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

by Captain James Carson

  CHAPTER XII

  BOTTLING UP THE RUSTLERS

  “How do you like it, Bob, as far as you’ve gone?” asked Frank, as theyprepared to follow after the others, who were slowly moving off inIndian file, pressing close to the earth, and looking not unlike astring of great cats, creeping upon their quarry.

  “Is that a fair question, Frank?” said the Kentucky boy, with a sign ofhesitation in his low voice. “Because if it is, I’m bound to answer youstraight.”

  “You don’t care much for this sort of thing, then; is that it?” askedthe other.

  “Well, between us honestly, then, I don’t seem to,” came the reply. “Yousee, when I looked forward to it, the idea seemed rather fine; butsomehow the experience feels different. And, Frank, I hope when I saythat, you won’t believe for a minute it’s because I’m timid.”

  “I know better than that, Bob. You mean, I take it, that this thing ofhunting _men_ somehow doesn’t seem to appeal to you?”

  “That’s just what I mean, Frank,” replied the other, hastily. “It’s hardto explain how I feel, but I’d rather ten times over be galloping acrossthe plains on my good old Domino, than crawling all over thesemountains, looking for rustlers, and feeling ugly in my heart becausethey’ve robbed Circle Ranch of its prize herd.”

  “But you don’t blame the rest of us for wanting to get those cattle backagain, do you, Bob?”

  “Well, I should say _not_!” Bob exclaimed, with so much feelingthat his chum had to press a warning finger to his lips; “and remember,that I’m just as eager about turning the trick as you can be. Only,” andthere was a wistful tone to his voice now, “I’ll be awful glad when it’sover.”

  Frank chuckled softly.

  “Looks like you’d never make a very good sheriff, or marshal, Bob,” heremarked.

  “I don’t reckon I would,” replied the other. “Perhaps it’s because I’vegot too soft a heart. But Frank, if I saw the biggest scoundrel thatever went unpunished nagging a little chap, or a girl, I think I’d jumpin, and try to hold him up.”

  “Don’t I know it, old fellow?” the other hastened to declare. “Haven’t Iseen you do just that same thing more’n once? But we’d better cut thistalk out now, Bob, and get along because they’ve all gone but us; and wewant to see what goes on, whether we have a hand in it or not.”

  “Right we do, Frank; lead the way!”

  The two saddle boys started to follow the rest, creeping along asstealthily as the best of them, and heading for the camp of the cattlethieves.

  The night was near its close, just as Frank had declared when mentioningthe fact that it must be after four o’clock. And the moon wouldpresently vanish behind the summit of the ridge that marked the cap ofthe western range, of which Thunder Mountain was a part.

  When Frank and his chum arrived within seeing distance of the severalcabins comprising the camp of the rustlers, all seemed quiet. The fireshad been allowed to die down, so that there was only a little glow wherethey had been.

  From the direction of the big corral where the cattle were kept, suchsounds as would indicate the presence of a herd could be heard by earsaccustomed to the various noises of a ranch.

  Of course the boys were more concerned in the bunk-house than anythingelse, for it was in this quarter the excitement would presently center.

  “The door seems to be wide open,” whispered Bob, in his chum’s ear.

  “That’s all right,” came the faint reply. “We expected that, because thenight has been warmer than usual. But make up your mind that’s all beenthought of, and if you keep your eyes fastened on that doorway, perhapsyou’ll see something moving before long.”

  Frank would not have spoken at this length only that he had his lipsclose to the ear of his companion; and had anyone been five feet away itis doubtful whether they could have distinguished his voice from thesighing of the soft night wind through the branches of the cedars, orthe aspens, near by.

  As Bob lay there with his eyes glued upon the dark doorway of the bigbunk-house, boylike, he allowed his thoughts to stray far away. And asmight be expected, he thought, among other things, of the missing knife,which had never seemed half so valuable to him as when he found it gone.

  What Frank had said about his using it to cut up the deer several daysago appeared to have made considerable impression on Bob’s mind. He wastrying now with all his might, to mentally look upon that scene again,in the hope that in this way he could follow his actions, and find outjust what he had done with the knife, after finishing his work.

  In vain did he try, however. There seemed to be just one place up towhich he was able to carry himself, and there he stuck, every time.

  But the minutes were passing. Surely it ought to be nearly time forthings to begin happening. He had kept his eyes on that open door; butso far nothing had rewarded his scrutiny.

  What were they waiting for? Had the old Moqui promised to make hisappearance, to tell them that all was well, and every one of therustlers sound asleep?

  What was that—Frank nudging him in the side? Then his chum evidentlywished to call his attention to something that was taking place.

  For the first time Bob had removed his eyes from the doorway, to glancearound the camp; and warned by this signal, he hastened to turn hisattention once more in the quarter where he anticipated discoveringsomething.

  He was not disappointed this time, for he could certainly see a movementthere. The moon’s rays did not happen to be shining on that side of thecabin, so that he could not see as distinctly as he would like; but Bobknew that the object must be the figure of a man.

  What if one of the rustlers had arisen, and thought to start the firefor an early breakfast? That would “play hob”, as Bob expressed it inhis own mind, with the carefully laid plans of the stockman.

  But he felt pretty certain that the one who had appeared in the doorwaymust be the Moqui warrior. His actions indicated stealth, and a desireto keep from doing anything calculated to arouse the sleepers.

  Looking closer, Bob believed he could see the unknown one closing theheavy door of the bunk-house. This caused him to remember what hadpassed through his mind at the time he scrutinized this same building,when the glow of the fires lighted it up. It had reminded him of afort, with its heavy log walls, stout shutters that could be fastenedover the windows, and cumbersome door.

  Perhaps in building it the rustlers may have had some such idea in view.They were at war with the cowmen of the country, and at any time mightfind themselves attacked by a force of indignant cowboys ready to avengethe daring raids of the past. At such a time a fortress in the valleywas apt to prove of considerable value, and might save their lives.

  Yes, the man in the shadows had now closed the door, beyond all doubt.He seemed to be doing something more, which Bob could easily imaginemust mean that he was fastening a stout rope in such a way that thosewithin would be powerless to open the door.

  Bob remembered the small openings that served as windows. How could theybe secured against the exit of the rustlers, aroused by the lowing ofthe herd after it was put in motion; or even before?

  Strange how a sly fox should venture so near the camp, even at thisstill hour of the night; or could that little bark have come from thelips of the Indian, to serve as a signal?

  “Come on!” whispered Frank in his ear; and immediately Bob jumped to theconclusion that his guess was the truth, after all, and that it had beenthe Moqui who so closely imitated the call of the red fox.

  Figures arose here and there. The eager cowboys had been waiting forthis sound with a fever in their blood. But there was no confusion, nostumbling, as they swiftly advanced, ready to take a hand in the game.

  Colonel Haywood and Scotty had made all arrangements beforehand. Eachman knew exactly what was expected of him, and they moved like the partsof a well oiled machine.

  There were two of those small openings, one on either side of the cabin.The heavy wooden shutters could be closed easily enough; but, beingi
ntended for fastening inside, it was not so easy to make them securefrom without.

  Two heavy posts that had been chopped for some purpose by the rustlershaving caught the eye of the stockman, he judged they would be just thething to hold the shutters closed, if placed in a slanting position fromwithout.

  Bob saw men run lightly forward, pick up these posts, and after theshutters had been quietly swung over, plant the braces in such a waythat no effort from within could displace them.

  And it seemed to him this had hardly been accomplished before there camea shout from inside the cabin, that told of alarm.