CHAPTER VI.
THE "FLYING DEMONS'" MESSAGE.
When Ted Strong stepped out on the veranda the morning after the ball he found Stella staring curiously at a large, square piece of paper stuck on the wall of the ranch house.
Nobody in the house had risen early, as they had all been up very late, except Song, the cook, who, when he saw that no one was disposed to turn out for an early breakfast, had gone out to work in the garden, in which he had with much skill raised an abundance of vegetables that year.
"Good morning, Stella; what is so interesting?" said Ted.
"It beats me," answered Stella. "I wonder if this is one of Ben's witticisms. If it is, he ought to be spanked."
Ted was standing by her side, reading what had been printed on the paper.
"H'm! this is good," said he, and read aloud, as if to himself, the following warning:
"TED STRONG AND BRONCHO BOYS: You ought to know by this time that you are not wanted in this part of the country. Advise you to sell out and skip. If you stay your lives will be made a hell on earth, and we have the stuff that will do it. This is no bluff, as you will find out if you disregard this word of friendly warning. You will be given a short time to sell your stock, then git. This means business.
"THE FLYING DEMONS."
"That's a pretty good effort for a lot of kids," said Ted. "Wait, here's a watermark in the paper. Let's see what it is?"
Ted took the paper from the wall and held it up to the light.
In the paper was the representation of the fabulous monster, the griffin, and woven into the paper were the words "Griffin Bond."
"That's as easy as shooting fish in a tub," said Ted, as he folded the paper and put it in his pocket.
"The fellow who put that warning up certainly left his footprints behind him," said Stella, with a smile.
"He did, but even without that I should have known the authors of it."
"How?"
Ted then told Stella the substance of the conversation between the boys the night before, and of his suspicions as to the guilt of Creviss and his gang in the mysterious robberies that had occurred in the two towns. "But," he concluded, "it is not up to me to get at the matter. It is work for the sheriff. However, if those boys try any of their foolishness with us, we'll turn in and send them to the reform school, where they belong."
"They're certainly a bad lot. I was talking to a lady at the 'rent rag' last night, and she was telling me what a horrid boy young Creviss is."
"I wish I knew at what time this notice was put up here. It must have been done in daylight, for it was getting light in the east when we turned in."
"Perhaps some one was so quiet as to put it there while you were all inside talking."
"I hardly think so, for we were all sitting near the fireplace, and the room was so warm that Kit opened the door, and it stood open until we separated to go to bed."
"Sure you could have heard them? Some of you were talking pretty loud, for I heard you in my room just before I went to sleep."
"Well, of course, I couldn't be certain about it; but I came out on the veranda to take a look at the sky just before I turned in, and I didn't see it then. Surely, as I turned to come back into the house my eye would have caught that big piece of white paper beside the door."
"What time was it that the most important part of your conversation took place?"
"Just before we broke up. I remember we were going over the mysterious robberies, and I expressed the opinion that they were the work of the gang under Skip Riley and Creviss."
"That was probably the time the fellow who put up that notice was about. You see, if he followed you from Soldier Butte he wouldn't get here much earlier than that, for he wouldn't dare ride a pony the length of the valley at that time of the morning, so he had to walk from the south fence."
"By Jove! I believe you are right."
"If my theory is true, the fellow who brought the warning also carried back your conversation to the gang."
"Then they surely will have something to fight us on."
"Yes, fear that you will get on their trail will compel them to try to make their bluff good, as expressed in that message."
"I'd give something to know when this thing was put up."
"Let's see; it was about four o'clock when you turned in, wasn't it?"
"Just about."
"And just about that time Song gets up to cook for the boys in the bunk house who get out to relieve the night watch in the big pasture. Doesn't he?"
"Those are the orders."
"Then have Song in, and we'll ask him if he saw a strange man around the place when he got up. He might have seen him and thought nothing of it, and would never think of reporting it."
"Good idea. Wait here and I will call him."
In a few minutes the Chinaman came shuffling in from the garden."
"See here, Song," said Ted. "Did you see a strange man here early this morning?"
"Stlange man!" said Song meditatively, with a smile of innocence on his broad, yellow face. "No savvy stlange man."
"Man no b'long here," said Stella,
"Oh, yes, I savvy. No see stlange man."
"What time you get up?"
"Me gettee up fo' clock."
"Did you go outside?"
"Yes, me go out an' call cowbloy. Tell gettee up, P. D. Q. No gettee up, no bleakfast."
"What did you see outside that you don't see every morning?"
"Evely moling? No savvy."
"Yesterday morning, day before that, day before that, all mornings."
"Lesterday moling, evely moling?"
"Oh, the deuce! You try him, Stella."
"Say, Song, you see something makee you flaid this moling?" said Stella, imitating Song's pidgin English.
"Oh, yes, me lookee out, plenty jump in."
"What you see?"
"Plenty wolf. He sneakee lound side house. I lun like devil."
"What wolf look like?"
"Plenty big wolf. When he see me he lise up on hind legee, and lun likee man."
"Ah ha! There's your clew," said Stella, turning to Ted. "The fellow who posted this notice was disguised in a wolfskin so that he could sneak up to the house unnoticed by the Chinaman, or, if seen, he would make a bluff at scaring Song."
"Stella, you're a wonder."
"Say, Song, you no likee wolf?"
"No, me plenty flaid wolf," answered the Chinaman, shaking his head violently.
"All right, Song. I givee you shotgun. Next time you see wolf, plenty shoot. Savvy?"
"All light. You givee me gun, I shootee wolf plenty. Makee go 'ki-yi' and lun belly fast."
Song went away with a grin on his face like a crack in a piece of stale cheese.
"Stella, you've solved it. I believe whoever put that message there heard our conversation, and at least they'll hate us a bit worse than before, if that is possible."
"Let them bark, the wolves. I never was afraid of a wolf, anyhow. If you want to throw me into spasms show me a bobcat. That's the fighting animal."
During breakfast the boys were shown the warning that had been posted beside the door, and it was decided to pay no attention to it, but to watch for the appearance of a messenger from the "Flying Demons," and if one was caught to make it hot for him.
Ted had no doubt but Creviss and his gang would try to injure the broncho boys by every means in their power, but until they committed some overt act the boys could hardly afford to become the aggressors.
For several days nothing happened, and the Moon Valley Ranch went the even tenor of its way.
Preparations were under way for the fall round-up, and Ted had received letters from several heavy stock buyers that they would be present at that time to make their selections of such cattle as they desired to buy.
It had always been the custom at the ranch to have an entertainment of some sort at the ranch afterward. This was started for the purpose of amusing the buyers with cowboy tricks and th
at sort of thing, but it had developed into something far greater, until now all the world was invited to the barbecue and the "doings" afterward. No one was barred who behaved himself.
This year Ben Tremont had charge of the entertainment, and he was not limited as to expense, for every fellow was on his honor to provide the best entertainment for the least money.
The manager's plans were generally kept secret from every one except Ted and Stella, who were the exceptional ones and were in every one's secrets and confidence.
Ben had declared himself as to the superlative excellence of his show this year.
"It's going to be hard to beat," said he, in boasting about it. "We've had some pretty good shows, but nothing like the one I'm getting up now."
Kit had charge of the cowboy end of it, the races, the bronchobusting, the roping and tying contests; in fact, all the arena acts.
This year Clay Whipple attended to the inner man, and was to provide a genuine old Southern barbecue, with trimmings.
The round-up was to begin in less than a week, and the festivities were to follow immediately.
Invitations had been sent broadcast into Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, Montana, and the Pacific coast States; everywhere, in fact, where the boys had friends, and from the responses received an enormous crowd would be present.
Three days elapsed after the finding of the warning beside the door before anything more was heard from the Flying Demons.
Then Ted found another message from them near the front door.
It was as follows:
"TED STRONG AND OTHERS: You think you know who committed the mysterious robberies, but you are on the wrong track. You will never find out, while your secrets are known to us. This is warning number two. The third and last will come soon; then look out.
"THE FLYING DEMONS."
"Now, why in the world do they call themselves the Flying Demons?" asked Ted reflectively, as they were reading the second screed from their enemies. "It seems to me that there is the secret of the whole thing. You never can tell what a pack of boys like that are going to do. They are more to be feared than older criminals, for they have no judgment, and will rush into the most reckless things just to show off before one another."
"Pay no attention to them," advised Stella. "That's what I think they are doing now—showing off. I doubt if they think they can frighten us, but they are afraid of us."
"Oh, by the way," said Ted, suddenly thinking of something. "You remember I looked at the watermark on that first warning we received from these terrible demons. Well, this screed has the same mark—'Griffin Bond.' When I was in town to-day I went into the bank. Old man Creviss was behind the counter, and that precious son of his was beside him. I had a check cashed, and Mr. Creviss asked me why we didn't keep our bank account there. I told him we had thought something about it, but I didn't mention that we had decided not to. Then I asked him for a couple of sheets of paper on which to write a note, and he handed them to me. I took them to the window and held them up to the light to see the watermark."
"And what was it?" asked Stella eagerly.
"The griffin."
"Then the paper on which these things were written came from the bank?"
"They certainly did. After I had looked at the watermark I turned to young Creviss and looked him square in the eye. He turned as white as chalk, and his lip trembled."
"He's a coward," said Stella positively. "Why didn't he bluff it out?"
"He had nothing to stand on; but, as you say, he's a rank coward, and it's my opinion that it's only fear of Skip Riley that keeps him at it, anyway. At all events, I gave him a good scare, for instead of writing the note I folded up the paper and put it into my pocket. He stepped forward as if he would interfere and make me give the paper back, not having used it, but I gave him a glassy glare and walked out."
"Then it was he who wrote the warnings."
"Of course, and he knows that I have him dead to rights. That is another mark against me with the gang."
"Better watch out."
"They can have me if they can get me."
CHAPTER VII.
SONG SHOOTS A WOLF.
Early one morning the broncho boys were startled out of their beds by the double explosion of a shotgun, followed by excited yells and screams of agony.
"That Chinaman has shot somebody," thought Ted, as he rapidly skipped out of bed and pulled on his trousers.
In the living room he met all the boys, as scantily clad as himself, hurrying out to see what the noise was all about.
They could hear Song behind the house screaming in Chinese at the top of his voice, and in an ear-splitting falsetto, which showed that he was tremendously excited.
Thither they rushed, and for a moment the ludicrous scene far outbalanced the seriousness of what had happened.
On the ground was a young fellow about seventeen years of age. He was writhing with pain, and the blood was oozing through his clothes in fifty places.
"Ha, ha!" shrieked Song. "Me shootee wolf, turnee into man light away. Ha, ha, me allee same plenty smart man, likee magician."
"Yes, you're a hot magician," said Bud; "You've made this feller second cousin ter a porous plaster. That's what you've done."
"Who is he, Song?" asked Ted.
"Me no savvy him. Me comee out chicken house getee eggs fo' bleakfast. I cally gun, shotee plenty wolf all samee Mliss Stella say."
"But this is not a wolf."
"All samee wolf. I open chicken house do'. I see wolf. Plenty glowl at Song. I no likee gun. Shutee my eye. Pull tligger, an' gun goee off. All samee wolf no mo' glowlee, him yellee like thundeh. When smokee blow way wolf gonee, all samee man comee. I plenty magician, I thinkee."
Ted looked in the chicken house, and on the floor lay the dried hide of a big gray wolf.
Now he understood. The message had come the third time from the Flying Demons.
"Kit, run around to the front door and see if there is a message there for us from our friends the Demons."
In a moment Kit was back, holding a piece of paper in his hand.
Ted took it from him, and read it.
It was the third and last warning. It said:
"TED STRONG: We have warned you twice before to leave this part of the country, but you have made no move to do so. This is the third warning. If you are not away from here in a week the vengeance will fall upon you. Beware!
"THE FLYING DEMONS."
"Did you bring this?" asked Ted, of the wretched youth, who still lay upon the ground groaning from his numerous wounds.
There was no reply. The fellow could only toss his head from side to side and rub his legs, into which the bulk of the shot had been fired by the excited Chinaman.
"You won't answer, eh? Well, we'll find a way to make you. I'm glad you've given us a week," said Ted, laughing. "That will at least give us time to hold our round-up and festivities."
"Oh, if I live through this I'll never go into anything like it again," moaned the youth upon the ground.
"Here, stand up," said Ted to him. "You're not badly hurt. You're only stung, twice. Get on your feet and we'll see what we can do for you. You're a long way from dead yet. What's your name?"
"Jack Farley. Oh, if I could only be sure that I wasn't going to die!" exclaimed the youth.
He was the young fellow Billy Sudden had spoken about.
"We can't tell how badly you are hurt until you get up," said Ted. "Rise, and we'll go into the house and examine your wounds."
Slowly young Farley got to his feet, but when he tried to walk he uttered a howl of pain, and sank down again.
"Yellow all through," said Ben, in a tone of disgust.
"Ever have about three ounces of duck shot pumped into yer system through yer hide?" asked Bud.
"Never had."
"Then yer don't know all ther joys o' life. I've had one ounce shot inter my leg, an' if ther contents o' two shells gives double ther pain one does, then excuse me. An' m
ine wuz only snipe shot, at that."
"Pick him up, boys, and lay him on the lounge in my room," said Ted. "I'll take a look at him after a while, meantime some of you watch him to see that he doesn't get away. We need him for evidence."
When Bud and Ben had carried the wounded boy into Ted's room and laid him on the lounge, Bud stood over him regarding him with interest.
"I sorter envy yer, kid," he said at last.
"You can have 'em, but I don't see why you envy me," said Farley.
"I wuz thinkin' how happy you'll be all through these lonesome winter evenings, pickin' ther shot out o' yer legs."
When Farley had been carried into the house, Ted called Kit to him and said:
"Kit, I wish you'd ride over to Suggs' ranch and tell Billy Sudden that his protégé is over here with his hide peppered with bird shot, and ask him to ride over and take a look at him."
During breakfast they related to Stella the story of Song's wolf hunt in the chicken house, and the result.
Song was as proud as a peacock, and wore "the smile that won't come off" as he flitted around the table waiting on every one.
"Say, Missee Stella," he said, "Song all samee one cowbloy now, eh? What you sayee?"
"Yes, Song, you have certainly followed instructions. You got your wolf that time, sure. How you likee shootee?"
"No likee, Missee Stella. Makee too much noisee, all samee too much plenty fiahclackers. Kickee like blazes. Plitty near knockee arm outee Song."
The boys stripped Farley after breakfast, and found his legs in pretty bad condition. They looked as if Song's gun had been loaded with smallpox, and all of it had lodged in the lad's legs.
"Boys, we'll have to take relays in picking the shot from our first victim," said Ted. "There's too much work here for one man."
"He's a turrible-lookin' demon now with a hide full o' shot. Ther punctured demon of Demonville! Say, kid, I'd hate ter laugh at yer, but yer a sight. Why didn't yer fix it so's them two charges o' shot would hev been distributed among ther gang? Then yer could sit down o' evenings an' pick shot out o' one another instid o' plottin' agin' ther whites."
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