Boy Ranchers Among the Indians; Or, Trailing the Yaquis

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER IV

  ON THE TRAIL

  With Bud in the advance, urging his pony to topmost speed, Nort andDick followed. Bud shot along the trail, up one rise, down another,all the while coming nearer to the noise which increased in intensity.Clearly something was wrong either among a bunch of Diamond X cattle,or with some of the horses belonging to the ranch outfit. And thatsome human individual was concerned in the "fracas" was evident by theshouts and yells that, now and then, punctured the air.

  "By the Great Horned Toad! Look at that!" cried Bud, when he waswithin viewing distance.

  "He'll be killed!" added Nort.

  "No, he's out of it now!" yelled Dick. "But maybe it's the end of him!"

  As the three boy ranchers thus gave vent to their surprise, and almostwhile they were in the act of exclaiming, a ragged figure of a man hadshot over a stout corral fence, and had fallen in a heap just on theother side and out of the reach of the teeth and hoofs of a number ofhalf wild cow ponies. The thud of the animals' bodies, as they threwthemselves against the fence, in the stoppage of their mad race to getthe ragged man, could plainly be heard.

  "Whew!" cried Bud, reigning his pony to a sliding stop, as he saw that,for the present at least, the man was safe, though his inert form mightindicate serious injury. "That was a close call!"

  "What was he doing in that corral?" asked Nort, and his hand, almost byinstinct, slid to the handle of his .45 protruding from the holster.

  "And who is he?" asked Dick, who had followed his brother's lead.

  "That's what we've got to find out," said Bud, who, perhaps from longerassociation with western conditions, had manifested no inclination todraw his gun. "Guess he'll wait for us," he added, as he slid from thesaddle, having ridden close to the prostrate form.

  But, even as Bud spoke, and as Dick and Nort dismounted, the strangerrose to a sitting position, rubbed his hand across his forehead, triedto smile at the boys and then, in what would have been a jolly voiceunder other circumstances said:

  "I'm supposed to ask 'Where am I?' I believe, but we'll pass that up,and I'll substitute 'what time is it?' Just as a variation you know,"and he actually chuckled. "Not that it matters," he added, as he sawBud fishing out a sturdy silver watch--the only kind it is safe tocarry on a cattle range. "Doesn't matter in the least."

  "Then why--" began Nort. But the stranger stopped him with a friendlygesture.

  "Don't ask me that!" he begged, smiling broadly, as he scrambled to hisfeet, thereby disclosing the fact that he was even more ragged as togarments than at first appeared when he was lying down. "Don't ask methat. The question has been fired at me ever since I was old enough todecide whether I'd have butter on my bread or take it in the naturalstate. It was 'why did I do this'--'why didn't I do that' until, invery desperation I gave up trying to answer. I do now. I don't knowwhy I ask the time. I really don't want to know. There are otherquestions more to the point. Don't trouble to answer. And pleasedon't ask me 'why' this, that--or anything. Frankly I don't know, andI care less. I am here. Where I'll be to-morrow no one knows, and noone cares. It is my philosophy--the philosophy of a rolling stone. Iassure you, gentlemen--"

  This time it was Bud who interrupted. There was a look on the face andin the eyes of the young ranchman that his cousins could wellinterpret. It meant that fooling, nonsense or an evasion of the issuewas at an end.

  "Look here, stranger," said Bud, and, though his voice was stern it wasnot unfriendly. "Maybe you are a tenderfoot, but you don't look it,and I reckon you've been around here long enough to assimilate the factthat when a stranger is found among other men's horses that stranger isdue to make an explanation."

  "My boy, you are right!" laughed the ragged man. "Absolutely andtetotally right! Of course you recognize the fact that I am no longer'_among_' your horses. I _was_, but I am _not_. I came out, so tospeak," and he indicated, by a tumbling motion of his hands, that hehad leaped the fence to get away from the half wild ponies.

  "That's all right," spoke Bud, his voice still stern. His cousins wereleaving this matter entirely to him. "That's all right. But you_were_ among them, and it may be more to our good luck than our goodmanagement that you aren't astride one of them now, and riding off.What's your name and where are you from?"

  These were vital, western questions.

  "You are right in your surmise," said the man, limping toward the boys,and still smiling, which occupation he had not left off since arisingto his feet. "If luck had been with me I would have ridden on one ofyour horses. Not off--far be it from me to do that. But I would haveridden to the nearest ranch, tried to get work and so have paid for theuse of the animal.

  "However, fate had other things in store for me. I never saw such wildanimals! They came at me like so many fiends, and after trying in vainto quiet them, and I may say I have some skill with wild beasts, Ithought discretion the better part of foolhardiness, and--made for thefence!"

  He chuckled at the recollection.

  "Then you weren't going to steal a horse?" asked Nort.

  "Far from it, kind sir," and the man bowed with just the slightestsuggestion of mockery, at which Bud frowned. "I am a lone traveler,and I sought help on my way--help for which I would have paid in work."

  "Who are you?" snapped out Bud.

  "I have told you my name," said the stranger, in gentle contrast toBud's harsh tone. "Rolling Stone, at your service," and he bowedagain, this time with no trace of mockery.

  "Rolling Stone!" ejaculated Nort.

  "That isn't a name," complained Bud, but his voice had lost some of itsstern quality, and his lips trembled on the verge of a smile.

  "I realize that it is more a state of being, or a quality," the manadmitted. "But it happens to be a sort of paraphrase of my title. Iam Roland Stone, at your service, but my taste, inclination and theaction of disheartened friends has fastened the other appellation onme. Rolling Stone I am by name and by nature."

  He said it in a way that left little room for doubt, and the boyranchers seemed to realize this. They could understand how such acharacter could easily change Roland into "Rolling," if such was hisnature. And "Stone" was a common enough name.

  "All right, Mr. Rolling Stone," said Bud. "If that's your choice itstill leaves the other question unanswered. Where are you from?"

  "Everywhere and anywhere, which is to say nowhere," came the reply."You need only to look at me to tell what I am--a happy-go-luckyindividual, a tramp, a hobo, and yet I am willing to work when thespirit is on me. I never stole a dollar or a dollar's worth in all mylife. I have harmed neither man, woman or child. I am my own worstenemy, and I am--frankly--hungry! If you will give me food I'll payfor it in work to the best of my ability--"

  "You said you had some skill with wild animals," interrupted Bud. "Doyou mean--"

  "I don't mean _horses_, if you will excuse the interruption," the mansaid. "There is my one failing. I used to be with a circus, and thelion and I were good friends. Perhaps some taint of the wild beastodor clings to me, which causes horses to rear up and tear. Or else--"

  "That didn't cause these ponies to act that way," laughed Bud, who,with his cousins, was rapidly forming a liking for the stranger."They're half wild themselves. Just in off the range, and they haven'tbeen broken yet. I doubt if Yellin' Kid would tackle one. It isn'tanything to your discredit that you got out in a hurry. But you sayyou're hungry?"

  That was an appeal which never went unheeded in the west.

  "Mightily hungry, fair sir!" and, though Rolling Stone smiled, therewas an appealing note in his voice. "The last meal I had for nothingwas given me by Hank Fowler."

  "Hank Fowler!" cried Bud.

  "The sheriff?" added Nort.

  "Who sent on to Mr. Merkel the message from Rosemary?" completed Dick.

  "Rosemary--that's for remembrance," quoted Rolling Stone with a smile."I know her not, and yet Hank Fowler is a sheriff to my certainknowledge."

&nbs
p; "Do you mean the one from La Nogalique?" persisted Bud.

  "That same. I appealed to him when I was down on my luck, as I nearlyalways am, and he befriended me. I have known him for years."

  "Then there can't be much wrong with you," decided Bud. "If you wantwork, my father can fix you up. We'll need some extra hands if we pullout a lot to take the trail after the Yaquis. So--"

  "Excuse me, young man. But did you say--_Yaquis_?" asked RollingStone, and there was a new and eager note in his voice.

  "Yes," supplemented Nort. "The Yaquis--Indians you know--have gonewild again and they've raided a town and carried off some of ourfriends. We're going to--"

  "You can't tell me anything about the Yaquis that I don't know, youngman!" exclaimed Rolling Stone, and he seemed imbued with new life. "Iknow they're Indians, of a sort, though a very rotten sort. Theykilled my best friend years ago. I haven't heard anything about a raidlately. Been too lazy to look for news, I reckon. But if it's truethat they're on the rampage, and you're on the trail after them let me,I beg of you, have a hand in it. I asked for _work_ just now. Changethat to a _fight_ and I'm with you at the fall of the hat and until Idrop! Let me come! Let me help pay back the debt I have against theseinfernal Yaquis. Will you?" he asked eagerly.

  Bud looked at his cousins. Here was a new element. And with all hislight manner, and ragged clothes, there was something very satisfyingabout Rolling Stone, as he asked to be called.

  "We'll need all the help we can get," said Bud, slowly. "If HankFowler says you're all right, that goes with us. Sure it isn't Hank_Fisher_ who vouches for you?" he asked sharply.

  "Hank _Fisher_--I don't know the man," was the answer.

  "You're better off not to," spoke Bud grimly, for Fisher was a ranchmanof unsavory reputation, who was believed to have figured in more thanone affair with the half breed Del Pinzo, to the discomfort of DiamondX.

  "Hank Fowler, the sheriff, will tell you I'm straight," said RollingStone. "I don't say I haven't faults," he went on. "But when I sayI'm my own worst enemy I've spilled an earful," and he laughed genially.

  "We'll let it go at that," Bud answered. "If Mr. Fowler says you're onthe level that's sufficient. And you can come with us."

  "Thanks," was the laconic reply. "Will one of your ponies carrydouble?" and he looked over his shoulder at the corral.

  "We won't ask you to ride one of those mustangs," laughed Bud. "Andit's too much to double up. I'll go back and get one of dad's ponies.It isn't far. You stay here," he added to his cousins and RollingStone. "I'll be back soon."

  Riding rapidly, Bud was quickly back at Diamond X. He told the storyof the meeting with Rolling Stone. At first Mr. Merkel was a bitsuspicious, but it happened that one of the cowboys had heard ofRolling Stone, and knew him to be what he laid claim to.

  "I reckon he's all right," assented the ranchman. "Take him with you,Bud. You'll need help, and if he knows anything about the Yaquis he'llbe of value."

  "All right," remarked Bud. "He's on. What horse can I take for him?"

  One was selected. Together the boy ranchers and Rolling Stone rode outto Happy Valley, for certain matters must be adjusted there before thestart could be made after the Indians who had carried off Rosemary andFloyd.

  Work went on at top speed, and a day later our young heroes, withRolling Stone, better dressed, but the same unconventional spirit,started forth.

  "On the trail!" grimly remarked Bud as they started to join forces withthose from Diamond X.

  "On the trail!" echoed Nort and Dick.

  "And we can't meet with those Yaquis any too soon for me!" addedRolling Stone.

  "You seem to have it in for them rather hard," observed Dick.

  "It can't be any too hard," answered the man with a grim tightening ofthe muscles around his mouth. "When I think of all they did--"

  He paused and gazed at the distant horizon. That there was a storyconnected with his hate of the Yaquis none of the boys doubted, andthey were eager to hear it. But this was not the time and place. Toomuch remained to be done, and there was too little time in which to doit.

  "I wonder when we'll meet up with the imps?" spoke Nort, as they ambledeasily along.

  "No telling," said Bud. "We've got things in shape back there so thatwe can remain away all summer if need be," and he glanced back towardtheir ranch which they had just left. "But I'd like to clean up thisbunch of 'onery' Yaquis, and then get back on the job. Cattle raisingis our business."

  "But just now we're following a side line of rescuing Rosemary andFloyd," observed Nort. "And I think we can do it!"

  Well it was that Fate veiled the Future.