
Are you going to take him away and leave us
alone?”
“That’s about the way it looks now.”
“How are we going to find our way without a
guide? We don’t know the road!”
“You don’t need to know it, ‘cause you can’t
miss it. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
Ned exhibited the greatest astonishment and terror,
while Gus sat staring blankly before him, as if
he could hardly realize what was going on. The former,
George noticed, did not ask what the men
intended to do with him, after they had taken him
across the river. All he wanted to know, was how
he and Gus were going to find their way to Brownsville
without a guide.
“O now, I don’t know what to do,” cried Ned,
317sinking back on his blanket and covering his face
with his hands.
“Be a man in the first place,” said George, who
was surprised at his cousin’s want of courage.
“You have nothing to cry over. Your way is perfectly
plain, but if you miss it, can’t you stop at
some of the ranchos along the road and ask the
people to set you right? But there’s one thing I
want to speak to you about. I say! You don’t
care if I change clothes with him, do you?” he
added, addressing the man who held him by the
collar.
“What do you want to do it for?” asked that
worthy.
“Because it may help him.”
“I don’t reckon it’ll do any harm, will it, Sam?”
inquired the man, appealing to his companion.
Sam looked down at the horn of his saddle, and
after considering the matter, said he didn’t think it
would.
“All right. Let go my collar,” said George.
“Why do you hang on to me in that fashion?”
“I was told to look out for you,” answered the
ruffian, “an’ I’m jest goin’ to do it!”
He let go his prisoner’s collar, but he kept close
318beside him when the latter walked over to the place
where his cousin was lying on his blanket. “You
had better give me those silver buttons and all the
rest of your finery,” said George, “for they are
much too conspicuous for you to wear. Those
ranchemen are not going to give up that horse, and
they may follow you clear to Brownsville. I
believe I could take you through all right; but as I
can’t go with you, you will be left to depend upon
yourself, and you can’t take too many precautions.”
The hint that there was still a possibility of pursuit
and capture by the ranchemen, brought Ned to
his feet in great haste. The thought that perhaps
his cousin might get himself into trouble by wearing
those same silver buttons never entered his head,
nor would he have paid any attention to it if it had.
He cared for nobody but himself, and he was quite
willing to part with his nobby suit, and put on his
cousin’s coarse clothing, if by so doing, he could
secure his own safety. The exchange was soon
effected, the cattle-thief standing so close to George’s
elbow all the while that flight would have been
impossible, even if the boy had thought of such a
thing, and although Ned cut a sorry figure in his
new rig, his cousin’s appearance was vastly improved.
319The nobby suit, which was rather large
for Ned, fitted him as though it had been made on
purpose for him, and Gus, while he looked at him,
wondered why he had never before noticed that
George was a very handsome young fellow.
“Now, boys,” said the latter, as he placed the
sombrero on his head, “as soon as you have had
rest enough, catch up and start again. Don’t waste
an hour, but be careful and not tire your horses out
by reckless riding. When you reach Brownsville,
go to the best hotel, and wait for Uncle John. Ned
has all the money you need,” added George, who
had taken pains to see that there was an exchange
of purses as well as an exchange of clothing.
“But what is going to become of you?” asked
Ned, as if the question had just occurred to him.
“I am sure I don’t know,” replied George; and
it was right on the end of his tongue to add:
“Probably your father will tell you if you will ask
him the next time you see him,” but he did not
utter the words. It was more than likely that
Springer’s story was all false, and that Uncle John
knew nothing whatever about this matter. At any
rate he would not accuse him until he had received
positive proof of his guilt.
320“What makes you let them carry you off in this
way, anyhow?” demanded Ned.
“What else can I do? I can’t whip two grown
men with my bare hands, can I?”
“I always heard that the Ackermans was a
plucky lot,” said the man who was keeping guard
over George, “but I didn’t allow to find a kid like
you so cool an’ careless-like. Have you done talkin’
enough now, do you reckon?”
“Yes, I have given all the advice I can think of,
and I will be ready to go with you as soon as I can
saddle my horse.”
“You needn’t mind takin’ that lasso off,” said
the man, as George was about to untie the lariat
with which his horse was fastened to the picket-pin.
“‘Cause why, we’ll leave it jist as it is, you know,
an’ I’ll hang on to this yere eend of it.”
The boy was surprised at the precautions his
captor thought it necessary to take in order to prevent
any attempt at escape, and told himself that
the man was going to a good deal of trouble for
nothing. If there had been the least chance for
flight or successful resistance George would promptly
have taken advantage of it, as he did a few days
afterward, but he was not foolhardy enough to run a
321race with a bullet from the ruffian’s revolver. While
he was putting the saddle and bridle on his horse he
repeated all the instructions he had given Ned,
and when he could no longer find an excuse for
delaying his departure, he shook hands with his
companions, bade them good-by and rode away
between the two cattle-thieves, one of whom held
fast to the lasso which was around the neck of
George’s horse. Ned and Gus stood in the edge of
the timber watching him as long as he remained in
sight, and when he disappeared behind the nearest
swell, they sat down on their blankets and looked at
each other.
“O, Gus, I don’t know what I should do if you
were not here with me!” exclaimed Ned, who was
the first to speak.
“Don’t you, indeed!” replied his companion.
“Have you forgotten how squarely you went back
on me no longer ago than last night? You just as
good as told me that you had seen enough of me.
You could get along without me well enough while
you had your cousin to lean on, but now that he is
gone, I am a bully boy again. No, sir; you can’t
throw me away and pick me up again when you
please, now I tell you!”
322“O, don’t talk that way!” whined Ned, who
knew that he was powerless, and that everything
depended upon Gus. “I didn’t mean it. I was
frightened out of my senses, and didn’t know what
I was saying.”
“No, you were not frightened. You had got all
over it and were laughing about the ‘lark’ you had
had. You said it, whether you meant it or not, and
I shall take you at your word.”
“You are not going to leave me?” Ned almost
gasped.
“Yes, I am. When we reach Brownsville, if we
ever do, you will see the last of me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind yet.
I know what I am going to do now: I am going to
sleep.”
Ned could not understand how Gus could take
the matter so coolly. He was slumbering heavily in
less than five minutes after he arranged his blankets,
while Ned, whose excitement would not permit him
to sleep, tossed uneasily about, thinking over the
incidents of the last few hours, and trembling when
he looked forward to the long journey before him
and its possible ending.
323“I am not out of danger yet,” he kept saying to
himself, “for if I were, George would not have
traded clothes with me. He has been pretty good
to me, I must say. It isn’t every fellow who would
stand by a cousin as he has stood by me, and I
almost wish I had treated him a little better. Perhaps
I shall never see him again. Well, if I
don’t——”
Clasping his hands under his head Ned lay back
on his blanket and proceeded to follow out the train
of thought that had so suddenly suggested itself to
him. The prospect of stepping into possession of a
property worth forty thousand dollars a year was a
pleasing one; and while he was wondering what he
should do with so much money, and how he could
spend it to the best advantage, his weariness overcame
him, and he sank into a dreamless sleep.
When he awoke the sun had climbed around to the
other side of the woods, and the shadows of the
trees were thrown far out on the plain, showing that
the day was drawing to a close. Gus was already
stirring. He had rolled up his blankets, and was
just putting the saddle on his horse when Ned
opened his eyes.
324“Where are you going?” demanded the latter, in
some alarm.
“I am going to start out and see if I can find a
house,” replied Gus. “I have a little money in
my pocket, and while it lasts I am not going to sleep
out of doors or go hungry, either!”
“You needn’t spend a cent of it,” said Ned,
hastily jumping to his feet and folding his blankets.
“I’ve got enough for both of us. You were not
going away without me, were you?”
Gus, who was whistling softly to himself, made no
reply to this question, although his companion was
sure he had heard it. His silence was enough to
excite Ned’s suspicions, and to thoroughly frighten
him, also. Did Gus intend to desert him? If so,
what would he (Ned) do when he was left to himself?
“I’ve made him mad and I don’t know how to
get him good-natured again,” was Ned’s mental
reflection. “If I can only keep him with me until
father comes to Brownsville, he can clear out and
welcome. I must keep a close watch over him or
he’ll come up minus some fine morning.”
While these thoughts were passing through Ned’s
mind, he caught up his saddle and bridle and hurried
out to put them on his horse.
CHAPTER XVII. CONCLUSION.
325
It was a very unsociable pair who rode away from
the woods that afternoon. Ned, who knew that
he could not take care of himself, tried his best to
heal the breach that had been caused between himself
and his companion, by the hasty and ungenerous
words he had uttered the night before, but Gus
repelled all his advances. Knowing that his old
friend would drop him again as soon as he could
find some one else to lean on, Gus would have
nothing to say to him; so Ned gave up in despair,
and rode along in silence. We may add that this
was the way they travelled every day, until they
reached Brownsville. Gus stopped for the night
when and where he pleased, resumed his journey in
the morning when he got ready, and never consulted
Ned, who was at liberty to follow or stay behind,
just as he chose.
326The boys soon found the trail which they had no
difficulty in following, for it was as plain as a wagon
road. Indeed, it was a wagon road, for it was used
by the settlers and army teamsters in hauling goods
up and down the river. Gus at once set off at a
sharp gallop and Ned lumbered along a few paces in
his rear. They rode in this way until the sun sank
out of sight, and the shadows of twilight began to
deepen into the gloom of night, and Gus was telling
himself that there was a fair prospect that they
would be obliged to go supperless to bed, when his
eyes were gladdened by the sight of a rancho a little
distance away. Urging his horse forward at a faster
pace, he drew up in front of the building a moment
later, and was welcomed by a half a dozen ill-looking
curs, which ran out and barked at him vociferously.
“Hallo, in there!” shouted Gus, hardly believing
that he could make himself heard above the din
raised by the angry pack which surrounded him.
“Anybody at home?”
“Get out, ye brutes!” roared a voice from the
inside. “Alight an’ hitch, strangers.”
The dogs retreated under the porch, where they
remained growling savagely, and now and then
giving utterance to an impatient bark, and presently
327the owner of the voice appeared in the open door.
In dress and appearance he was in perfect keeping
with his surroundings, which, when the boys c
to look at them, they found to be of the most primitive
character. The house was a rambling old
structure, built of logs and rough, unpainted boards.
There were wide gaps in the shingles on the roof,
and the rickety porch groaned and creaked as the
man stepped upon it. The few outbuildings that
could be seen were in the same dilapidated condition.
The house was undoubtedly the home of a
squatter, who made his living by pasturing cattle on
government land.
“Alight an’ hitch, strangers,” repeated the man.
“You’re welcome to sich as we’ve got, an’ that ain’t
none of the best, I can tell you. You see we went
back into the country to git shet of the raiders an’
we’ve jest come hum to-day.”
“Did you lose any of your cattle?” asked Gus,
and after he had asked the question, he was surprised
at himself for doing it. Probably the man
owned two or three cows, which supplied his family
with milk, and the raiders would not go far out of
their way to pick up such a herd as that.
“Nary hoof,” replied the squatter, with a triumphant
328air. “I tuk my three thousand head safe
off an’ brung ‘em all back agin!”
Gus was astonished. The man was rich. He
was worth at least sixty thousand dollars (Gus had
heard that beef cattle were worth twenty dollars
a piece) and yet he lived in a hovel at which a
respectable dog would turn up his nose. It looked
so untidy and altogether forbidding that Gus did
not want to go into it; but knowing that he would
find plenty to eat in there, and believing that he
could find a shelter somewhere under the leaky roof,
he dismounted, and the squatter came down the
steps and took charge of his horse.
“Go right in, strangers,” said he. “The ole
woman’s in thar, an’ I reckon supper’s ‘most
ready.”
Gus went in, but Ned, who felt very lonely and
down-hearted, seated himself on the porch and
brooded over his troubles. The former found that
the living-room, which was the one he entered, was
as uninviting as the outside of the house. The floor
was littered with various odds and ends, including
saddles, bridles, horse-blankets and old boots, and
the holes in the walls were covered with hides which
were hung up over them to keep out the wind and
329rain. One side of the room was occupied by an
immense fire-place, in front of which stood the
squatter’s wife, who was busy with her preparations
for supper. She looked up when the boy entered,
waved a case-knife toward an old chest which stood
beside the door, and requested him to sit down; and
that was the only time Gus heard her speak while
he remained at the rancho.
The boys fared a great deal better than they
expected. The supper was abundant and well
cooked, but the dishes on which it was served up
might have been a little cleaner. The squatter was
very sociable in his way, and after entertaining the
young travellers with many stories of exciting and
amusing adventure drawn from his own experience,
he asked them where they came from and where they
were going.
“I don’t know where I am going,” answered Gus,
ignoring the first part of the question, and speaking
entirely for himself. “I am looking for a chance to
go into business of some kind, and if I could get
stock enough to begin on I might be tempted to try
cattle-raising on the squatter plan.”
This was enough to set their host to going again,
and during the rest of the evening he kept the boys
330interested. He told of his own trials and failures,
and gave Gus some advice which might have been
valuable to him had he thought seriously of going
into the business of cattle-raising. The squatter
talked almost incessantly until ten o’clock, and then
seeing that Gus began to yawn he stopped abruptly
and led the boys into an adjoining room.
“I brung your saddles an’ things in yere,” said he.
“You can spread your blankets on the floor an’ sleep
as comfor’ble as you please. Mebbe the roof’ll leak
a little if it rains, an’ if it does, you can come in
an’ lay down in front of the fire. All night to
you!”
So saying the squatter left the room, and the boys
began groping about in the dark in search of their
saddles, to which their blankets and ponchos were
fastened. They found them at last, and after making
their beds they lay down on them without bidding
each other good-night, and prepared to go to
sleep. It was very probable that the room would
leak a little in case of a sudden shower, Gus thought,
as he looked up at the roof. There were several
holes in it, and some of them were so large that he
could have crept through them. He lay there for a
long time looking up at the stars, thinking of his
331home, and telling himself how foolish he was to run
away from it just in time to miss that excursion to
the trout streams of the Adirondacks, and when his
eye-lids were beginning to grow heavy and the holes
in the roof to assume fantastic shapes, Ned suddenly
started up and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s that?” said he, in a low whisper.
“Don’t you hear something?”
Gus was wide awake in an instant. He held his
breath and listened for a moment, and then sank
back in his blanket again.
“I don’t see any sense in frightening a fellow
half to death for nothing!” said he. “Let me alone,
now. I want to go to sleep!”
“But I hear horses,” whispered Ned. “They’re
coming fast, too.”
“So do I hear them; but what of it?” replied
Gus.
He spoke as though he took no interest whatever
in the matter, but if Ned could have seen his face,
he would have found that it was growing whiter
every moment. Gus heard the sound of the hoofs
plainly enough, but until Ned spoke it never occurred
to him that the horses which made the noise
might be ridden by men who were in pursuit of
332himself and his companion. A few seconds later
the dogs were aroused and rushed out in a body to
salute the approaching horsemen. Ned hoped from
the bottom of his heart that they would pass on
without stopping, but in this he was disappointed.
The horsemen came straight toward the house, the
sound of the hoofs ceased suddenly in front of the
porch, and a voice that made Ned tremble all over
rang out on the air.
“Hallo, the house!” came the hail.
“Get out, ye brutes!” shouted the squatter;
whereupon the dogs scattered and took refuge under
the porch. “Alight an’ hitch, strangers. I’ll be
thar in a minute!”
The boys heard their host moving about the living-room
and mending the fire to make it blaze. Then
he opened the door and they listened with all their
ears to hear what passed between him and the new
comers. As there was but one thin board partition
(and that was full of wide cracks) between them and
the door, they could catch every word that was
uttered.
“Alight an’ hitch, strangers,” said the squatter,
repeating his stereotyped invitation. “You’re welcome
333to sich as we’ve got, an’ that ain’t none of the
best, I can tell you.”
“Thank you,” replied the same voice that had
hailed the house; and when Ned heard it he trembled
again. “If you will let us spread our blankets
on your porch, and will give us a bite to eat in the
morning, we shall be much obliged. We’ll
not ask you to get supper for us. It is too late.”
“No occasion, stranger; no occasion,” replied the
hospitable squatter. “Ole woman, here’s a couple
of hungry gentlemen out here who want something
to eat. Travellin’ fur, strangers?”
“We’ve ridden about seventy-five miles. Have
you seen a party of four persons pass this way to-day,
one of them a young fellow, riding a dark
chestnut horse with white mane and tail, and four
white feet?”
“Gracious!” thought Ned.
“Aha!” said Gus, to himself, at the same time
drawing a long breath of relief. “He didn’t say a
word about the cattle that were shot, so I have
nothing to fear. Ned can look out for number one;
that’s what he was going to make me do. But he
asked after four persons. Who is the other, I
334wonder? There were but three of us before George
was taken away.”
“Ain’t seed no sich,” replied the squatter.
“That’s very strange,” said the voice. “They
must have come this way, for they are going to
Brownsville. The fellow who rode this horse wore
a sombrero, high patent leather boots and a buckskin
coat with silver buttons. He carried an ivory-handled
riding-whip, had silver-plated spurs on his
heels, and the horse wore a gold-mounted saddle
and bridle.”
“Ain’t seed no sich,” repeated the squatter, while
Ned wondered where the man had obtained so accurate
a description of him.
“They couldn’t have gone by without attracting
your attention, could they?”
“Nary time. I see everybody who goes along
this trail by daylight. Come in, gentlemen. The
ole woman’ll cook you a bite of something an’ I’ll
look arter your critters.”
The listening boys knew when the unwelcome
visitors dismounted and entered the house, and Gus,
who sat where he could look through one of the
widest cracks into the living-room, the interior of
which was now brightly lighted up by the fire on
335the hearth, noticed that the squatter’s wife motioned
to them with a case-knife, to sit down on the chest
by the side of the door. After Gus had taken a
good look at them, he did not wonder that their
appearance frightened Ned so badly that he dared
not confess that the stolen horse was in his possession.
Ned could not see the men, but he knew they
were in the next room, and not more than twelve or
fifteen feet from him. What would become of him
when they discovered that he was in the house? He
would certainly meet them the next morning at the
breakfast table, and if they recognised him, it would
be all over with Ned Ackerman.
“I wonder why father didn’t settle the matter
with them, as George told him to do!” thought Ned,
who always blamed somebody beside himself for the
trouble he got into. “He had the money, he ought
to have done it, and he has got me into a pretty
mess by not doing it. If I ever see him again, I’ll
give him a piece of my mind, I bet you.”
Another thing that aroused the boy’s anger, was
the manner in which Gus conducted himself. While
Ned was sitting upon his blanket, trembling in every
muscle and living in momentary expectation of discovery,
Gus had the impudence to lie down and roll
336over on his side with his hand under his cheek,
as if he were trying to go to sleep. Ned could see
it all by the aid of the light which streamed in
through the cracks in the partition.
“Say, Gus,” he whispered, shaking his companion
as roughly as he dared, “what am I to do?
Get up and suggest something.”
“I don’t care what you do,” answered Gus, who
thought this a good time to pay Ned for what he
had said the night before. “It is none of my
funeral. I didn’t steal the horse.”
“Neither did I,” said Ned, who was so angry
that it was all he could do to control himself.
“Shall I creep out of the house, if I can get out,
or shall I stay here and take my chances?”
“Do just as you please. I am not interested in
the matter at all.”
“Your critters is done took care on!” exclaimed
the squatter, who came in at that moment. “What’s
this yere feller with the silver buttons an’ the
hoss with the white stockins on been a doin’
of?”
“The boy is a receiver of stolen property,” came
the reply, in a tone which made Ned tremble more
violently than ever. “Do you know anything
337about the people who live in the Ackerman settlement?”
“Never heard tell of none of ‘em,” answered the
squatter.
“It is my opinion that they are no better than
they should be,” continued the owner of the stolen
horse. “Every man and boy we met except one is a
friend to this fellow who ran off with my property.
That one’s name was Cook. He has lost some
cattle through this same Ned Ackerman, and is very
anxious he should be caught. I am going to have
that horse if he is in the state.”
“And we’re going to have the boy who ran away
with him, too,” added the other rancheman.
Slowly and cautiously Ned stretched himself upon
his blanket, and drawing his body into as small a
compass as he could, as if he hoped in this way to
lessen the chances for discovery, he lay and listened
to the conversation that followed. The visitors
talked principally about cattle-raising, and there was
little more said concerning the lost steed and the boy
who was supposed to have run away with him; but
that little served to convince Ned, if he needed any
further proof, that the men were determined they
would not go home until they had captured him and
338recovered the horse. As soon as they had eaten the
supper that had been prepared for them the squatter
offered to show them where they could spread their
blankets; and Ned’s heart almost stopped beating
when he heard the three men enter the narrow hall
leading to the room occupied by himself and Gus.
At the same time a faint light shone in upon him,
and Ned saw that the doorway was concealed by a
tattered blanket. The light shone through this
blanket, which, while Ned looked at it, was raised,
admitting the squatter, who carried a blazing fire-brand
in his hand.
“Come right in here,” said he, as he held up the
blanket; and Ned was almost ready to faint when
he saw the ranchemen enter, each carrying his saddle
in his hand. “These yere is two chaps who is out
cattle-buyin’,” continued the squatter, waving his
fire-brand toward the boys. “An’ these yere is two
fellers lookin’ for a hoss-thief. Know yourselves,
gentlemen!”
Believing that by this introduction he had made
the two parties acquainted with each other, the
squatter relapsed into silence and held up his fire-brand
so that the ranchemen could see to arrange
their beds. The latter nodded to the boys and
339wished a hearty good-evening to which Gus alone
responded. Ned could not have uttered a word to
save his life. Was it possible that he could stay in
the same room with those men all night? He
thought they looked at him a little suspiciously, and
to show them that he was not the boy who wore the
high patent-leather boots and silver buttons, Ned
threw off his blanket so that all his clothes could be
seen.
“Buying cattle, eh?” said the owner of the horse.
“Going into the ranche business?”
“I don’t know that I can do anything better,”
replied Gus.
“You don’t want anything better if you manage
rightly,” said the man. “I have known young fellows
like you and your partner to start out with a
few head of stock and make themselves rich before
they were forty years old. But of course they
worked hard and attended strictly to business.
That’s the only way to get on in this world. Now,
my friend, we shall not need your light any longer.”
Ned was glad indeed when the squatter dropped
the blanket to its place and went out with his fire-brand.
He was glad, too, that the ranchemen were
tired and sleepy, for he did not want to hear them
340talk. He was afraid that they might address some
of their remarks to him. They did not know him
in his cousin’s clothes, and they did not recognise
his face for the reason that they had not obtained a
fair view of it on the night they visited the rancho;
but they had heard his voice, and they might
remember it if they heard it again. So Ned determined
that he would not speak. He pretended to
fall asleep immediately, but the fact was he did not
sleep a wink that night. The mere presence of the
men who were hunting him so perseveringly was
enough to keep him wide awake. The long hours
of night had never dragged so slowly away before,
nor had Ned ever longed so impatiently for the daylight.
The first gray streaks of dawn which came
creeping in through the wide cracks in the walls
around the slumbering ranchemen who, after exchanging
a few words in a low tone of voice, arose
and left the room, taking their blankets and saddles
with them. Ned heard them in conversation with
the squatter, and wished most heartily that the latter
would not be so persistent in his efforts to keep them
until breakfast was over. He did not want the
ranchemen to see him by daylight, and he was overjoyed
to hear them declare that all they wanted was
341a cold bite, and if their host would provide them
with that they would be off. The cold bite was
speedily forthcoming, and when the ranchemen had
done full justice to it, they mounted their horses
and rode away. Then Ned breathed easily for the
first time in long hours.
This was the last adventure that befell our young
travellers while they were on their way to Brownsville.
They never went a mile out of their way;
they fared well along the route, and their meals and
lodging did not cost them a cent. The door of any
rancho or farm-house that happened to be in sight
when night came was open to them, the owner
treated them like honored guests, and always refused
to accept any remuneration. They rode into Brownsville
one morning about ten o’clock. Having made
inquiries at their last night’s stopping-place they
knew the name of the best hotel and where to go to
find it, and toward it they directed their course.
Giving their horses in charge of a man who came
out to meet them as they drew up in front of the
door, they went in, and Ned, having signed his name
to the register, called for a room.
“Gus has treated me as though I wasn’t Ned
Ackerman at all,” thought he, as he followed the
342bell-boy up the stairs. “He has travelled on his
own hook, leaving me to take care of myself, and
now I am going to pay him back in his own coin.
He ought to come and make things straight with
me, if he only knew it, for he can’t have the cheek
to go home again after what he has done.”
But Gus had not the slightest intention of making
things straight. He had had quite enough of his old
friend, and he was just as independent as Ned was.
He did not register his name, but went into the
wash-room, and after removing all the travel-stains
from his hands, face and clothing, he came out, and
left the hotel. It was a long time before Ned heard
where he went and what he did.
Meanwhile, Ned was working hard with a brush
broom, a piece of soap and a coarse towel, to make
himself presentable; but when he got through and
took a look at himself in the mirror, he was anything
but pleased with the result. His hands and face
were very brown, and his red shirt looked as though
it had been through two or three wars. “I can’t
stand this. I am ashamed of myself,” thought he.
“I noticed as I came along, that there were a good
many stylish young fellows on the street, and I am
not going among them with such clothes as these on.
343Fortunately, I have money enough to rig myself out
equal to the best of them. If I only had my nobby
suit now, wouldn’t I make folks stare?”
Ned went down stairs and out of the hotel.
When he returned, about half an hour later, he carried
a satchel in his hand and a bundle under his
arm. He made his way to his room, and when he
came out again, no one who had seen him when he
rode into town would have taken him for the same
boy. Gus Robbins would have been obliged to look
twice at him before he could have recognised him.
His cousin’s coarse clothing had been exchanged for
a broadcloth suit of the latest and most fashionable
cut, and the wearer looked like a dapper young clerk
out for a holiday.
Being satisfied now that he could appear on the
streets without attracting any but admiring glances,
Ned went down to the office. The clerk was not
there, and while the boy stood leaning against the
counter, waiting for him to come in so that he could
give him his key, he heard a voice behind him—a
familiar voice, that made the cold chills creep all over
him. He knew who the owner of the voice was, but
some strange fascination compelled him to turn his
head and look at him over his shoulder. There
344were two men standing in front of the counter with
the register before them. One held a pen in his
hand, and was on the point of writing his name,
when another name above the first vacant line
attracted his attention.
“Why, look here, Joe,” said he. “‘Edward
Ackerman.’ That’s our man. He was coming to
Brownsville, you know.”
“So he was,” said Joe.
Just then the clerk passed around behind the
counter. He looked at Ned as he went by, but did
not act as though he had ever seen him before.
“Mr. Clerk,” said the owner of the stolen horse,
for it was he, “who is this Edward Ackerman?”
“Don’t know’ him,” answered the clerk. “He’s
a stranger.”
“What sort of a looking fellow is he?”
“O, he’s roughly dressed, and looks as though he
might be a cow-boy!”
“That doesn’t answer the description, but we
might have a peep at him if he is in his room.
Show us up, will you?”
The clerk sounded his signal-bell, and when the
boy came up in answer to it, he was commanded to
show the gentlemen up to number thirty-three.
345Ned watched them as they followed the boy up the
stairs, and then left the counter and went out on the
street. He would have been glad to give up the
key of his room and send for his valise, which contained
the rest of the clothing he had just purchased,
but he could do neither without exposing himself on
the spot.
“Am I never going to see the last of those men?”
thought Ned, as he hurried along, turning every
corner he came to, as if he hoped in that way, to
leave his pursuers behind for ever. “I can’t stay at
that hotel if they are going to stop there. I wish
father would hurry up. I shall be in danger as
long as I am in this town.”
Ned found a second-rate hotel, after a few
minutes’ walk, and concluded to stop there. Profiting
by his past experience, he signed a fictitious
name to the register, and then settled down to wait
as patiently as he could for his father’s arrival. He
waited almost a week, and was beginning to fear
that he would never come, when one day, to
his great delight, he met him on the street. Ned’s
first act was to relate the particulars of his two
adventures with the ranchemen, and to take his
father to task for not settling the matter with them.
346He never said a word about his cousin’s capture or
Gus Robbins’s sudden disappearance, for those little
incidents were of no consequence whatever.
“Those men are following me around under the
impression that I still have the horse in my possession,”
said Ned, angrily. “Why didn’t you tell
them that he went off with the raiders?”
“Because I didn’t have the chance,” replied his
father. “They never came near my house that
night. If they will go back to Mr. Gilbert’s they
will find money enough in his hands to pay for the
horse and for their trouble, too. By the way,
where’s George?”
Ned looked up at his father in surprise. He had
never before known him to throw so much earnestness
into a simple question, or seem so eager for an
answer to it.
“O, a couple of Greasers took him away from
us!” said Ned, indifferently. “I’ll tell you all
about it by and by.”
“Come around to my hotel,” said Uncle John,
hurriedly. “I want to know all about it now. We
have a good many other things to talk about also.”
Yes, they had many things to talk about, and
it took them a long time to explain matters so that
347each might know what had happened to the other
during their short separation. Ned told a truthful
story, but he did not learn so very much from his
father in return. There were some things that
Uncle John thought it best to keep to himself.
And where were George and Gus all this while?
The story of their adventures is too long to be told
in this book. We shall begin it immediately in the
second volume of this series, and as we go along we
shall take up the history of another runaway, Tony
Richardson by name, of whose short experience
with the ways of the world we have already had
something to say. We shall also take our hero,
George Ackerman, away from his home, and tell
of his experience and exploits in an occupation he
had never dreamed of following. The volume will
be entitled, “George at the Wheel; or, Life in
the Pilot-house.”
THE END.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Both words ‘ranche’ and ‘rancho’ appear numerous times in the text. Did not change
either.
Added the word ‘less’ between the words ‘a’ and ‘exposed’ on p. 169.
