The Saddle Boys at Circle Ranch; Or, In at the Grand Round-Up

by Captain James Carson

  Produced by Roger Frank and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  THERE WAS LITTLE TROUBLE WITH THE HERD NOW.]

  The Saddle Boys at Circle Ranch

  Or

  In at the Grand Round-Up

  BY

  CAPTAIN JAMES CARSON

  AUTHOR OF “THE SADDLE BOYS OF THE ROCKIES,” “THE SADDLEBOYS IN GRAND CANYON,” “THE SADDLE BOYS ONTHE PLAINS,” ETC.

  ILLUSTRATED

  NEW YORK,

  CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

  PUBLISHERS

  BOOKS FOR BOYS

  BY CAPTAIN JAMES CARSON

  THE SADDLE BOYS SERIES

  12mo., Cloth, Illustrated.

  THE SADDLE BOYS OF THE ROCKIES Or, Lost On Thunder Mountain THE SADDLE BOYS IN THE GRAND CANYON Or, The Hermit of the Cave THE SADDLE BOYS ON THE PLAINS Or, After a Treasure of Gold THE SADDLE BOYS AT CIRCLE RANCH Or, In at the Grand Round-Up

  Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York.

  Copyrighted 1913, byCupples & Leon Company

  The Saddle Boys At Circle Ranch

  Printed in U. S. A.

  CONTENTS

  I. The Strange Return of Old Baldy II. One Gray Thief Less III. The Alarm Bell IV. When the Rustlers Came V. At the Quicksands VI. The Hidden Trail of Mendoza VII. The Secret Valley VIII. “The Way is Clear!” IX. The Cattle Cache X. A Surprise XI. Just Before the Moon Set XII. Bottling up the Rustlers XIII. The Prisoners of the Bunk-House XIV. Shut in XV. Baldy’s Hoof Points the Way XVI. The Advance Disputed XVII. Over Thunder Mountain Ridge XVIII. Driving the Herd XIX. Startling News XX. A Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing XXI. Setting the Trap XXII. Caught in the Act—Conclusion

  THE SADDLE BOYS AT CIRCLE RANCH

  CHAPTER I

  THE STRANGE RETURN OF OLD BALDY

  “Did you find your knife, Bob?”

  “No such good luck, Frank.”

  “That’s kind of queer, isn’t it?”

  “I’m beginning to think so myself,” and Bob Archer looked meaningly athis chum, as though a suspicion might be forming in his mind to theeffect that there was a practical joke back of it all; and that FrankHaywood really knew more about the missing article than he chose toadmit.

  And yet, Frank, as a rule, was not given to pranks.

  “Did you go all over the ground where Ted Conway was teaching youyesterday how to pick up a handkerchief from the back of a gallopingpony?” Frank continued.

  “Covered every foot of it, and more,” replied Bob.

  “And still didn’t find the knife you value so much?” persisted his chum.

  “Never saw a sign of it,” replied Bob; whose home had originally been inOld Kentucky, although a year or so back he had come to the Southwest tolive, his father being interested in various ranches and mines withColonel Leonidas Haywood.

  “Oh! well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” observed Frank. “It’ssure to turn up, sooner or later. Perhaps one of the boys happened topick it up, and is waiting for an owner to claim it.”

  “I asked every one on the ranch,” Bob went on, gloomily; “and they allhad the same story to tell—never saw the thing. I hate to have anythinglike that happen. Seems as if I feel every little while that it’s on thetip of my tongue to say what I did with that knife. Then I get all mixedup again, and for the life of me I can’t remember where and when I hadit last.”

  The two boys, while talking in this manner, were galloping over thelevel plain at a fair clip. Bob was riding Domino, a big black horse hehad brought with him from the blue grass region of Kentucky. Frank rodea yellow pony of great endurance, and wise beyond the average of hisclass. Buckskin he was called, true to his color; and Frank had taughthim many of the tricks known to the favorite mounts of cowboys.

  Frank and Bob were seen riding over the country so much, that, far andwide, they had become known as the “Saddle Boys.” Some months before thetime when they are introduced to the reader in the present volume theyhad investigated a mysterious noise that seemed to come from a spur ofthe great Rocky Mountains within twenty miles of Circle Ranch.

  This queer rumbling had awed the Indians for a century or more, and theyreally believed it to be the voice of Manitou. What the two lads saw,and the adventures that befell them on that occasion, have been relatedin the first story in this series, entitled: “The Saddle Boys in theRockies; Or, Lost on Thunder Mountain.”

  Later on, a sudden call came for them to go to the wonderful regionwhere the great Colorado River runs for some hundreds of miles throughthe most astonishing canyon in all the world; and here they not only sawstrange sights, but had some lively times. These are narrated in thestory called: “The Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon; Or, The Hermit ofEcho Cave.”

  Colonel Haywood was laid up with a broken leg when a summons came thatrequired his presence at Cherry Blossom mine, so he was compelled to askthe two boys to go in his stead. This mine was a most valuable property;and the disaster that hung over it like a cloud gave the two ladsconsiderable work before they could feel that they had won out. Theremarkable things that happened when on this gallop over plain anddesert, and through mountain trails are told of in the third book ofthis series, entitled: “The Saddle Boys on the Plains; Or, After aTreasure of Gold.”

  After passing through these troubles of magnitude, here was Bobbemoaning the loss of a knife, as though such a little thing distressedhim beyond measure.

  “It was a present, you see, Frank,” he said, for perhaps the tenth time,as they rode along side by side.

  “Oh! yes. I know,” replied Frank, as though really getting quite tiredof hearing about that wonderful knife; “some girl you knew in OldKentucky, wanting to give you a present that you could use out in thewild and woolly West, drew all her pin money she had saved, and actuallybought you that fine hunting knife. Too bad that if it was so valuableyou didn’t keep a closer watch on it, Bob.”

  “But you said _you_ didn’t have it, didn’t you, Frank?” went on theother.

  “Sure I haven’t; take my word for that, Bob,” said Frank. “Don’t youthink I’d give it to you, if I had it around? Though, for that matter, Ithink you deserve to be punished a little for being so careless about apresent that a girl gave you.”

  “But perhaps you could give me a hint about what I did with it, if youcared to, Frank?”

  “No, I don’t believe I could,” replied the other, slowly, and in whatBob chose to consider a suspicious way. “You’ll remember after a little.Perhaps it’ll pop into your mind as you wake up in the morning. I’ve hadthings do that more’n a few times. But look at that steer cavortingaround over yonder. Whatever in the world do you suppose he’s doing,Bob?”

  The Kentucky boy shook his head as though still unsatisfied.

  “I reckon now, Frank might know a little about that knife,” he murmuredto himself, as he looked at his chum. “But for some reason he wants toplay innocent and let me think things out. And it isn’t like Frank, toact this way. Perhaps I’d best keep quiet, and watch him. He might givehimself away somehow when he isn’t on his guard.”

  Frank, meanwhile, seemed to be really interested in the actions of theanimal to which he had called the attention of his chum.

  “Say, suppose we turn aside here,” he remarked, presently; “and go alittle closer to that old chap. Looks to me he’s acting mighty queer.See him throw up the dirt; and I can hear him bellow from here.Something’s made him ugly.”

  “All right; anything you say goes, Frank,” replied the other, suitinghis actions to his words, and wheeling to the left.

/>   For the time being he put all thought of the missing present from hismind. Just as Frank had said, the chances were he would find it again,sooner or later. Yet Bob admitted to himself that it had been a longtime since anything had arisen to annoy him so much.

  They were now bearing down upon the spot where the steer was acting sostrangely. He circled around a small patch of timber and brush that wastoo dense for him to push through, every little while bellowing angrily,shaking his long horns, and giving every evidence of having been workedup to a pitch where he could not contain himself.

  “Strikes me he’s keeping close to that _motte_ of timber, Frank?”suggested Bob, as they kept galloping closer to the spot.

  “Just what I had in mind,” replied his chum.

  “Look at him behaving as if he’d give anything to be able to rush it;but no long-horn could push through that thick scrub. There’s somethingin the bunch that makes him furious, that’s what, Frank!” went on Bob.

  “Reckon you’re right, Bob; anyhow that’s what I was thinking myself.”

  “Could it be a rattler?” asked the Kentucky lad.

  “Well, now, I hardly think a steer would act that way if it was,”replied the youth who had been brought up on a ranch, and knew a greatmany things that were as yet mysterious to a recent tenderfoot like Bob.“In the open, some steers might try and jump on a snake that was coiled,just as I’ve seen a deer do more’n once, grinding it to pieces under hishoofs. But if the snake got in among the brush, a steer would let himgo.”

  “Then what can it be?” queried the boy from Kentucky; “a sneakingcoyote?”

  “Hardly that, either,” declared his chum, decidedly. “You see these oldsteers size up a coyote as a harmless thing, not worth wasting timeover. Now, if it were a wolf that would be another thing. A steer hatesa mountain wolf like poison. Seems like they know how the gray rascal isalways hanging around, waiting to pull down a calf when the chancecomes.”

  “So I’ve been told,” declared Bob; “Ted related an instance where asteer and a wolf had a battle over the body of a heifer the robber hadstolen.”

  “Yes, I happened to see that fight; and the steer won out, too. The wolfwas as mad as they make ’em, and wouldn’t quit. He grabbed the steerseveral times by the nose, but couldn’t hold on. And finally the steermanaged to pin him to the ground by one horn. After that it was all overwith Mr. Wolf.”

  “But see here, Frank, supposing there is a wolf in that bunch of timberand scrub? He’s been sneaking around, thinking to get a dinner while thecowboys are away on the other side of the ranch, twenty miles from here.But a wolf can outrun even the fastest steer, can’t he?”

  “I reckon he can, every time,” admitted Frank.

  “Then why wouldn’t this beast make for his home in the mountains; tellme that, please?” persisted Bob.

  “Oh! there might be a reason,” his chum rejoined, as he continued towatch the actions of the steer. “In the first place, this might happento be a particularly bold wolf; and having started out to get a dinner,he hates to give up the idea just because a silly old steer prancesaround his hiding place, and dares him to come out into the open.”

  “But there might be another reason?” pursued Bob, always eager to learn.

  “If it is a wolf,” Frank continued; “he might happen to be lame, and notfeel like taking chances on the open with a lively old steer. That wouldexplain it, you see.”

  “Well, anyway, we’ll soon know, Frank.”

  “Yes, because we’re nearly there,” the other remarked, as he reachedaround to unfasten his repeating rifle from the saddle, where he oftencarried it, rather than over his back by means of a strap.

  “And before we leave here it’s going to be a hard winter for Mr. Wolf,if that’s what’s making the trouble. If he runs, the steer will catch upwith him; and if he stays, it’s a bit of lead between his ribs. I’msorry for him, Frank; but I reckon he’s been responsible for more than afew heifers that have disappeared mysteriously from time to time.”

  “Yes, that’s so,” replied Frank. “Stockmen hate wolves more’n anythingon four legs. There’s only one thing that hits ’em worse.”

  “Rustlers, you mean, Frank?” remarked the Kentucky boy.

  “Yes, the Mexicans or halfbreeds, who drop down on a herd of cattle, orthe saddle band of the punchers’ horses, and disappear with them. And ofall the rustlers in Arizona, there’s none equal to Pedro Mendoza. Lookat the steer, Bob!”

  “Seems to just know we’re coming to lend a helping hand,” laughed Bob.“There he gallops around to the other side of the timber, as if hewanted to cut off Mr. Wolf before he took a start from that side. He’s asharp one, that steer.”

  “None smarter, and I ought to know, because that’s Old Baldy!” remarkedFrank.

  “What!” cried Bob, “didn’t you tell me a long time ago that Old Baldyhad been nipped, with a bunch of cattle; and your foreman believed therustlers had him?”

  “That’s what we felt sure of, and I believe it yet,” Frank said. “Butall the same, I don’t think I’m mistaken when I say that’s our OldBaldy, come back as straight as he disappeared.”

  “Perhaps he broke out of some corral in the mountains, where therustlers were keeping him penned up, and took the home trail on thegallop,” suggested Bob.

  “Maybe,” Frank remarked. “Later on we’ll see if his brand has beenaltered, because that would tell the story. But turn off here, Bob, andlet’s cover as much ground as we can. Have your gun handy; and if thewolf vamooses, give him a little start. Then we’ll have a bully gallop,and see who will be the first to nail him. Whoop! there’s somethingdoing right now, Bob!”