“How about fifty dollars?” asked the cowboy with a shrewd look in his fishy, blue eyes.
“Cut it in half, and I may meet you,” came from Dick. “He was no blue-ribbon animal.”
The cowboy tried to argue, but the Rovers and their chums would not listen, and in the end Jim Jones said he would accept twenty-five dollars and let it go at that. He said he would have the steer carted away before night.
“Where do you come from?” asked Dick after paying over the money.
“From the Cassibel ranch, sixty miles north-west from here. I and my pard were driving some cattle to town, when this steer got scared at a rattlesnake and broke away.”
“I don’t blame him,” said Fred. “I’d get scared at a rattlesnake, myself.”
“Do you know the way to Mr. Carson Denton’s plantation?” went on Dick.
“Sure.”
“This is not the right trail, is it?”
“Not by a long shot. The right trail is four miles from here.”
“Will you direct us to the right road?” asked Dick.
“Sure thing,” answered Jim Jones. He paused for a moment. “Want to get there the easiest way possible, I reckon?”
“Of course.”
“Well, then, keep to this trail for half a mile further. Then, when you come to the blasted hemlock, take the trail to the left. That will take you through the upper end of the next town and right on to Denton’s.”
“Thanks,” said Dick. “Is it a good road?”
“Fine, after the fust few miles are passed. There are a few bad spots at first, but you mustn’t mind them.”
“We shan’t mind,” came from Sam. “We have struck some bad spots already.”
A few additional words passed, and then all of the boys rode along the trail as the cowboy had pointed out. Jim Jones, standing beside the dead steer, watched them out of sight and chuckled loudly to himself.
“Reckon I squared accounts with ‘em,” he muttered. “Got twenty-five dollars in cash and the animile, and if they foller thet trail as I told ‘em—well, there ain’t no tellin’ where they’ll fotch up. But it won’t be Denton’s ranch, not by a long shot!” and he laughed heartily to himself.
All unconscious that they had been wrongly directed by Jim Jones, the Rover boys and their chums continued their journey. When they reached the hemlock that had been struck by lightning, they took to the other path as directed.
“I am sorry I didn’t ask how far that town was,” said Dick. “For all we know, we may be miles away from it.”
“If it gets too late, we had better go into camp for the night,” suggested Songbird, and so it was agreed.
The coming of night found them in something of a hollow between two ranges of hills. The trail was soft and spongy, and the horses frequently sank in over their hoofs.
“This is something I didn’t bargain for,” observed Songbird. “I trust we don’t get stuck and have to go back.”
“That cowboy said the trail would be poor for a while,” came from Fred.
They continued to go forward, on the lookout for some suitable spot where they might camp for the night. The thought of reaching a town had faded away an hour before.
“Gosh! this is getting worse!” cried Tom. “Be careful, Hans!” he called to the German youth, who was ahead.
“Vot’s dot?” sang out the other.
“I said, be careful. You don’t want to sink through to China, do you?”
“Not much I ton’t,” was the answer. “Oh!”
Hans let out a loud cry of alarm, and with good reason. His horse had struck a sink-hole, as they are called on the plains, and gone down to his knees. He made such a plunge that poor Hans was thrown over his head, to land full length in an oozy, sticky bog.
“Stop!” cried Dick, as soon as he saw this accident. “Don’t go any further, fellows, it’s dangerous!”
“Hellup! safe me!” roared Hans, trying in vain to extricate himself from the oozy bog, while his horse did the same. “Hellup, oder I peen drowned in der mud alretty!”
CHAPTER XIV
OUT OF AN UNPLEASANT SITUATION
Not one of the party was just then in a position to give poor Hans any assistance. All were stuck in the ooze, and one horse after another was slowly but surely sinking.
“We must turn back,” cried Songbird, “and do it in a hurry, too.”
“Easier said than done,” grunted Fred. “My, this is worse than glue!”
“I think the ground on our left is a bit firmer than here,” said Sam. “I am going to try it, anyway.”
Not without considerable difficulty, he turned his steed, and after a struggle the spot he had indicated was gained. Dick followed, and so did Tom.
The Rovers were safe, but not so their chums. Hans was the worst off, but Fred and Songbird were likewise in positions of serious peril. Wags was flying around, barking dismally, as though he understood that all was not right.
“Turn this way!” called out Sam. “It’s your one hope!”
“Let me have that rope you are carrying, Tom,” said Dick, and having received the article, he threw one end to Hans, who was still floundering around. “Catch hold, Hans, and I’ll haul you over!”
As the rope fell across the German youth’s body, he caught it tightly in both hands, and, as Dick, Tom and Sam pulled with might and main, he fairly slid on his breast to where they were standing.
“Mine gracious, dot vos somedings awful!” he exclaimed. “It vos so sticky like molasses alretty!”
“Now, we must help the others,” said Dick.
“Songbird is out,” exclaimed Sam.
The rope was thrown to Fred, and with a great tug he was finally brought out of the ooze.
“Nearly took my hand off,” he declared. “But I don’t care—anything is better than to be stuck in such a spot as that.”
The horses were still floundering desperately, and it was little that they could do for the beasts. One went in one direction and the others in another, but at last all appeared to be safe, although covered with the sticky mud and slime.
“That’s an adventure I didn’t bargain for,” was Tom’s comment. “Do you know what I think? I think that cowboy sent us into this on purpose.”
“Maybe he did,” came from Dick. “Did it, I suppose, to get square because we didn’t pay him all he thought the steer was worth.”
To round up the horses was no easy task, and by the time this was accomplished it was long past dark. They searched around for a suitable spot and then went into camp.
“This trip is lasting longer than I expected,” remarked Dick when they were around the camp-fire preparing an evening meal. “I trust the others don’t get worried about us.”
“Oh, I guess they know that we can take care of ourselves,” answered Tom.
“I wish I had that cowboy here,” muttered Sam. “I’d give him a piece of my mind.”
“I think we’d all do that,” added Fred.
“I vos gif him a biece of mine mind from der end of mine fist,” said Hans, and this made them all laugh.
The camping spot was not a particularly good one, yet all slept soundly. They left Wags on guard, but nothing came to disturb them.
It was misty in the morning and so raw that they shivered as they prepared to start off. How to proceed was a question, and it took them a good quarter of an hour to decide it.
“It would be folly to go deeper into this bog, or swamp,” said Dick. “I vote we keep to the high ground.”
“That’s the talk,” said Sam. “Maybe, when we get up far enough, we will have a chance to look around us.”
As well as they were able, they had cleaned off the horses and themselves, and now they took good care to keep from all ground that looked in the least bit treacherous.
“Here is a new trail,” cried Tom after about two miles had been covered. “And it seems to lead up a hill, too.”
“Then that is the trail for us,” put in Songbird, and they took to the new trail without further words.
“Songbird, I don’t hear any poetry,” observed Dick as they rode along. “What’s the matter?”
“Can’t make up poetry in such a dismal place as this,” was the answer in a disgusted voice. “I wish we were out of this woods, and out of the mist, too. I declare, it’s enough to give a fellow malaria.”
The sun was trying to break through the mist, which was an encouraging sign. Here and there a bird set up a piping note, but otherwise all was as quiet as a tomb.
“I see something of a clearing ahead,” announced Sam presently.
“And a trail!” cried Fred. “Thank fortune for that!”
The clearing reached, they found a well-defined trail running to the southwestward.
“That must run to Caville,” announced Dick. “See, there is a regular wagon track.”
“I hope it is the right road,” returned Fred.
They were soon out on the plains again, and then into another patch of timber. They had to ford a small stream, and on the other side came to a fork in the trail.
“Which way now?” questioned Sam, as all came to a halt in perplexity.
“This seems to be the main road, although it is hard to tell one from the other,” said Dick after an examination.
The others agreed with the eldest Rover, and once more they went forward. But, in less than a mile, they saw that the road was not in as good a condition as that left behind.
“This looks as if we had made a mistake,” observed Fred. “Oh, what luck we are having!”
“I’d like to know—” began Tom, when he stopped abruptly, for out of the brushwood an old man had stepped, gun in hand.
“You-uns, hold on!” cried the old man.
“Hullo, what do you want?” asked Dick.
“I want for you-uns to turn around an’ go tudder way.”
“Isn’t this the trail to Caville?”
“No, it ain’t, an’ you-uns can’t come this way, nohow.”
“Is it a private road?”
“Yes.”
“Where does it lead to?”
“That ain’t none o’ you-uns’ business,” said the old man curtly. “You-uns is on the wrong road, an’ have got to turn back.”
“Supposing we don’t turn back?” questioned Tom, who did not fancy the style in which they were being addressed.
At this, the old man tapped his gun.
“Orders is to turn ‘em back, or shoot,” he answered simply. “This are a private road. Don’t ye see the wire fence?”
They looked into the brushwood and saw a single strand of wire stretched from tree to tree on each side of the trail.
“Not much of a fence,” was Songbird’s comment.
“It’s enough, an’ you-uns can’t come no further.”
“Maybe you live beyond,” said Sam curiously.
“Maybe I do, an’ maybe I don’t. It ain’t none of you-uns’ business.”
“You are very civil, I must say.”
“Don’t you git fly, boy, or this ole gun o’ mine might go off. This ain’t no trail fer you-uns, an’ you-uns have got to turn back.”
“Will you tell us if that other trail runs to Caville?” asked Dick.
“It don’t run nowheres.” The old man grinned for a moment. “It stays where it are. But if you-uns travel along it for about five miles, ye’ll reach the town.”
“And you won’t tell us whose road this is?” came from Tom.
“It ain’t none of you-uns’ business, thet ain’t. Better turn back an’ have done with it.”
The old man showed plainly that he did not wish to converse further. He stood in the center of the trail, with his gun ready for instant use.
“We made a mistake before and got into a sink-hole,” said Dick. “We don’t want to make another mistake.”
“Take tudder trail an’ you-uns will be all right,” answered the old man, and thereupon they turned around and rode off.
“What a crusty old fellow!” said Sam.
“Yes, but he meant business,” came from Fred. “He would have shot at us sure, had we insisted upon moving forward.”
“There is some mystery about this,” said Dick.
“Perhaps he lives a hermit life down that trail,” suggested Songbird.
“It looked more to me as if he was on guard,” put in Sam. “He certainly meant business.”
“If we had time, I’d sneak around to one side and see what was beyond.”
“Yes, and get shot,” said Fred. “We had better take his advice and go on to Caville.”
It did not take them long to reach the fork in the road, and here they turned into the other trail. They had proceeded less than fifty yards, when Dick put up his hand.
“Somebody is coming behind us,” he announced.
They halted at a turn in the road and looked back. Two persons soon appeared, both on horse-back. They were riding at a good gait and turned into the trail which was guarded by the old man.
“Well, I never!” cried Tom in amazement.
“I recognized the first man,” said Sam. “It was that bushy-haired fellow. I think somebody said his name was Sack Todd.”
“That’s the chap,” replied Dick. “But didn’t you recognize the other?”
“No.”
“It was Dan Baxter.”
CHAPTER XV
SOMETHING OF A MYSTERY
“Dan Baxter!”
The cry came simultaneously from several of the crowd.
“I think Dick is right,” said Songbird. “I thought it must be Dan, but I wasn’t sure, for I didn’t expect to see him here.”
“He and that Sack Todd must have become friends,” put in Tom. “I would like to know what Dan is doing out here.”
“He is certainly up to no good,” answered Dick. “I must say this adds to the mystery, doesn’t it, boys?”
“That’s what it does,” chimed in Sam. “I wish we could catch Baxter and bring him to justice.”
“Or reform him,” came from Dick.
“Reform him, Dick!” cried Tom. “That would be mighty uphill work.”
“It isn’t in him,” added Fred. “He is tee-totally bad.”
“I used to think that of Dan’s father, but Arnold Baxter has reformed—and he wants his son to do likewise.”
“Well, that isn’t here or there,” said Tom after a pause. “What are we to do just now?”
“Let us push on to town first,” answered Songbird. “After that, we can rearrange our plans if we wish.”
This was considered good advice, and once again they urged their steeds along. Coming to a high point in the trail, they made out Caville a mile distant, and rode into the town about noon.
It was not much of a place, and the single hotel afforded only the slimmest of accommodations. But they had to be satisfied, and so made the best of it.
The meal over, Dick strolled into the office of the tavern, where he found the proprietor sitting in a big wooden chair leaning against the counter.
“Quite a town,” began the eldest Rover cheerfully.
“Wall, it ain’t so bad but what it might be wuss, stranger. Did the grub suit ye?”
“It did.”
“Glad to hear it, stranger. Sometimes the folks from the big cities find fault. Expect me to run a reg’lar Aster-Delmonicum, or sumthin’ like that.”
“It is very hard to suit everybody,” said Dick. “By the way,” he went on, “do you know a man around these parts named Sack Todd?”
“Do I know him? To be sure I do, stranger. Friend o’ yourn?”<
br />
“Not exactly, but I have met him a few times. Where does he live?”
“Lives over to Red Rock ranch, quite a few miles from here.”
“Alone?”
“Not exactly. He has a cousin there, I believe, and some others. But I wouldn’t advise you to go over to the ranch, nohow.”
“Why?”
“Sack Todd don’t take to visitors. The story goes that a visitor once stopped there an’ shot his wife and robbed her, an’ since that time he ain’t had no use fer anybody, only them as he knows very well.”
“Does he run the ranch for a living?”
“Don’t know but what he does, but he don’t work very hard a-doin’ it.”
“Is there an old man working for him—a fellow with thin shoulders and reddish hair?”
“Yes; an’ he’s a sour pill, too.”
“He must be an odd stick, to keep himself so close.”
“Yes; but Sack’s a good spender, when he’s in the humor of it. Sometimes he comes to town with a wad o’ money an’ treats everybody right an’ left. Then ag’in he comes in an’ won’t notice nobody.”
Here the talk came to an end, for the hotel man had to attend to some new arrivals. Dick joined the others and all took a walk, so that their conversation might not be overheard.
“This only adds to the mystery,” said Tom after Dick had repeated what the tavern keeper had said. “I am more anxious now than ever to visit Red Rock ranch, as they call it.”
“So am I,” added Sam. “And remember, we want to catch Dan Baxter if we can.”
“Well, we can’t go ahead and back too, boys,” came from Dick. “If we really mean to investigate, we ought to send Mr. Denton and the ladies and the girls word. If we don’t, and we are delayed any great length of time, they will be sure to worry about us.”
“Maybe we can telephone,” suggested Songbird. “Don’t you see the wires? Some of the plantations must have the service.”
“That’s the talk!” cried Fred. “Let us try it, anyway.”
They walked to the nearest station and looked over the book. But the Denton plantation was not mentioned.
“We can send a letter,” said Dick. “That will get there before they have a chance to worry.”
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