CHAPTER III
THE ALARM BELL
“How long has Old Baldy been gone now, dad?” asked Frank.
“All of a month, I’m positive,” replied the stockman. “Yes, I remembernow that we missed a round dozen head at the time, followed their tracksfor several miles, and then they seemed to disappear in the low swaleback of Purple Sage Mesa. We never got a trace of them again. Some ofthe boys jumped to the conclusion that they were caught in thatquicksand. But I never could quite believe Old Baldy would forget allhis cunning like that.”
“You’ve always stuck to it that the bunch was driven off by men cunningenough to hide their trail, haven’t you, dad?” Frank continued.
“That’s what I have,” said Colonel Haywood, emphatically; “and now thatyou tell me the old fellow has shown up again, I’m more set on thatexplanation than ever.”
“There’s proof that Old Baldy has been in other hands all this time,”remarked Frank, nodding his head convincingly.
“You mean his brand has been changed?” exclaimed the stockman, eagerly.“Perhaps that ought to tell us who took him. I hope, son, you haven’tfound the Arrow brand there, nor yet the mark of the X—bar—X Syndicate?I’d hate to think any decent rancher could be guilty of such a thing,for spite!”
“Fact is, dad,” laughed Frank, “there isn’t a sign of a new mark on theflank of Old Baldy. Somebody took the pains to wipe out our brand, allright; but they didn’t have the nerve to continue the work. I reckonthat Old Baldy just tore around, so they had to let him severely alone.”
“Well, I wouldn’t wonder,” chuckled the stockman, who had known thetough old steer to do many queer things in his time. “Only wonder isthey didn’t put a bullet in him, and end his loping. But I must go outand see our old friend when he shows up. You think he was on the wayhere, don’t you, Frank?”
“Sure he was,” continued the boy, “when he caught a whiff of that lamewolf, and set up a siege by the little bunch of timber. Give him half anhour, and you’ll see him show up at the cattle corral, acting just as ifhe’d never been away.”
“There’ll be some high old jinks played around there,” remarked Bob.“Old Baldy used to be the Great Mogul, I remember; and since hedisappeared several candidates have bobbed up to take his place.”
“Yes, he’ll have to beat the lot of ’em before he’s proved his right tohis old position of boss!” declared Frank.
“And he’ll sure do it,” echoed Bob. “The way he acted out there on theplain proved that even a month’s vacation hasn’t taken any of the gingerand spirit out of the old chap. Why, I guess he’s that tough, his fleshwould turn the edge of a hunting knife—that is, any ordinary blade,” andBob sighed as he spoke.
Frank knew that he was thinking once more of the mystery concerning thedisappearance of his own knife, which he valued so highly, and thoughtwithout an equal.
Some of the cowboys connected with the Circle Ranch came galloping injust then. They were grinning, as though wonderfully pleased oversomething; a fact the boys with Colonel Haywood noticed immediately.
“Two to one they’re on,” remarked Bob, upon seeing the three punchersmake a bee-line for the piazza, as though each wanted to be the first tocommunicate some pleasing information.
“He come back, Colonel!” yelled one, from afar.
“It’s that sly Old Baldy, he means!” called a second.
“Thar he is, headin’ for the corral right now!” whooped the third, notwanting to be left entirely out of the game.
“An’ our brand’s been burned off, sure,” declared the leader, as hereached the steps; “but thar, ye don’t seem to be s’prised a heap. Boys,it ain’t no news after all, we’re slinging. Look at Frank grin; it’s acinch he’s been ahead of us!”
Of course, after that, Frank had to own up, and relate the story of howOld Baldy had made the lame wolf take to cover, and held him there untilhelp came.
“Bully for Old Baldy! He’s the same game chap as before he was took!”exclaimed Jeff Davis; and then led his comrades in a series of cheersfor the returned wanderer who had finally made his way home, afteradventures which might never be more than guessed at.
An exciting debate followed; but when all had given their opinion it wasfound that suspicion centred on Pedro Mendoza as the guilty one. ThisMexican had long been a thorn in the flesh of the ranchers of Arizona.He led a band of bold, lawless spirits who seemed able to appear andvanish in a manner that baffled all search.
As a rule the rustlers had not annoyed the Circle Ranch people,confining their operations to ranges more distant. Nevertheless, thestockmen had grumbled considerably about the way these frequent outragestook away from the profits of raising cattle; and, only for the pettyjealousies between them, they must have united long ago in a determinedeffort to rid the country, once and for all, of such a bad character asMendoza.
Colonel Haywood and his foreman had often talked the matter over. Theyhad even laid out a plan of campaign to be followed in case they awokesome morning to find that the rustlers had visited the herds of CircleRanch.
At the time the dozen head had vanished, Old Baldy among them, opinionshad differed so widely that nothing was done. Since no trail could befound beyond a certain point the boys had concluded that the quicksandwas responsible for the wholesale disappearance. At other times a singlecow had been engulfed; and, on the face of it, this theory appearedplausible; though Colonel Haywood had never been fully convinced himselfconcerning its truth.
But at the time he had been laid up with a broken leg; and as he wouldwish to be at the head of any expedition formed for the purpose ofhunting the shrewd rustlers to their hiding place, it was finallyallowed to drop.
But the anger of the Circle Ranch cow punchers only slept. The return ofOld Baldy with the mark of a fresh burn on his flank, blotting out thecircle that had stamped him as the property of Colonel Haywood, was thematch that once more started the smouldering blaze.
There was more or less excited talk in the bunk-house that nightconcerning the necessity for some prompt action with regard to riddingthe country of the rustlers who had so long had things their own way.
Even the stockman seemed to have the subject on his mind, for as he satwith the two boys and Bart Heminway on the piazza after supper, with themoon just rising in the eastern heavens, and the many noises of thenight adding to the drowsy feeling, he referred to the loss of theentire saddle band of horses, sustained by a ranch located some twentymiles away, on Cibiou Creek.
“I’ve been thinking some over that matter, Frank,” he continued; “whileI was kept here idle with this game leg; and putting this and thattogether, I reached a certain conclusion. Fact is, I’ve about made up mymind I know where that Mendoza crowd of rustlers must hold out.”
“If that’s so, dad,” remarked Frank, “you’d sure please a lot of peoplea heap if you could show ’em. They’ve been hunting high and low thesethree years and more for that secret cache where Pedro hides his stolencattle and horses. Would you mind telling Bob and me about it?”
“Fact is, Frank,” the rancher went on, “you were the one to give me myidea.”
“Now I get on to what you mean, sir,” remarked Frank. “You’re referringto what Bob and myself saw, that time we were on our way to find outwhat made the queer growling and thunder-like sounds on that mountain?”
“Just what I mean,” nodded Colonel Haywood. “You remember you told methat when you were camped in the dark, near the beginning of the canyon,you were startled to hear the thud of many horses’ hoofs; and lookingout, saw a troop pass by, many of the animals being led by unknownriders.”
“Yes,” Frank went on, quickly, “and at the time, Bob and myself justkept quiet, and they never suspected we were anywhere near. You see, wecouldn’t make sure at the time whether they were some cow punchers froma ranch, taking home some new stock, and making use of the canyon overThunder Mountain as a short-cut to the country beyond; or the rustlers.And as we hadn’t lost any saddle
band just then, we didn’t care to mixin.”
“As near as I can figure out, Frank, it was that night, or the onebefore, when the raid was made on that Cibiou Creek ranch. And the moreI think of it, the firmer grows my conviction that over beyond ThunderMountain somewhere Mendoza has his hidden corral, in some lost valleynone of us know anything about!”
“Just as you say, dad, the chances look that way,” Frank admitted. “Andif Circle Ranch meets with a loss any of these fine mornings, that’swhere we’ll have to look to recover our stock. It may come sooner thanany of us think. And dad, even if it’s the X—bar—X, or the Arrowhead,that stands the next loss, don’t you think we’d all better sink ourdifferences, and unite against the common enemy?”
“I had made up my mind to that, Frank,” replied the stockman, firmly.“The time for our fall round-up is now close at hand, and the way thingslook we ought to make a good showing, unless something unforseen dropsdown on us. They say we have the finest herds in the whole section; andthe branding before winter sets in ought to be the biggest ever.”
“Yes, and that’s just the reason we may be the next one to suffer at thehands of Mendoza,” observed Frank. “They say he keeps tabs on all theranches, and even has many spies. In that way he knows about thecondition of the herds, and makes his plans so carefully that he neverwas known to carry away anything but the very best.”
“What you say about spies has occurred to me more than once,” remarkedthe rancher. “I’ve even thought it possible that he might have one ofhis friends here. But it’s hard to suspect any of our boys, they’ve allseemed so faithful. In the other days, now, there was Spanish Joe, andhis nephew, Abajo, both of whom I felt sure had communication withMendoza. I was glad to be rid of the greasers. Still, there may be someone at Circle Ranch who sends word on the sly to the rustlers.”
“It would be a bad thing for him if the boys ever learned of histreachery,” declared Bob.
“Yes, they’d either tar and feather him,” said Frank grimly, “or elseput it out of his power to send any more messages. But I hope it isn’tso, dad. Just now, with such fine prospects before us, and, as you say,the fall round-up at hand, we’ve got to be more watchful than usual overour herds, that’s all.”
“And son,” Colonel Haywood said, in a convincing way, “I’ve made up mymind that to-night’s the last one we’ll let our cattle stay away on therange. We’ve got three big bunches out now, with two boys to act asnight wranglers for each herd, it’s true, but they’re miles away fromhere. If anything swooped down on those steers, we mightn’t know it forhours.”
Gradually the conversation took a different turn, and before the twoboys went in to sleep they had for the time being quite forgotten thefears of the early evening.
By ten o’clock everything seemed quiet and peaceful around the ranchhouse. Over where the punchers bunked one cowboy was playing a banjo,and there was some little singing; but by degrees even this died away.
The moon sailed high overhead in a clear sky. Midnight came and went. Atouch of coolness in the air told of coming fall, though as a rulewinter was not a time to be much feared in this warm section of thesouthwest, even if “northers” did blow in upon them occasionally, thatcaught the herds on the range, and brought about some loss of stock.
Bob had been dreaming of his Kentucky home, as he often did. Perhapswith some of his boyhood comrades he may have been visiting the “oleswimmin’ hole,” and amid much whooping was engaged in one of the mudbattles that marked those visits. Then again, he may have dreamed thathe was once more climbing the tower of the church in the dead of night,dispatched by his prank-loving companions to ring the bell, and startlethe village out of sleep.
He sat up in bed to find Frank shaking him. Yes, a bell was certainlyringing furiously enough; but it belonged to no church.
“Get up, and fling some clothes on, Bob,” Frank was saying.
“What’s the matter? House afire?” gasped Bob, a little dazed still, evenas he started to follow the directions of his energetic chum.
“Don’t know,” replied the hurrying Frank; “but I hear dad shouting outthere. He’s rousing the boys—you can catch their whoops now!”
“Great guns! I wonder what it all means!” ejaculated Bob, shivering withexcitement.
The Saddle Boys at Circle Ranch; Or, In at the Grand Round-Up Page 3