Ted Strong in Montana

by Taylor, Edward C

  "I had my gun out, an' blazed away. The Indian yawped as if he had been hit, and disappeared. I got to the coulee as fast as I could, but he had disappeared."

  "Was he the only one?" asked Ted.

  "I reckon not, for there were any number of moccasin tracks in the coulee, and the footprints of white men or Indians who wore boots. There was a splotch of blood where the Indian had been, and a red trail leading to where there had been ponies. Then I came on to the house."

  Ted was thinking deeply. At last he raised his head.

  "This has been a day full of things that may mean a great deal to us," he said. "Follansbee has been shot by a member of the Whipple gang, Sol Flatbush was killed after mutilating our cattle, more Whipple gang; and an Indian prowler has been shot, some more of the Whipple gang. Boys, the war is on, and it depends on us whether it is going to last all winter and cause us to lose all our cattle, or whether we are going to be able to stamp it out right now. Which shall it be?"

  "I reckon we'd better get busy. It'll be easier ter do the job now than fuss along with it all winter," said Pike Bander, who was an old Northern cow-puncher, and had had lots of experience with the Indians in Montana, the Dakotas, and Wyoming.

  "I think you're right, Pike," said Ted. "And now off to bed with you. There'll be something doing to-morrow."

  In half an hour the house was dark, and every one was asleep.

  The moon which had been shining brightly during the early part of the night had become obscured by a heavy bank of snow clouds, which had been driven over the mountains by a north wind, and it had grown much darker outside.

  In his sleep Ted seemed to hear the well-known voice of Sultan, whinnying shrilly. It was a dream, and Ted tossed uneasily. But again and again he heard Sultan's voice. It had a note of alarm in it, and Ted knew that Sultan seldom gave an alarm of this sort unless something serious was the matter. Ted's dream was of Indians, and the call of Sultan was very natural, for the little black stallion hated Indians, and whenever one came within smelling distance of him he grew uneasy and fretful, and always gave voice to his fear.

  The dream had such a disquieting influence on Ted that it woke him, and he sat up in bed grinning to himself in the dark to find that, after all, it was only a dream, and that he was safe in bed.

  But what was that?

  He was awake now, and he distinctly heard Sultan. Then he had heard his pet give a warning, even in his dream.

  Leaping from bed, Ted groped around the room, getting into his clothes, without lighting the lamp.

  Grasping his rifle from the corner, and buckling on his belt and holster, he left the room.

  As he passed Clay's room he entered and shook the sleeping Kentuckian, who was on the floor with a bound. Ted told him of the continued voicing of an alarm by Sultan, and Clay hurriedly dressed.

  They passed into the living room, and Ted went to the windows on one side, while Clay went to the other side.

  Hidden by the curtains, they stood looking out on the snow-covered plain.

  "Hist!" It was Clay trying to attract Ted's attention.

  Ted went swiftly to his side.

  "What's that down by the corral?" whispered Clay.

  Ted looked sharply.

  "It's the Indians," said Ted. "They're trying to steal our horses. Sultan knows what he's about. Come on, we'll have to rush them."

  Ted heard a rustling noise behind him and turned.

  It was Stella, fully dressed, and with her rifle resting in the hollow of her arm.

  "I heard Sultan, too," she said. "We'll have to hurry if we're going to save the horses."

  "You go back to bed," said Ted. "Yi-yi-yipee!"

  His voice rang out in the old Moon Valley yell.

  It was like a fire bell to a fireman, and brought the boys out of their beds like a shot, and they scrambled into their clothes and were in the living room with their arms in a jiffy.

  In the corral a great commotion was taking place, to judge from the noise that came to them.

  At the word of command they rushed through the door, and raced for the corral, turning loose the long yell.

  They heard guttural shouts in the distance, and a band of ponies came through the gateway of the corral, scattering over the prairie.

  Behind them rushed a band of Indians, who, seeing that there was no further occasion for silence, gave forth whoops of defiance.

  Then Ted saw Sultan gallop out, and on his back was an Indian.

  This was more than Ted could stand, and his rifle flew to his shoulder. There was a flash and a crash, and the Indian fell to the ground, over which he writhed in agony.

  Ted whistled, and Sultan trotted to his side.

  The ponies had scattered, and the corral was empty.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE WAR PARTY.

  The Indians had fled in every direction.

  They had been foiled in their purpose of running the ponies off in a band, as they had intended, by Ted's fortunate discovery of the raid.

  How to gather the ponies together again was the question that puzzled Ted, for the broncho boys had no mounts with which to pursue the would-be thieves.

  It was not long before the light appeared in the east, and by that time Ted had ridden to Bud's sign camp, and thence to camp No. 2, and had four more horsemen to assist him in the pony round-up.

  These worked unceasingly, riding the snowy prairie, picking up the ponies which the Indians had not been able to round into a bunch to drive to their rendezvous in the mountains.

  The attack upon them had been so sudden that they had taken no heed of where they were going. It was every man for himself, with the broncho boys' bullets for the hindmost.

  About noon Ted and the boys from the sign camps rode up to the ranch house, driving before them a band of about twenty ponies which they had found grazing on the prairie or seeking the shelter of the coulees.

  Not a sign of the marauding Indians had they seen.

  "Boys, as soon as we can get something to eat we're going after those Indians," said Ted, dismounting and going into the house. "We've got mounts for nearly all of us, now. A guard will be left at the house, then we'll get on their trail. We can't afford to let this thing go. Those Indians must be taught a lesson, so that they will get over the idea that they can run in on us and take what they want just because we are boys."

  "That's ther way ter talk," exclaimed Bud Morgan heartily. "Give 'em what's comin' to 'em, an' give it to 'em good an' plenty."

  "I guess it won't be any snap to find them now," said Ben.

  "They've scattered. But we can trail them. They'll leave a track like that of a moose, it will be so wide. They're in the hills somewhere, laying for another opportunity to raid the corral. They need ponies to ride, and beef to eat, and they have got the idea into their heads that we were sent out here to cater to their wants. It's our business to fool them."

  "Oh, hurry up," cried Stella. "I'm so anxious to get started I'm all in a flutter."

  "Who said you were going?" asked Ted, with a smile. "This is no pleasure trip. Trailing and fighting Indian outlaws is no matinée."

  "I should say not," said Stella coolly. "But it's work for the broncho boys, and I'm one of them. Bud has promised to teach me the art of following an Indian trail, and there never will be a better time than this."

  Ted could only shrug his shoulders, as he turned away to see if McCall was hurrying dinner. He knew that he would waste time arguing with the spirited young woman, who was as good a cowgirl as he was a cowboy, and for one of her sex quite as courageous.

  So eager were the boys to be off that they fairly bolted their food, and rushed to the corral to saddle their cayuses.

  Then they saw to their arms, and each took his rifle in the boot of his saddle.

  Sultan had had such a hard day's work since daylight, rounding up the scattered ponies, that Ted left him in the corral, and decided to ride a fresh horse. The only serviceable animal he
could find was the worst riding beast on the place, a vicious, half-broken Texas pony, which had to be roped and held before the rider could mount.

  This, however, made little difference to Ted, who could ride anything that would fit a saddle.

  While he held the saddle ready to throw it on Bingo's back Bud roped and held the rearing, raging, bucking beast, who was busy kicking holes in the air with his wicked heels.

  After maneuvering around the corral several times, Ted managed to dodge the flying hoofs long enough to slip the saddle and tie the latigo.

  Then it was up to him to mount.

  Whenever he approached Bingo from the rear, dancing around to escape the pony's battery, and got to the side where he could grasp the horn of his saddle, Bingo would wheel in a circle away from him as if he was fastened to a pivot.

  The performance was getting monotonous, for the boys were standing around in a ring waiting to start.

  Ted was getting impatient also at the fool antics of the pony.

  "Stop your fooling," he said to Bingo. "When I do land on your back I'll make you sorry you didn't stand still, my bucko."

  He stepped back several feet and stood looking at the pony, who, with ears flattened and the whites of his eyes showing, stood still also, waiting for further developments.

  He didn't know exactly what was coming, but wanted to be ready for it, whatever it was to be.

  Suddenly Ted gave a short, swift run, leaped in the air, and before Bingo could gather himself for a plunge, Ted was astraddle of the saddle.

  Bingo remembered his part then, but he was too late, for simultaneously he felt the sting of the quirt across his shoulder, and the prick of the spur in his flank.

  A horse can think of only one thing at a time, while a mule can pay attention to the mule-skinner's lash and think of forty-seven varieties of devilment at the same time.

  In trying to keep his mind on the sting of the quirt and the prick of the rowels at the same time, Bingo got rattled.

  He leaped high into the air, intending to fall backward, and crush his rider. But Ted had been there before many times, and as he went up a stinging blow across Bingo's withers brought him down in a hurry.

  Then he did some more plunging, but the spur in his side, and Ted's firm seat, soon convinced him that it was wasting time to fool with Ted, and he set off at a gallop across the prairie.

  With a ringing cheer the boys followed, and soon caught up with him.

  When they were together again, Ted paired the boys off to scout.

  "I'll tell you how you will probably find it, fellows," said Ted. "The Indians ride in different directions. Whenever you hit a trail follow it, but go slow and keep your eyes peeled for an ambuscade. You will find that eventually all the trails will lead to the same place. If we are in luck, we will find them before they go on into the mountains, and we may have a skirmish. I hope, however, that we will be able to settle the matter without resorting to any shooting. Uncle Sam is mighty touchy about any one killing his Indians except his soldiers, no matter what an Indian does. We'll probably all come together where the Indians are. Kit, you ride with me. You other fellows choose your partners. Bud, take good care of Stella."

  "You kin bet yer active an' useful life I will," said Bud, as he and Stella galloped off together.

  Bud and Kit rode away to the north, while the other broncho boys spread out in pairs over the prairie.

  Ted had been riding an hour without crossing a track.

  "There's no use going in this direction any longer, Kit," he said. "They've probably gone farther to the west. I guess we'd better strike off that way, and take a chance of cutting them somewhere over there."

  They had paused on the bank of a small frozen stream lined with willows, and Ted had dismounted to walk up and down the bank to find a place where he could break a hole in the ice to water the ponies.

  "You'll have to rope Bingo and hold him when I go to get on," he said to Kit before he got down.

  "All right," said Kit. "I'd get down and cut that hole in the ice myself, only my arm might give me trouble again. I've got to be mighty careful of it yet."

  As Ted was looking for a safe place to lead the ponies down to the stream, with Bingo's bridle reins hanging over his arm, he was startled by a snort from the brute, and a sudden back pull.

  He looked over his shoulder at the pony to see what was the matter with it.

  Bingo was standing with his head high, his ears pointed forward, his nostrils as red as if they were lined with red silk, and the whites of his eyes like pieces of chalk, snorting as if in terror.

  Ted read the symptoms instantly.

  "He smells Indians," he muttered to himself.

  He looked around for Kit, and saw him far down the stream, struggling vainly with the pony he was riding, which was running away in a panic of fear.

  Kit was an expert and dauntless horseman, and not one of the broncho boys except Ted could excel him in horsemanship, but with his wounded arm he could not bring the brute under control.

  "That settles it with me," muttered Ted. "I'm going to have a time getting on the back of this beast, for he will be worse than ever now that he has scented Indians."

  He heard a noise behind him, and wheeled.

  Coming out of the willows a few hundred yards away were a score of Indians, painted for war and all armed with rifles.

  With a hasty movement the leader of the broncho boys loosened his revolvers and glanced to see if his rifle was ready for instant use.

  The Indians had stopped, as much surprised as Ted, and stood staring at him in a stupid sort of way.

  Ted saw that if he was to escape being murdered now was his chance, and turned to his pony.

  As he did so the Indians let out a whoop that frightened Bingo almost into a fit, and, wheeling suddenly, he dashed away, almost dragging the reins from Ted's grasp.

  But as he did so Ted was by his side, running with one hand clutching the long mane.

  It was rough running over the rocks and hummocks with which the bank of the stream was strewn, but Ted seemed to fly through space, so lightly did his feet touch the ground.

  Rifle balls were now singing through the air above Ted, and on every side, which only served to increase the speed with which Bingo was running away from his enemies, the Indians.

  Bingo had been trained in New Mexico, Arizona, and Texas to regard the Indian as his natural enemy, and whenever he smelled one it was his most earnest desire to get as far away as possible in the shortest space of time.

  This was fortunate for Ted also.

  While it was not an easy matter for Ted to mount while the pony was wheeling away from him, Ted was well educated in the cavalry drill as used at West Point, and mounting a running horse was one of the easiest of the many equestrian tricks with which he was familiar.

  When he thought he was far enough away from the Indians not to afford them too good an aim for his body, he placed his hand on the cantle of the saddle, gave a smart upward spring, and the impetus of his running and the pony's speed took him through the air like a bird, and he settled in the saddle as easily, almost, as if he would have sat down in a chair.

  As he reached the saddle he, for the first time, threw a glance over his shoulder.

  The Indians were in full pursuit, yelling like madmen.

  They were led by a young fellow dressed in a yellow buckskin shirt elaborately beaded, and trimmed with fringe, while on his head was a bonnet of eagle feathers, which trailed far behind him as he dashed on far in advance of his followers.

  "Here's a chance to stop that chap," said Ted, swinging around in his saddle and throwing his forty-five over his shoulder.

  The six-shooter cracked, and as the smoke floated away Ted saw that his bullet had gone where he intended it to go.

  The pony on which the young Indian was riding stumbled and staggered forward a few feet, then dropped.

  That brought the party to a halt, and Ted, turning his face forward, gallope
d on.

  Kit had succeeded in mastering his pony and had brought it to a halt, and, as the report of Ted's revolver reached his ears, he turned and rode rapidly in that direction.

  As the two boys came together and found that they were unharmed and that the war party of Indians had been halted, they dove into a coulee, followed it a short distance, and climbed again to higher ground.

  The Indians were no longer in sight, and they set off at a gallop toward the west.

  For half an hour they rode, when Ted suddenly pulled his pony to a stop.

  On a rise far away he saw a black, slowly moving mass, which, at first, he had taken to be a band of buffalo, but when it strung out he discovered that it was a party of men on horseback.

  As the sun was behind the riders, Ted could not distinguish whether or not they were Indians or whites, as he could have done if the sun had been shining upon them.

  "If it's Indians I don't want any more of it," he said.

  "I don't think they are Indians," said Kit. "Those fellows sit straighter than Indians. I believe they are either our own boys, or cavalry from the post."

  "I believe you are right," said Ted. "Let's fire a few shots to attract their attention, and then ride to them."

  The shots were fired, and presently they heard several faint reports, and knew that they had been heard and answered.

  In a few minutes they had ridden to where the party was standing on the ridge of a rolling hill.

  They were the broncho boys under the leadership of Ben Tremont. They had all come together on a broad trail that pointed toward the foothills in the north, and, as they rode, had picked up one pair of scouts after another.

  "Where are Bud and Stella?" asked Ted, running his eye over the party.

  "Haven't seen anything of them," said Ben, "although we have been keeping a lookout for them. They rode farther to the west, and probably will pick us up later. I think this trail leads into the hills, and that we will find the Indians in camp not far away."

  This was Ted's belief also, and, taking the leadership, he ordered an advance.