The Story of the Foss River Ranch: A Tale of the Northwest

by Ridgwell Cullum

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE FIRST CHECK

  The afterglow of sunset slowly faded out of the western sky. And thehush of the night was over all. The feeling of an awful solitude, whichcomes to those whose business is to pass the night on the open prairie,is enhanced rather than reduced by the buzz of insect life upon thenight air. The steady hum of the mosquito--the night song of thegrasshoppers and frogs--the ticking, spasmodic call of the invisiblebeetles--all these things help to intensify the loneliness and magnitudeof the wild surroundings. Nor does the smoldering camp-fire lessen theloneliness. Its very light deepens the surrounding dark, and its onlyuse, after the evening meal is cooked, is merely to dispel the savageattack of the voracious mosquito and put the fear of man into the heartsof the prairie scavenger, the coyote, whose dismal howl awakens theechoes of the night at painfully certain intervals, and often drivessleep from the eyes of the weary traveler.

  It is rare that the "cow-hand" pitches his camp amongst hills, or in theneighborhood of any bushy growth. The former he shuns from a naturaldislike for a limited view. The latter, especially if the bush takes theform of pine woods, is bad for many reasons, chief amongst which is thefact of its being the harborage of the savage, gigantic timber wolf--acreature as naturally truculent as the far-famed grizzly, the denizen ofthe towering Rockies.

  Upon a high level of the prairie, out towards the upper reaches of theRainy River, a tributary of the broad, swift-flowing Foss River, andsome fifteen miles from the settlement, two men were lounging, curledleisurely round the smoldering remains of a camp fire. Some distanceaway the occasional lowing of a cow betrayed the presence of a band ofcattle.

  The men were wide awake and smoking. Whether they refrained from sleepthrough necessity or inclination matters little. Probably the hungryattacks of the newly-hatched mosquito were responsible for theirwakefulness. Each man was wrapped in a single brown blanket, and foldedsaddle-cloth answered as a pillow, and it was noticeable that they werestretched out well to leeward of the fire, so that the smoke passedacross them, driving away a few of the less audacious "skitters."

  "We'll get 'em in by dinner to-morrow," said one of the sleepless menthoughtfully. His remark was more in the tone of soliloquy thanaddressed to the other. Then louder, and in a manner which impliedresentment, "Them all-fired skitters is givin' me a twistin'."

  "Smoke up, pard," came a muffled rejoinder from the region of the otherblanket "Maybe your hide's a bit tender yet. I 'lows skitters 'mostallus goes fur young 'uns. Guess I'm all right."

  "Dessay you are," replied the first speaker, sharply. "I ain't been longin the country--leastways, not on the prairie, an' like as not I ain'tdropped into the ways o' things. I've allus heerd as washin' is mightybad when skitters is around. They doesn't worry you any."

  He pulled heavily at his pipe until his face was enveloped in a fog ofsmoke. His companion's tone of patronage had nettled him. The old handmoved restlessly but did not answer. It is doubtful if the other'ssarcasm had been observed. It was scarcely broad enough to penetrate thetoughened hide of the older hand's susceptibilities.

  The silence was broken by a man's voice in the distance. The sound of anold familiar melody, chanted in a manly and not unmusical voice, reachedthe fireside. It was the voice of the man who was on watch round theband of cattle, and he was endeavoring to lull them into quiescence.The human voice, in the stillness of the night, has a somnolent effectupon cattle, and even mosquitoes, unless they are very thick, fail tocounteract the effect. The older hand stirred. Then he sat up andmethodically replenished the fire, kicking the dying embers togetheruntil they blazed afresh.

  "Jim Bowley do sing mighty sweet," he said, in disparaging tones. "Likea crazy buzz-saw, I guess. S'pose them beasties is gettin' kind o'restless. Say, Nat, how goes the time? It must be night on ter yourspell."

  Nat sat up and drew out a great silver watch.

  "Haf an hour yet, pard." Then he proceeded to re-fill his pipe, cuttinggreat flakes of black tobacco from a large plug with his sheath knife.Suddenly he paused in the operation and listened. "Say, Jake, what'sthat?"

  "What's what?" replied Jake, roughly, preparing to lie down again.

  "Listen!"

  The two men bent their keen, prairie-trained ears to windward. Theylistened intently. The night was very black--as yet the moon had notrisen. Jake used his eyes as well as ears. On the prairie, as well aselsewhere, eyes have a lot to do with hearing. He sought to penetratethe darkness around him, but his efforts were unavailing. He could hearno sound but the voice of Jim Bowley and the steady plodding of hishorse's feet as he ceaselessly circled the band of somnolent cattle. Thesky was cloudy, and only here and there a few stars gleamed diamond-likein the heavens, but threw insufficient light to aid the eyes whichsought to penetrate the surrounding gloom. The old hand threw himselfback on his pillow in skeptical irritation.

  "Thar ain't nothin', young 'un," he said disdainfully. "The beasties isquiet, and Jim Bowley ain't no tenderfoot. Say, them skitters 'asrattled yer. Guess you 'eard some prowlin' coyote. They allus comearound whar ther's a tenderfoot."

  Jake curled himself up again and chuckled at his own sneeringpleasantry.

  "Coyote yerself, Jake Bond," retorted Nat, angrily. "Them lugs o' yoursis gettin' old. Guess yer drums is saggin'. You're mighty smart, I don'tthink."

  The youngster got on to his feet and walked to where the men's twohorses were picketed. Both horses were standing with ears cocked andtheir heads held high in the direction of the mountains. Their attitudewas the acme of alertness. As the man came up they turned towards himand whinnied as if in relief at the knowledge of his presence. Butalmost instantly turned again to gaze far out into the night. Wonderfulindeed is a horse's instinct, but even more wonderful is the keenness ofhis sight and hearing.

  Nat patted his broncho on the neck, and then stood beside himwatching--listening. Was it fancy, or was it fact? The faintest sound ofa horse galloping reached him; at least, he thought so.

  He returned to the fire sullenly antagonistic. He did not return to hisblanket, but sat silently smoking and thinking. He hated the constantreference to his inexperience on the prairie. If even he did hear ahorse galloping in the distance it didn't matter. But it was his earsthat had first caught the sound in spite of his inexperience. Hiscompanion pigheadedly derided the fact because his own ears were notsufficiently keen to have detected the sound himself.

  Thus he sat for a few minutes gazing into the fire. Jake was now snoringloudly, and Nat was glad to be relieved from the tones of his sneeringvoice. Presently he rose softly from his seat, and taking his saddleblanket, saddled and bridled his horse. Then he mounted and silentlyrode off towards the herd. It was his relief on the cattle guard.

  Jim Bowley welcomed him with the genial heartiness of a man who knowsthat he has finished his vigil and that he can now lie down to rest. Theguarding of a large herd at night is always an anxious time. Cattle arestrange things to handle. A stampede will often involve a week's wearyscouring of the prairie.

  Just as Jim Bowley was about to ride up to the camp, Nat fired aquestion which he had been some time meditating.

  "Guess you didn't hear a horse gallopin' jest now, pard?" he askedquietly.

  "Why cert, boy," the other answered quickly, "only a deaf mule could 'a'missed it. Some one passed right under the ridge thar, away to thesouthwest. Guess they wer' travelin' mighty fast too. Why?"

  "Oh, nothin', Jim, on'y I guess Jake Bond's that same deaf mule youspoke of. He's too fond of gettin' at youngsters, the old fossil. I told'im as I 'card suthin', an' 'e told me as I was a tenderfoot and didn'tknow wot I was gassin' about."

  "Jake's a cantankerous cuss, boy. Let 'im gas; 'e don't cut any figgeranyway. Say, you keep yer eye peeled on some o' the young heifers on thefar side o' the bunch. They're rustlin' some. They keep mouching afternew grass. When the moon gits up you'll see better. S'long, mate."

  Jim rode away towards the camp fire, and young Nat proceeded to circleround th
e great herd of cattle. It was a mighty bunch for three men tohandle. But Lablache, its owner, was never one to underwork his men.This was the herd which he had purchased at the sale of Bunning-Ford'sranch. And they were now being taken to his own ranch, some distance tothe south of the settlement, for the purpose of re-branding with his ownmarks.

  As young Nat entered upon his vigil the golden arc of the rising moonbroke the sky-line of the horizon. Already the clouds were fastclearing, being slowly driven before the yellow glory of the orb ofnight. Soon the prairie would be bathed in the effulgent, silvery lightwhich renders the western night so delicious when the moon is at itsfull.

  As the cowboy circled the herd, the moon, at first directly to his left,slowly dropped behind until its, as yet, dull light shone full upon hisback. The beasts were quite quiet and the sense of responsibility whichwas his, in a measure, lessened.

  Some distance ahead, and near by where' he must pass, a clump ofundergrowth and a few stunted trees grew round the base of a hillock andbroken rocks. The cattle were reposing close up by this shelter. Nat'shorse, as he drew near to the brush, was ambling along at that peculiargait, half walk, half trot, essentially the pace of a "cow-horse."Suddenly the animal came to a stand, for which there seemed no apparentreason. He stood for a second with ears cocked, sniffing at the nightair in evident alarm. Then a prolonged, low whistle split the air. Thesound came from the other side of the rocks, and, to the tenderfoot'sears, constituted a signal.

  The most natural thing for him to have done would have been to wait forfurther developments, if developments there were to be. However, he wasa plucky youngster, in spite of his inexperience, and, besides,something of the derision of Jake Bond was still rankling in his mind.He knew the whistle to be the effort of some man, and his discovery ofthe individual would further prove the accuracy of his hearing, and hewould then have the laugh of his companion. A more experienced handwould have first looked to his six-shooter and thought of cattlethieves, but, as Jake had said, he was a tenderfoot. Instead, without amoment's hesitation, he dashed his spurs into his broncho's flanks andswept round to the shadowed side of the rocks.

  He realized his folly when too late. The moment he entered the shadethere came the slithering whirr of something cutting through the air.Something struck the horse's front legs, and the next moment he shot outof the saddle in response to a somersault which the broncho turned. Hishorse had been roped by one of his front legs. The cowboy lay where hefell, dazed and half stunned. Then he became aware of three dark facesbending over him. An instant later a gag was forced into his mouth, andhe felt himself being bound hand and foot. Then the three faces silentlydisappeared, and all was quiet about him.

  In the meantime, on the rising ground, where the camp fire burned, allwas calm slumber. The two old hands were taking their rest with healthycontentment and noisy assertion. The glory of the rising moon was lostto the slumberers, and no dread of coming disaster disturbed them. Thestertorous blasts of their nostrils testified to this. The replenishedfire slowly died down to a mass of white smoldering ashes, and thechill-growing air caused one of the sleepers to move restlessly in hissleep and draw his head down beneath his blanket for greater warmth.

  Up the slope came three figures. They were moving with cautious,stealthy step, the movement of men whose purpose is not open. On theycame swiftly--silently. One man led; he was tall and swarthy with longblack hair falling upon his shoulders in straight, coarse mass. He wasevidently a half-breed, and his clothes denoted him to be of the poorerclass--a class accustomed to live by preying upon its white neighbors.He was clad in a pair of moleskin trousers, which doubtless at one timehad been white, but which now were of that nondescript hue which dirtconveys. His upper garments were a beaded buckskin shirt and a batteredStetson hat. Around his waist was a cartridge belt, on which was slung aholster containing a heavy six-chambered revolver and a long sheathknife.

  His companions were similarly equipped, and the three formed a wildpicture of desperate resolve. Yard by yard they drew toward thesleepers, at each step listening for the loud indications of sleep whichwere made only too apparent upon the still night air. Now they wereclose upon the fire. One of the unconscious cow-boys, Jim Bowley,stirred. A moment passed. Then the intruders drew a step nearer.Suddenly Jim roused and then sat up. His action at once became a signal.There was a sound of swift footsteps, and the next instant theastonished man was gazing into the muzzle of a heavy pistol.

  "Hands up!" cried the voice of the leading half-breed. One of hisfollowers had similarly covered the half-awakened Jake.

  Without a word of remonstrance two pairs of hands went up. Astonishmenthad for the moment paralyzed speech on the part of the rudely awakenedsleepers. They were only dimly conscious of their assailants. Thecompelling rings of metal that confronted them weighed the balance oftheir judgment, and their response was the instinctive response of theprairie. Whoever their assailants, they had got the drop on them. Theresult was the law of necessity.

  In depressing silence the assailants drew their captives' weapons. Then,after binding their arms, the leader bade them rise. His voice was harshand his accent "South-western" American. Then he ordered them to march,the inexorable pistol ever present to enforce obedience. In silence thetwo men were conducted to the bush where the first capture had beenmade. And here they were firmly tied to separate trees with their ownlariats.

  "See hyar," said the tall half-breed, as the captives' feet were boundsecurely. "There ain't goin' to be no shootin'. You're that sensible.You're jest goin' to remain right hyar till daylight, or mebbe later. Agag'll prevent your gassin'. You're right in the track of white men, soI guess you'll do. See hyar, bo', jest shut it," as Jim Bowley essayedto speak, "cause my barker's itchin' to join in a conversation."

  The threat had a quieting effect upon poor Jim, who immediately closedhis lips. Silent but watchful he eyed the half-breed's face. There wassomething very familiar about the thin cheeks, high cheek-bones, andabout the great hooked nose. He was struggling hard to locate the man.At this moment the third ruffian approached with three horses. The otherhad been busy fixing a gag in Jake Bond's mouth. Jim Bowley saw thehorses come up. And, in the now brilliant moonlight, he beheld andrecognized a grand-looking golden chestnut. There was no mistaking thatglorious beast. Jim was no tenderfoot; he had been on the prairie inthis district for years. And although he had never come into actualcontact with the man, he had seen him and knew about the exploits of theowner of that perfect animal.

  The half-breed approached him with an improvised gag. For the life ofhim Jim could not resist a temptation which at that moment assailed him.The threatening attitude of his captor for the instant had lost itseffect. If he died for it he must blurt out his almost superstitiousastonishment.

  The half-breed seized his prisoner's lower jaw in his hand andcompressed the cheeks upon the teeth. Jim's lips parted, and a horrifiedamazement found vent in words.

  "Holy Gawd! man. But be ye flesh or sperrit? Peter Retief--as I'm alivin'--"

  He said no more, for, with a wrench, the gag was forced into his mouthby the relentless hand of the man before him. Although he was thussilenced his eyes remained wide open and staring. The dark stern face,as he saw it, was magnified into that of a fiend. The keen eyes anddepressed brows, he thought, might belong to some devil re-incarnated,whilst the eagle-beaked nose and thin-compressed lips denoted, to hisdistorted fancy, a sanguinary cruelty. At the mention of his name thisforbidding apparition flashed a vengeful look at the speaker, and a halfsmile of utter disdain flickered unnoticed around the corners of hismouth.

  Once his prisoners were secured the dark-visaged cattle-thief turned tothe horses. At a word the trio mounted. Then they rode off, and thewretched captives beheld, to their unspeakable dismay, the consummateskill with which the cattle were roused and driven off. Away they wentwith reckless precipitance, the cattle obeying the master hand of thecelebrated raider with an implicitness which seemed to indicate astrange sympathy between man a
nd beast. The great golden chestnut racedbackwards and forwards like some well-trained greyhound, heading theleading beasts into the desired direction without effort or apparentguidance. It was a grand display of the cowboy's art, and, in spite ofhis predicament and the cruel tightness of his bonds, Jim Bowley reveledin the sight of such a display.

  In five minutes the great herd was out of sight, and only the distantrumble of their speeding hoofs reached the captives. Later, the moon, nolonger golden, but shedding a silvery radiance over all, shone down upona peaceful plain. The night hum of insects was undisturbed. The mournfulcry of the coyote echoed at intervals, but near by, where the camp fireno longer put the fear of man into the hearts of the scavengers of theprairie, all was still and calm. The prisoners moaned softly, but notloud enough to disturb the peace of the perfect night, as their cruelbonds gnawed at their patience. For the rest, the Western world hadresumed its wonted air.