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Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges

by Edward Sylvester Ellis · English · Gutenberg #11337 · 316,495 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Cowmen and Rustlers: A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges

Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis


        
Release date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #11337]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COWMEN AND RUSTLERS: A STORY OF THE WYOMING CATTLE RANGES ***

COWMEN AND RUSTLERS

A Story of the Wyoming Cattle Ranges

BY

EDWARD S. ELLIS

AUTHOR OF "LOG CABIN SERIES," "BOONE AND KENTON SERIES," ETC.

WITH FOUR FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W.M. CARY

MCMIV






CONTENTS.

CHAPTER

     I. A MERRY GROUP

    II. A WARNING FROM THE WOODS

   III. THE FLIGHT OVER THE ICE

    IV. THE REPORT OF GUNS

     V. LOOKING SOUTHWARD

    VI. COWMEN AND RUSTLERS

   VII. THE WARNING

  VIII. GOOD-BY

    IX. A SUMMONS AND A REPLY

     X. A HOT PURSUIT

    XI. A STRANGE DIVERSION

   XII. THE BACK TRAIL

  XIII. A CONSULTATION

   XIV. UNWELCOME CALLERS

    XV. THE "DOG INDIANS"

   XVI. AN UNPLEASANT VISIT

  XVII. A DELICATE SITUATION

 XVIII. A MISCALCULATION

   XIX. THE BURNED RANCH

    XX. THE TRUCE

   XXI. A MESSENGER IN HASTE

  XXII. IMPORTANT TIDINGS

 XXIII. AT BAY

  XXIV. THE PRIMITIVE FORT

   XXV. THE FLAG or TRUCE

  XXVI. THE UNDERGROUND MISSIVE

 XXVII. ON PAROLE

XXVIII. THE FINAL SUMMONS

  XXIX. A STRANGE OCCURRENCE

   XXX. THE MISSING ONE

  XXXI. WHY IT WAS DONE

 XXXII. THE HOSTAGE

XXXIII. THE PRISONER

 XXXIV. OUT IN THE NIGHT

  XXXV. CONCLUSION




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

"FIRED TWO MORE BARRELS"

"COMING STRAIGHT TOWARD HIM"

"A MASS OF BLAZING EMBERS"

"CHALLENGED ON THE EDGE OF THE CAMP"





CHAPTER I.

A MERRY GROUP.


The Whitney household, in the western part of Maine, was filled with
sunshine, merriment and delight, on a certain winter evening a few
years ago.

There was the quiet, thoughtful mother, now past her prime, but with
many traces of the beauty and refinement that made her the belle
of the little country town until Hugh Whitney, the strong-bearded
soldier, who had entered the war as private and emerged therefrom
with several wounds and with the eagles of a colonel on his shoulder,
carried her away from all admirers and made her his bride.

Hugh had been absent a couple of weeks in Montana and Wyoming, whither
he was drawn by a yearning of many years' standing to engage in the
cattle business. He had received some tuition as a cowboy on the
Llano Estacada, and the taste there acquired of the free, wild life,
supplemented, doubtless, by his experience during the war, was held in
restraint for a time only by his marriage.

The absence of the father was the only element lacking to make the
household one of the happiest in that section of Maine; but the letter
just received from him was so cheerful and affectionate that it added
to the enjoyment of the family.

The two principal factors in this jollity were the twins and only
children, Fred and Jennie, seventeen on their last birthday, each
the picture of health, bounding spirits, love and devotion to
their parents and to one another. They had been the life of the
sleighing-parties and social gatherings, where the beauty of the
budding Jennie attracted as much admiration as did that of her mother
a score of years before, but the girl was too young to care for any
of the ardent swains who were ready to wrangle for the privilege of a
smile or encouraging word. Like a good and true daughter she had no
secrets from her mother, and when that excellent parent said, with a
meaning smile, "Wait a few years, Jennie," the girl willingly promised
to do as she wished in that as in every other respect.

Fred was home for the Christmas holidays, and brought with him
Monteith Sterry, one year his senior. Sterry lived in Boston, where he
and Fred Whitney were classmates and warm friends. Young Whitney had
spent several Sundays with Sterry, and the latter finally accepted the
invitation to visit him at his home down in Maine.

These two young men, materially aided by Jennie, speedily turned the
house topsy-turvy. There was no resisting their overrunning spirits,
though now and then the mother ventured on a mild protest, but the
smile which always accompanied the gentle reproof betrayed the truth,
that she was as happy as they in their merriment, with which she would
not have interfered for the world.

That night the full, round moon shone from an unclouded sky, and the
air was crisp and clear. There was not much snow on the ground, and
the ice on the little river at the rear of the house was as smooth as
a polished window-pane. For nearly two score miles this current,
which eventually found its way into the Penobscot, wound through the
leafless woods, past an occasional opening, where, perhaps, the humble
cabin of some backwoodsman stood.

It was an ideal skating rink, and the particular overflow of spirits
on that evening was due to the agreement that it was to be devoted to
the exhilarating amusement.

"We will leave the house at 8 o'clock," said Fred at the supper table,
"and skate to the mouth of Wild Man's Creek and back."

"How far is that?" inquired Monteith Sterry.

"About ten miles."

Pretty Jennie's face took on a contemptuous expression.

"Not a bit more; we shall be only fairly started when we must turn
back."

"Well, where do you want to go, sister?"

"We shouldn't think of stopping until we reach Wolf Glen."

"And may I inquire the distance to that spot?" asked Sterry again.

"Barely five miles beyond Wild Man's Creek," said she.

Those were not the young men to take a "dare" from a girl like her.
It will be admitted that thirty miles is a pretty good spurt for a
skater, but the conditions could not have been more favourable.

"It's agreed, then," remarked Sterry, "that we will go to Wolf Glen,
and then, and then--"

"And then what?" demanded Jennie, turning toward him.

"Why not keep on to Boston and call on my folks?"

"If you will furnish the ice we will do so."

"I couldn't guarantee ice all the way, but we can travel by other
means between the points, using our skates as the chance offers."

"Or do as that explorer who is to set out in search of the north
pole--have a combination skate and boat, so when fairly going we can
keep straight on."

"I will consent to that arrangement on one condition," interposed the
mother, so seriously that all eyes were turned wonderingly upon her.

"What is that?"

"That you return before the morrow."

The countenances became grave, and turning to Sterry, on her right,
Jennie asked, in a low voice:

"Is it safe to promise that?"

"Hardly. Let us leave the scheme until we have time in which fully to
consider it."

"You will start, as I understand, at eight," remarked the mother,
speaking now in earnest. "You can readily reach Wolf Glen within a
couple of hours. There you will rest a while and return as you choose.
So I will expect you at midnight."

"Unless something happens to prevent."

The words of Monteith Sterry were uttered jestingly, but they caused a
pang to the affectionate parent as she asked:

"What could happen, Monteith?"

Fred took it upon himself to reply promptly:

"Nothing at all."

"Is the ice firm and strong?"

"It will bear a locomotive; I never saw it finer; the winter has not
been so severe as some we have known, but it has got there all the
same; Maine can furnish the Union with all the ice she will want next
summer."

"There may be air-holes."

"None that we cannot see; they are few and do not amount to anything."

Here Sterry spoke with mock gravity.

"The name, Wolf Glen, is ominous."

"We have wolves and bears and other big game in this part of the
State, but not nearly as many as formerly. It hardly pays to hunt
them."

"I hope we shall meet a few bears or wolves," said Jennie, with her
light laugh.

"And why?" demanded the shocked mother.

"I would like a race with them; wouldn't it be fun!"

"Yes," replied Sterry, "provided we could outskate them."

"I never knew that wild animals skate."

"They can travel fast when they take it into their heads to turn
hunter. I suppose many of the bears are hibernating, but the
wolves--if there are any waiting for us--will be wide awake and may
give us the roughest kind of sport."

Fred Whitney knew his mother better than did his friend and understood
the expression on her face. So did Jennie, and the couple had such
sport of their Boston visitor that the cloud quickly vanished and
Monteith felt a trifle humiliated at his exhibition of what might
be considered timidity. Nevertheless he quietly slipped his loaded
revolver in the outer pocket of his heavy coat just before starting
and when no one was watching him.

Precisely at eight o'clock the three friends, warmly and conveniently
clad, with their keen-edged skates securely fastened, glided
gracefully up-stream, the mother standing on the porch of her home and
watching the figures as they vanished in the moonlight.

She was smiling, but in her heart was a misgiving such as she had not
felt before, when her children were starting off for an evening's
enjoyment. The minute they were beyond sight she sighed, and,
turning about, resumed her seat by the table in the centre of the
sitting-room, where, as the lamplight fell upon her pale face, she
strove to drive away the disquieting thoughts that would not leave
her.

It was a pleasing sight as the three young people, the picture of
life, health and joyous spirits, side by side, laughing, jesting, and
with never a thought of danger, moved out to the middle of the river
and then sped toward its source, with the easy, beautiful movement
which in the accomplished skater is the ideal of grace. The motion
seemingly was attended with no effort, and could be maintained for
hours with little fatigue.

The small river, to which allusion has been made, was one hundred
yards in width at the point where they passed out upon its surface.
This width naturally decreased as they ascended, but the decrease was
so gradual that at Wolf Glen, fifteen miles away, the breadth
was fully three-fourths of the width opposite the Whitney home.
Occasionally, too, the channel widened to double or triple its usual
extent, but those places were few in number, and did not continue
long. They marked a shallowing of the current and suggested in
appearance a lake.

There were other spots where this tributary itself received others.
Sometimes the open space would show on the right, and further on
another on the left indicated where a creek debouched into the stream,
in its search for the ocean, the great depository of most of the
rivers of the globe.

The trees, denuded of vegetation, projected their bare limbs into the
crystalline air, and here and there, where they leaned over the banks,
were thrown in relief against the moonlit sky beyond. The moon itself
was nearly in the zenith, and the reflected gleam from the glassy
surface made the light almost like that of day. Along the shore,
however, the shadows were so gloomy and threatening that Monteith
Sterry more than once gave a slight shudder and reached his mittened
hand down to his side to make sure his weapon was in place.

The course was sinuous from the beginning, winding in and out so
continuously that the length of the stream must have been double that
of the straight line extending over the same course. Some of these
turnings were abrupt, and there were long, sweeping curves with a view
extending several hundred yards.

They were spinning around one of these, when Sterry uttered an
exclamation:

"I'm disappointed!"

"Why?" inquired Jennie, at his elbow.

"I had just wrought myself up to the fancy that we were pioneers, the
first people of our race to enter this primeval wilderness, when lo!"

He extended his arm up-stream and to the right, where a star-like
twinkle showed that a dwelling stood, or some parties had kindled a
camp-fire.

"Quance, an old fisherman and hunter, lives, there," explained Fred,
"as I believe he has done for fifty years."

"Would you like to make a call on him?" asked Jennie.

"I have no desire to do so; I enjoy this sport better than to sit by
the fire and listen to the most entertaining hunter. Isn't that he?"

The cabin was several rods from the shore, the space in front being
clear of trees and affording an unobstructed view of the little log
structure, with its single door and window in front, and the stone
chimney from which the smoke was ascending. Half-way between the cabin
and the stream, and in the path connecting the two, stood a man with
folded arms looking at them. He was so motionless that he suggested a
stump, but the bright moonlight left no doubt of his identity.

"Holloa, Quance!" shouted Fred, slightly slackening his speed and
curving in toward shore.

The old man made no reply. Then Jennie's musical voice rang out on the
frosty air, but still the hunter gave no sign that he knew he had been
addressed. He did not move an arm nor stir.

"I wonder whether he hasn't frozen stiff in that position," remarked
Sterry. "He may have been caught in the first snap several weeks ago
and has been acting ever since as his own monument."

At the moment of shooting out of sight around the curve the three
glanced back. The old fellow was there, just as they saw him at first.
They even fancied he had not so much as turned his head while they
were passing, but was still gazing at the bank opposite him, or, what
was more likely, peering sideways without shifting his head to any
extent.

The occurrence, however, was too slight to cause a second thought.

They were now fairly under way, as may be said, being more than a mile
from their starting-point. They were proceeding swiftly but easily,
ready to decrease or increase their speed at a moment's notice.
Sometimes they were nigh enough to touch each other's hands, and again
they separated, one going far to the right, the other to the left,
while the third kept near the middle of the stream. Then two would
swerve toward shore, or perhaps it was all three, and again it was
Jennie who kept the farthest from land, or perhaps a fancy led her to
skim so close that some of the overhanging limbs brushed her face.

"Look out; there's an air-hole!" called the brother, at the moment the
three reunited after one of these excursions.

"What of it!" was her demand, and instead of shooting to the right or
left, she kept straight on toward the open space.

"Don't try to jump it!" cautioned Sterry, suspecting her purpose;
"it's too wide."

"No doubt it is for you."

The daring words were on her lips, when she rose slightly in the air
and skimmed as gracefully as a bird across the space of clear water.
She came down seemingly without jar, with the bright blades of steel
ringing over the crystal surface, and without having fallen a foot to
the rear of her companions.

"That was foolish," said her brother, reprovingly; "suppose the ice
had given away when you struck it again?"

"What's the use of supposing what could not take place?"

"The air-hole might have been wider than you suppose."

"How could that be when it was in plain sight? If it had been wider,
why I would have jumped further, or turned aside like my two gallant
escorts. Stick to me and I'll take care of you."

There was no dashing the spirits of the girl, and Sterry broke into
laughter, wondering how it would be with her if actual danger did
present itself.

Occasionally the happy ones indulged in snatches of song and fancy
skating, gliding around each other in bewildering and graceful curves.
The three were experts, as are nearly all people in that section of
the Union. Any one watching their exhibitions of skill and knowing the
anxiety of the mother at home would have wondered why she should feel
any misgiving concerning them.

True, there were wild animals in the forests, and at this season
of the year, when pressed by hunger, they would attack persons if
opportunity presented; but could the fleetest outspeed any one of
those three, if he or she chose to put forth the utmost strength and
skill possessed?

"Look!"

It was Jennie who uttered the exclamation, and there was good cause
for it. She was slightly in advance, and was rounding another of the
turns of the stream, when she caught sight of a huge black bear, who,
instead of staying in some hollow tree or cave, sucking his paw the
winter through, was lumbering over the ice in the same direction with
themselves.

He was near the middle of the frozen current, so that it was prudent
for them to turn to the right or left, and was proceeding at an easy
pace, as if he was out for a midnight stroll, while he thought over
matters. Though one of the stupidest of animals, he was quick to hear
the noise behind him and looked back to learn what it meant.




CHAPTER II.

A WARNING FROM THE WOODS.


Monteith Sterry began drawing the mitten from his right hand with the
intention of using his revolver on the bear, when he checked himself
with the thought:

"Better to wait until I need it; the most of this excursion is still
before us."

The lumbering brute came to a stop, with his huge head turned, and
surveyed the approaching skaters. Had they attempted to flee, or had
they come to a halt, probably he would have started after them. As it
was he swung half-way round, so that his side was exposed. He offered
a fine target for Sterry's weapon, but the young man still refrained
from using it.

"It isn't well to go too near him," remarked Fred Whitney, seizing the
arm of his sister and drawing her toward the shore on the left.

"I don't mean to," replied the bright-witted girl, "but if we turn
away from him too soon he will be able to head us off; he mustn't
suspect what we intend to do."

"There's sense in that," remarked Sterry, "but don't wait too long."

The three were skating close together, with their eyes on the big
creature, who was watching them sharply.

"Now!" called Fred, in a low, quick voice.

He had not loosened his grip of his sister's arm, so that when he made
the turn she was forced to follow him. The moment was well chosen, and
the three swung to one side as if all were controlled by the single
impulse.

Bruin must have been astonished; for, while waiting for his supper
to drop into his arms, he saw it leaving him. With an angry growl he
began moving toward the laughing party.

The tinge of anxiety which Fred Whitney felt lasted but a moment. He
saw that they could skate faster than the bear could travel; and, had
it been otherwise, no cause for fear would have existed, for, with the
power to turn like a flash, it would have been the easiest thing in
the world to elude the efforts of the animal to seize them.

They expected pursuit, and it looked for a minute as if they were
not to be disappointed. The animal headed in their direction with
no inconsiderable speed, but, with more intelligence than his kind
generally display, he abruptly stopped, turned aside, and disappeared
in the wood before it could be said the race had really begun.

Jennie was the most disappointed of the three, for she had counted
upon an adventure worth the telling, and here it was nipped in the
bud. She expressed her regret.

"There's no helping it," said Monteith, "for I can think of no
inducement that will bring him back; but we have a good many miles
before us, and it isn't likely that he's the only bear in this part of
Maine."

"There's some consolation in that," she replied, leading the way back
toward the middle of the course; "if we see another, don't be so
abrupt with him."

The stream now broadened to nearly three times its ordinary extent,
so that it looked as if they were gliding over the bosom of some lake
lagoon instead of a small river. At the widest portion, and from the
furthest point on the right, twinkled a second light, so far back
among the trees that the structure from whence it came was out of
sight. They gave it little attention and kept on.

Sterry took out his watch. The moonlight was so strong that he saw the
figures plainly. It lacked a few minutes of nine.

"And yonder is the mouth of Wild Man's Creek," said Fred; "we have
made pretty good speed."

"Nothing to boast of," replied Jennie; "if it were not for fear of
distressing mother, I would insist that we go ten or fifteen miles
further before turning back."

Since plenty of time was at command, they continued their easy pace,
passing over several long and comparatively straight stretches of
frozen water, around sharp bends, beyond another expansion of the
stream, in front of a couple of natural openings, and finally, while
it lacked considerable of ten o'clock, they rounded to in front of
a mass of gray towering rocks on the right bank of the stream, and,
skating close into shore, sat down on a bowlder which obtruded several
feet above the ice.

They were at the extremity of their excursion. These collective rocks
bore the name of Wolf Glen, the legend being that at some time in the
past a horde of wolves made their headquarters there, and, when the
winters were unusually severe, held the surrounding country in
what might be called a reign of terror. They had not yet wholly
disappeared, but little fear of them was felt.

The friends could not be called tired, though, after skating fifteen
miles, the rest on the stone was grateful.

They sat for half an hour chatting, laughing, and as merry as when
they started from home. The sky was still unclouded, but the moon had
passed beyond the zenith. A wall of shadow was thrown out from one of
the banks, except for occasional short distances, where the course of
the stream was directly toward or from the orb.

When Sterry again glanced at his watch it was a few minutes past ten.
They had rested longer than any one suspected.

"Mother won't look for us before midnight," remarked Fred, "and we can
easily make it in that time."

"She was so anxious," said the sister, who, despite her
light-heartedness, was more thoughtful than her brother, "that I would
like to please her by getting back sooner than she expects."

"We have only to keep up this pace to do it," said Monteith, "for we
have been resting fully a half hour--"

He paused abruptly. From some point in the wintry wilderness came a
dismal, resounding wail, apparently a mile distant.

"What is that?" asked Monteith, less accustomed to the Maine woods
than his companions.

"It is the cry of a wolf," replied Fred; "I have heard it many times
when hunting alone or with father."

"It isn't the most cheerful voice of the night," commented the young
Bostonian, who, as yet never dreamed of connecting it with any peril
to themselves. And then he sang:

  Yes, the war whoop of the Indian may produce a pleasant thrill
  When mellowed by the distance that one feels increasing still;
  And the shrilling of the whistle from the engine's brazen snout
  May have minor tones of music, though I never found it out.

The verse was hardly finished when the howl was repeated.

"It is hard to tell from what point it comes," observed Fred, "but I
think it is on the right shore as we go back."

"Do you imagine it is far from the river?" inquired Monteith.

"I think not, but I may be mistaken."

"I am quite sure Fred is right," said his sister; "and, more than
that, that particular wolf isn't a great way off. I wonder whether he
has scented our trail?"

Before any comment could be made upon this remark, a second, third,
fourth, and fully a half-dozen additional howls rang through the
forest arches. They came from the left shore, and apparently were
about as far off as the cry first heard.

"They are answers," said Fred, in a low voice, in which his companions
detected a slight tremor.

It was at this moment that the first fear thrilled all three. The
cries might mean nothing, but more likely they meant a good deal. The
wolf is one of the fiercest of American wild animals when suffering
from hunger, though a coward at other times, and a horde of them are
capable of attacking the most formidable denizens of the woods.

The fact that they were between the skaters and home, and at no great
distance from the course they must follow to reach there, was cause
for fear. It was almost certain that in some way the keen-scented
creatures had learned there was game afoot that night for them, and
they were signalling to each other to gather for the feast.

Fred and Monteith were not specially frightened on their own account,
for, if the worst should come, they could take to the trees and wait
for help. They might make a sturdy fight, and perhaps, with anything
like a show, could get away from them without taking to such a refuge.

But it was the presence of Jennie that caused the most misgiving.
True, she was as swift and skilful a skater as either, but that of
itself was not likely to save her.

But she was the coolest of all, now that the danger assumed a reality.

The lightness and gayety that had marked the three from the moment
of leaving home had gone. They were thoughtful, the very opposite in
their mood to that of a few minutes before.

"I wish I had brought my pistol," said Fred.

"I have mine," observed Monteith; "a good Smith & Wesson, and each of
the five chambers is loaded."

"Thank fortune for that; have you any extra cartridges?"

"Not one."

"Your pistol may be the means of saving us."

"Why do you speak that way?" asked Jennie; "I never knew you were
scared so easily."

"I am sorry you are with us, sister; my alarm is on your account."

"I do not see why I am not as safe as either of you; neither can skate
faster than I."

"If we are to escape by that means, your chances are as good as ours;
but those creatures have a fearful advantage over us, because we must
run the gauntlet."

"We are not so certain of that; if we hasten, we may pass the
danger-point before they discover us."

For the first time since leaving home the three did their best.
Separated from each other by just enough space to give play to
the limbs, they sped down the icy river with the fleetness of the
hurricane, their movements almost the perfect counterpart of each
other.

First on the right foot, they shot well toward the shore on that side,
then bending gracefully to the left, the weight was thrown on that
limb, the impetus being imparted to the body without any apparent
effort, after the manner of a master of the skater's art. These,
sweeping forward, were many rods in length, the polished steel
frequently giving out a metallic ring as it struck the flinty ice. Now
and then, too, a resounding creak sped past, and might have alarmed
them had they not understood its nature. It indicated no weakness of
the frozen surface, but was caused by the settling of the crystal
floor as the water flowed beneath.

For a few minutes these were the only noises that broke the impressive
stillness. The three had begun to hope that the ominous sounds would
be heard no more, and that the wolves were too far from the river to
discover them until beyond reach.

If they could once place themselves below the animals they need not
fear, for they could readily distance them. Should the speed of the
pursuers become dangerous, a sharp turn or change in the course would
throw them off and give the fugitives an advantage that would last for
a long time. But they dreaded the appearance of a whole pack of the
brutes in front, thus shutting off their line of flight homeward.
True, in that case they could turn about and flee up stream, but the
risk of encountering others attracted by the cries would be great, and
perhaps leave their only recourse to a flight into the woods.

The thoughts of each turned to the nearest hunter's cabin, although it
was several miles distant, and probably beyond reach.

It was strange that, having emitted so many signals, the wolves should
become suddenly quiescent.

No one spoke, but as they glided swiftly forward they peered along the
gleaming surface in search of that which they dreaded to see.

They approached one of those long, sweeping bends to which allusion
has been made. Jennie had already proven that neither of her
companions could outspeed her. They were doing their utmost, but she
easily held her own with less effort than they showed.

In truth, she was slightly in advance as they began following the
curve of the river, her head, like each of the others, bent forward,
to see whither they were going.

"They are there!"

It was she who uttered the exclamation which sent a thrill through
both. They asked for no explanation, for none was needed, and an
instant later they were at her side, she slightly slackening her pace.

The sight, while alarming, was not all that Fred and Monteith
anticipated.

Three or four gaunt animals were trotting along the ice near the left
shore, but no others were visible.

"Keep in the middle while I take a turn that way," said Monteith,
sheering in the direction named.

Brother and sister did not read the meaning of this course, nor could
they detect its wisdom. But they obeyed without question.

Young Sterry hoped by making what might look like an attack upon the
famishing beasts to scare them off for a few minutes, during which the
three, and especially Jennie, could reach a point below them. With the
brutes thus thrown in the rear, it might be said the danger would be
over.

Now, as every one knows, the wolf is a sneak, and generally will run
from a child if it presents a bold front; but the animal becomes very
dangerous when pressed by hunger.

Monteith Sterry's reception was altogether different from what he
anticipated. When the half-dozen wolves saw him speeding toward them
they stopped their trotting, and, like the bear, looked around, as not
understanding what it meant.

"Confound them! Why don't they take to the woods?" he muttered. He had
removed the mitten from his right hand, which grasped his revolver.
"This isn't according to Hoyle."

He shied a little to the right, with a view of preventing a collision
with the creatures, and the moment he was close enough, let fly with
one chamber at the nearest.

Accidentally he nipped the wolf, which emitted a yelping bark, leaped
several feet in the air, then limped into the woods, as he had learned
enough of the interesting stranger.

That was just what the youth had hoped to do, and the success of his
scheme would have been perfect had the others imitated their wounded
companion, but they did not.

Without paying any attention to Sterry they broke into a gallop toward
the middle of the river, their course such as to place them either in
advance of Fred and Jennie Whitney or to bring all together.

Greatly alarmed for his friends, Monteith did an unnecessary thing
by shouting (for the couple could not fail to see their danger), and
fired two more barrels of his pistol. Neither shot took effect, nor
did the wolves give them any heed, but they and the skaters converged
with perilous swiftness.

Forgetful of his own danger, Monteith shouted again:

"Look out! Why don't you change your course?"

Neither replied, but it was absurd for the panic-stricken youth to
suppose they did not understand the situation and were shaping their
movements accordingly.

Having observed the wolves as soon as Sterry, they never lost sight
of them for a second. Every action was watched, and the curious
proceeding noted the instant made.

Fred and Jennie continued gliding straight forward, as if they saw
them not, and a collision appeared inevitable. At the moment when
Monteith's heart stood still, the couple turned almost at right angles
to the left--that is, in exactly the opposite direction from the
course of the wolves--and in a second they were fifty feet nearer that
shore than the brutes. Then followed another quick turn, and they were
gliding with arrowy speed straight down stream. They had simply passed
around the animals, who, detecting the trick, made their limbs rigid
and slid over the ice, with their claws scratching it, until able to
check their speed to allow them to turn and resume the pursuit.

Sterry was on the point of uttering a shout of exultation and
admiration at the clever manoeuvre, when Jennie cried out; and well
might she do so, for fifty yards beyond, and directly in their path,
the ice seemed suddenly to have become alive with the frightful
creatures, who streamed from the woods on both sides, ravenous, fierce
and unrestrainable in their eagerness to share in the expected feast.




CHAPTER III.

THE FLIGHT OVER THE ICE.


The same minute that Monteith Sterry saw the new peril which
threatened them all he darted out beside the brother and sister, who
had slackened their pace at sight of the wolves in front.

"What shall we do?" asked Fred; "we cannot push on; let's go up
stream."

"You cannot do that," replied Jennie, "for they are gathering behind
us."

A glance in that direction showed that she spoke the truth. It looked
as if a few minutes would bring as many there as in advance.

"We shall have to take to the woods," said Fred, "and there's little
hope there."

"It won't do," added the sister, who seemed to be thinking faster than
either of her companions. "The instant we start for the shore they
will be at our heels. Make as if we were going to run in close to the
right bank, so as to draw them after us; then turn and dash through
them."

The manoeuvre was a repetition of the one she and her brother had
executed a few minutes before, and was their only hope.

"I will take the lead with my pistol," said Monteith, "while you keep
as close to me as you can."

Every second was beyond value. The wolves were not the creatures to
remain idle while a conference was under way. At sight of the three
figures near the middle of the course they rent the air with howls,
and came trotting toward them with that light, springy movement shown
by a gaunt hound, to whom the gait is as easy as a walk.

Monteith Sterry shot forward on his right foot, his revolver, with its
two precious charges, tightly gripped in his naked hand.

This was to be called into play only in the last extremity. The
killing of a couple of wolves from such a horde could produce no
effect upon the rest, unless perhaps to furnish some of them a lunch,
for one of the curious traits of the _lupus_ species is that they are
cannibals, so to speak.

His hope was that the flash and report of the weapon would frighten
the animals into opening a path for a moment, through which the
skaters could dart into the clear space below.

Having started, Monteith did not glance behind him. Fred and his
sister must look out for themselves. He had his hands more than full.

With a swift, sweeping curve he shot toward the bank, the brutes
immediately converging to head him off. The slight, familiar scraping
on the ice told him that Fred and Jennie were at his heels. He kept on
with slackening speed until close to the shore, and it would not do to
go any further. An overhanging limb brushed his face.

But his eye was on the wolves further out in the stream. The place was
one of the few ones where the course was such that no shadow was along
either bank. The moment most of the creatures were drawn well over
toward the right shore, Sterry did as his friends did awhile before,
skimming abruptly to the left and almost back over his own trail, and
then darting around the pack. The line was that of a semicircle, whose
extreme rim on the left was several rods beyond the last of the wolves
swarming to the right.

"Now!" called Sterry at the moment of turning with all the speed at
his command.

Critical as was the moment, he flung one glance behind him. Fred and
Jennie were almost nigh enough to touch him with outstretched hand. No
need of shouting any commands to them, for they understood what he was
doing, or rather trying to do.

Young Sterry, as I have said, had cleared the horde of wolves, making
the turn so quickly that they slid a rod or more over the ice before
able to check themselves and change their own course.

The stratagem seemed as successful as the other, but it was too soon
to congratulate themselves. At the moment when everything promised
well, the most enormous wolf he had ever seen bounded from under the
trees on the left bank and galloped directly for him.

He was so far in advance that the only way of dodging him was by
another sharp turn in his course. To do this, however, would bring him
so near the other brutes that they were almost certain to leap upon
every one of the party.

"Use your revolver!" called Fred from the rear.

Monteith had already decided that this was an exigency demanding one
of the remaining charges, and he partly raised the weapon in front of
him.

Meanwhile, the huge wolf had stopped on seeing that the procession was
coming in a straight line for him. The youth moderated his speed still
more, that he might perfect his aim.

He was in the act of levelling his pistol, when the animal advanced
quickly a couple of steps and made a tremendous leap at his throat.
The act was unexpected, but at the instant of his leaving the ice
Monteith let fly with one chamber at him.

The success was better than he had a right to expect, for the leaden
pellet bored its way through the skull of the wolf, who, with a
rasping yelp, made a sidelong plunge, as if diving off a bank into the
water, and, striking on the side of his head, rolled over on his back,
with his legs vaguely kicking at the moon, and as powerless to do harm
as a log of wood.

Brief as was the halt, it had given the leading brutes of the main
body time to come up. They were fearfully near, when the scent of
blood and the sight of their fallen comrade suggested to the foremost
that a meal was at their disposal. They flew at the huge fellow and
rended him to shreds and fragments in a twinkling.

The only way of escape was still in front, and, with the utmost
energy, power, and skill at his command, Monteith Sterry darted ahead.
His crouching body, the head well in advance, somewhat after the
manner of a racing bicyclist on the home-stretch, his compressed lips,
his flashing eyes, with every muscle tense, were proof that he knew it
had now become a struggle of life and death.

If he allowed one of those wolves to approach nigh enough to leap upon
him, he would be borne to the earth like a flash and share the fate
of the victim of his pistol. They were near, for he could hear that
multitudinous pattering on the ice, when the din of their cries
permitted it, and they were running fast.

But, he reasoned, if they were so close to him they must be still
closer to the brother and sister, whose peril, therefore, was
correspondingly greater. He looked around. He was farther from the
horde than he supposed, but Fred and Jennie were not directly behind
him, as he had thought.

At the moment an awful thrill shot through him; he caught a glimpse
of Fred close in shore and going like the wind. The couple were still
preserved from the fangs of the wolves, but only heaven knew how long
it would last.

A short distance ahead an opening showed where a creek put in from the
woods and hills. Monteith gave it only a glance when he skimmed past
at the same furious pace as before. It looked as if there was hope at
last, for the brutes first seen were all at the rear. If new danger
came, it would be from others that ran out on the ice in front.

"It seems to me that all the wolves in Maine are on this little
river," was his thought, "but there may be a few left that will try to
get into our path."

A wild cry came from his friends and he glanced toward them. Not only
that, but believing his help was needed, he sheered over to them as
quickly as he could.

The course of the river had changed, so that a ribbon of shadow
extended along that bank, partially obscuring the form of Fred
Whitney, who seemed to cling to it as if therein lay his safety.

The brutes were now so far to the rear that there was little to be
feared from them, though they still kept up the pursuit, and while
able to follow in a straight line were doing so with more speed than
would be expected.

It struck Sterry that his friend was not skating with his utmost
skill. He was alarmed.

"What's the matter, Fred?" he called, drawing quickly near him.

"O, Jennie! Jennie! What will become of her?"

Fred Whitney, it was now apparent, was alone.

Forgetful of the savage brutes, Monteith Sterry slackened his pace,
and in a scared voice demanded:

"What has become of her? Where is she?"

"She darted into the mouth of that creek."

"Why didn't you follow?"

"I could not; it was done in a flash; she called to me to keep on and
said something else which I could not catch."

"But," continued the wondering Monteith, "how could she do it when she
was at your side?"

"She fell a little to the rear and made a lightning turn. I attempted
to follow, but it seemed half the pack were in my path, and it was
certain death. I was frantic for the moment, and even now do not
understand what it all meant."

"What a woeful mistake!" wailed Monteith; "the chances are a thousand
to one that she is lost."

"I think," said the brother, half beside himself, "that it may have
been a good thing, but--"

A peculiar cry behind them caused Monteith to turn his head. The
wolves had gained so fast during the last few minutes that one of them
was in the act of springing on Fred Whitney.

"Stoop, quick!" shouted his companion.

Fred bent low in the nick of time, and the gaunt, lank body shot over
his head, landing on the ice in front. Before he could gather himself
a bullet from the revolver was driven into his vitals and he rolled
over and over, snapping and yelping in his death-throes.

The skaters swerved aside enough to avoid him, and the next instant
were skimming over the ice at their utmost speed.

It was not a moment too soon, for the halt was well-nigh fatal; but
they could travel faster than the animals, and steadily drew away from
them until, ere long, they were safe, so far as those creatures were
concerned. They continued the pursuit, however, being a number of rods
to the rear and in plain sight of the fugitives, who looked back,
while speeding forward with undiminished swiftness.

But the couple could not continue their flight, knowing nothing of the
missing one. The wolves were between them and her, and Monteith Sterry
had fired the last shot in his revolver.

"How far back does that tributary reach?" he asked.

"I never learned, but probably a good way."

"Its breadth is not half of this."

"No; nothing like it."

"What has become of her?"

"Alas! alas! What shall I answer?"

"But, Fred, she is not without hope; she can skate faster than either
of us, and I am sure none of them was in front of her on the creek or
she would not have made the turn she did."

"If the creek extends for several miles, that is with enough width to
give her room, she will outspeed them; but how is she to get back?"

"What need that she should? When they are thrown behind she can take
off her skates and continue homeward through the woods, or she may
find her way back to the river and rejoin us."

"God grant that you are right; but some of the wolves may appear in
front of her, and then--"

"Don't speak of it! We would have heard their cries if any of them had
overtaken her."

No situation could be more trying than that of the two youths, who
felt that every rod toward home took them that distance farther from
the beloved one whose fate was involved in awful uncertainty.

"This won't do," added Monteith, after they had skated some distance
farther; "we are now so far from the animals that they cannot trouble
us again; we are deserting her in the most cowardly manner."

"But what shall we do? What _can_ we do?"

"You know something of this part of the country; let's take off our
skates and cut across the creek; she may have taken refuge in the limb
of a tree and is awaiting us."

"Isn't some one coming up stream?" asked Fred, peering forward, where
the straight stretch was so extensive that the vision permitted them
to see unusually far.

"It may be another wolf."

"No; it is a person. Perhaps Quance has been drawn from his home by
the racket. He is a great hunter. I hope it is he, for he can give us
help in hunting for Jennie--"

Monteith suddenly gripped the arm of his friend.

"It is not a man! It is a woman!"

"Who can it be? Not Jennie, surely--"

"Hurry along! You are no skaters at all!"

It was she! That was her voice, and it was her slight, girlish figure
skimming like a swallow toward them.

Within the following minute Fred Whitney clasped his beloved sister in
his arms, both shedding tears of joy and gratitude.

Jennie had had a marvellous experience, indeed. Controlled by an
intuition or instinct which often surpasses reason, she was led to
dart aside into the smaller stream at the critical moment when the
fierce wolves were so near that escape seemed impossible. She had
fallen slightly to the rear, and a single terrified glance showed her
a beast in the act of leaping at her. Her dart to the left was only
the effort to elude him for that instant, and she was not aware of the
mouth of the creek until she had entered it. Then, seeing that it was
altogether too late to rejoin her brother, she had no course left but
to continue the flight which, until then, she had not intended.

The words which she called to Fred, that were not understood by him,
were to the effect that she would try to rejoin him farther down the
stream, with whose many turnings she was more familiar than he.

She ascended the tributary with all the wonderful skill at her
command. Not only the brute that was on the point of leaping at her,
but three others, turned as soon as they could poise themselves and
went after her at their utmost bent.

But her change of direction was a most fortunate action. As in the
case of the abrupt darting aside, when on the surface of the larger
stream, it placed her considerably in advance of the nearest pursuers.
Add to this her power of outspeeding them when the chance was equal,
and it will be seen that her only danger was from the front.

The creek was so narrow that if any of the wolves appeared before
her she would be lost, for there was not room to manoeuvre as on the
larger stream.

But she met none. The first signals had drawn them to the river, and
if there were any near, they and she were mutually unaware of it.

As her brother had said, she was more acquainted with this section
than he. She knew at what points the river and its tributary curved so
as to bring them near each other. Reaching that place, she buried the
heels of her skate-runners in the ice, sending the particles about
her in a misty shower, and quickly came to a halt. Then, standing
motionless, she listened.

In the distance sounded the howling of the animals so repeatedly
disappointed of their prey, but none was nigh enough to cause her
misgiving.

"I hope no harm has come to Fred or Monteith," she murmured. "Both can
skate fast enough to leave the wolves behind; they would have done so
at once if they had not been bothered by having me with them. Now they
ought to be able to take care of themselves."

She sat down on the bank and removed her skates. The slight layer of
snow on the leaves caused no inconvenience, for she was well shod, and
the walk was not far. Her fear was that some of the wolves might sneak
up unseen. Often she stopped and listened, but when half the distance
was passed, without any alarm from that source, she believed nothing
was to be feared. A little farther and she reached the main stream,
the distance passed being so much less than was necessary for her
escorts that she knew that she was in advance of them, even if they
had continued their flight without interruption.

Her club skates were securely refastened, and then she listened again.

The cries of the brutes were few and distant and could not cause
alarm.

Hark! A familiar sound reached her. She recognized it as made by
skates gliding over the ice. Rising to her feet, she remarked, with a
smile:

"I think I will give them a surprise." And she did. The meeting was a
happy one, and before the stroke of midnight all three were at home,
where they found the mother anxiously awaiting their return and
greatly relieved to learn that despite their stirring experience no
harm had befallen any member of the little party.




CHAPTER IV.

THE REPORT OF GUNS.


And now comes a change of scene and incident.

Hugh Whitney returned to his Maine home a few weeks after the stirring
adventures of his children and Monteith Sterry with the wolves. He
was so pleased with the western country that he made his decision to
remove thither. He met with no difficulty in selling at a fair price
his little property in the Pine-Tree State, and with a portion of the
proceeds he bought a ranch near the headwaters of Powder River, to
which place he removed, with his family, in the spring of 1890,
directly after the incidents related in the preceding chapters.

One of the pleasures of this radical change of residence and
occupation was that it was pleasing to his son Fred and his twin
sister Jennie, now about nineteen years of age.

Whether the wife shared in the desire to make her home in that new
country, or whether she expressed the wish to do so because she saw it
would gratify her husband, cannot be said with certainty. There was no
doubt, however, about the eagerness with which the brother and sister
took part in the removal.

Young, ardent, and of sturdy frame, with all the natural yearning of
imaginative youth for adventure, the prospect was an inviting one to
them. Their father's glowing accounts of the magnificent scenery, its
vast resources and limitless possibilities, caused a yearning on their
part probably deeper than his own.

It is rare that such expectations are fully realized in this life. It
cannot be said that those of the brother and sister found more than
a partial fulfilment, but, though the fateful day came when they
regretted the change beyond the power of language to express, yet it
was many months before it dawned upon them.

Hugh Whitney's herd of cattle numbered several thousand, and, on the
day when we take up the eventful history of the family, they were
grazing on the open ranges along the spurs of the Big Horn Mountains.

The two cowmen engaged by Whitney to assist him in the duty of looking
after his property were Budd Hankinson and Grizzly Weber. They were
veterans in the business, brave and true and tried. Under their
tuition, and that of his father, Fred Whitney became a skilful
horseman and rancher. He learned to lasso and bring down an obdurate
steer, to give valuable help in the round-ups, to assist in branding
the registered trademark of his father on the haunches of his animals.

This brand consisted of a cross, with two stars above, one below, the
initial letter of his given name on the left, and that of his surname
on the right. When this was burned into the flesh of the yearlings,
it identified his property, no matter where wandering, and the honest
rancher would no more disturb it than he would enter another's home
and rob him of his clothing.

The first year was an enjoyable one to Jennie. Her father presented
her with an excellent animal, of which she became very fond. A good
horsewoman when in Maine, in Wyoming she acquired a skill which
compelled the admiration of the cowmen themselves.

"She's struck her callin'," remarked Budd Hankinson one day, while
watching her speeding like a courser across the open country.

"What is that?" asked the father, who was proud of his children, and
especially of the pretty daughter.

"Why, riding hosses like a streak of lightnin'," was the somewhat
indefinite response.

"What particular profession can she fill by dashing over the country
in that style?" continued the parent with a smile.

"Why, showing other persons how it is done. I've no doubt, colonel,
that she could make good wages in breaking broncos and teaching young
women like her how to ride in the right style; I advise you to think
about it."

"I will do so," replied the parent, with so much gravity that the
cowman never suspected his sincerity, but felt the satisfaction of
believing he had given his employer a valuable "pointer."

Another pleasure which followed the removal of the Whitneys to Wyoming
was that their friend Monteith Sterry followed them within a few
months. He had shown some signs of running down in health while
attending the high school in Boston, despite the fact that he was one
of the best athletes in the institution; but he readily persuaded his
wealthy father that a few months' experience in the bracing northwest
would do him more good than anything and everything else in the world.

That he might have some pretext other than the one which could not
wholly deceive the Whitneys, he engaged to serve the Live Stock
Association, which was beginning to have trouble with the rustlers.
Matters were not only going wrong, but were rapidly getting worse in
Wyoming, and they were glad to secure the services of such a daring
and honest youth, who seemed rather to welcome the fact that he could
perform his duties faithfully only at personal risk to himself.

It need not be explained how it came about that young Sterry found it
necessary to give a great deal of his attention to that section of
Wyoming in which the Whitneys lived. There appeared to be more need of
it there than in any of the other neighborhoods where the outlook was
really threatening.

The natural consequence was that he became a frequent visitor at the
home of his former friend, though he found other acquaintances engaged
in the cattle business who were glad to have him take shelter under
their roofs. Sometimes he engaged in hunting with them, and several
times Fred Whitney and Jennie joined him. There was a spice of peril
in these excursions which rendered them fascinating to all three.

The particular day to which we refer was a mild afternoon in May,
1892. Jennie was helping her mother with her household duties in their
home, where they had lived since coming from their native State. The
building was one of the long, low wooden structures common in that
section, to which the fashions of the older civilization have not yet
penetrated. It possessed all the comforts they required, though it
took some time for the brother and sister to accustom themselves to
the odd style of architecture.

Jennie, as usual, was in high spirits. She had been out for a ride
during the forenoon, and was now trying to make up for it by taking
the burden of most of the work upon her comely shoulders.

In the middle of one of her snatches of song she abruptly paused with
the question:

"Did you hear that, mother?"

"No; to what do you refer?"

"The sound of rifle-firing; something is wrong on the range."

The two paused and listened, looking in each other's pale countenances
as they did so.

"It _is_ rifle-firing!" said Mrs. Whitney in a scared voice; "what can
it mean?"

"Trouble with the rustlers," replied Jennie, hurrying through the
open door to the outside that she might hear the better. Her mother
followed, and the two stood side by side, listening and peering
across the wide stretch of undulating plain in the direction of the
mountains, whose wooded crests were outlined against the clear spring
sky.

There could be no mistaking the alarming sounds. They were made by
rifles, fired sometimes in quick succession, often mingling with each
other, and then showing comparatively long intervals between the
discharges of the weapons.

"Father said the rustlers were becoming bolder," remarked Jennie, "and
there was sure to be trouble with them before long."

"It has come," was the comment of the parent, "and who shall tell the
result?"

"It cannot last long, mother."

"A few minutes is a good while at such a time. A score of shots have
already been fired, and some of them must have done execution."

"Father, Fred and our two men are unerring shots."

"And so are they," responded the mother, referring to the rustlers,
who have made so much trouble for the cattlemen of Wyoming.




CHAPTER V.

LOOKING SOUTHWARD.


Mrs. Whitney and her daughter Jennie stood at the door of their ranch
listening, with rapidly beating hearts, to the sounds of rifle-firing
from the direction of the cattle-range where the beloved husband and
son were looking after their property.

Three shots came in quick succession; then, after the interval of a
full minute, two more followed, and then all was still.

Mother and daughter maintained their listening attitude a while
longer, but nothing more reached their ears.

"It is over," said the parent in an undertone.

Aye, the conflict was over. One party was beaten off, but which? And
how many brave men, the finest horsemen and rifle-shots in the world,
lay on the green sward, staring, with eyes that saw not, at the blue
sky, or were being borne away by their comrades on the backs of their
tough ponies?

A brief space and the story would be told.

Jennie Whitney shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed to the
southward for the first sight of returning friends, whose coming could
not be long delayed.

The mother was straining her vision in the same direction, watching
for that which she longed and yet dreaded to see. But years had
compelled her to use glasses, and her eyes were not the equal of
those bright orbs of Jennie. She would be the first to detect the
approaching horsemen.

A good field-glass was in the house, but neither thought of it; their
attention was too deeply absorbed.

"It is time they appeared," remarked Mrs. Whitney, her heart sinking
under the dreadful fear of the possible reason why they remained
invisible.

Suppose there was none to appear!

But those keen eyes of the maiden have detected something, and she
starts and peers more intently than before.

Far to the southward, in the direction of the mountain spurs, and on
the very boundary of her vision, a black speck seems to be quivering
and flickering, so indistinct, so impalpable, that none but the
experienced eye can guess its nature.

But the eye which is studying it is an experienced one. Many a time it
has gazed across the rolling prairie, and identified the loved father
and brother before another could discover a person at all.

"Some one is coming," she says to her mother.

"Some one!" is the alarmed response; "are there no more?"

"There may be, but this one is in advance."

"But why should he be in advance of the rest?" is the query, born of
the fear in the heart of the parent.

"It is not mine to answer for the present; he may be better mounted
and is coming for--for--"

"For what?"

"Help."

"Help! What help can we give them?"

"We have a gun in the house, and there is plenty of ammunition."

"That means they have suffered--have been defeated. Look closely,
Jennie; do you see no others?"

She has been searching for them from the first. The approaching
horseman is now fully defined against the dark-green of the mountains,
and the country for half a mile is in clear view.

Over this broad expanse Jennie Whitney's eyes rove, and her heart
seems to stand still as she answers:

"He is alone; I see no others."

"Then he brings evil tidings! Our people have been defeated; more than
one has fallen."

The approaching horseman was riding furiously. His fleet animal was
on a dead run, his neck outstretched, mane and tail streaming as he
thundered through the hurricane created by his own tremendous speed.

The man who sat in the saddle was a perfect equestrian, as are all the
cowmen and rustlers of the West. He leaned forward, as if he would
help his horse to reach his goal at the earliest instant. His
broad-brimmed hat fitted so well that it kept its place on his head
without any fastening; but his own long, dark locks fluttered over his
brawny shoulders, while the trusty Winchester was held in a firm grasp
across the saddle in front, where it could be used on the second
needed.

Jennie Whitney was studying him closely, for he must be father,
brother, or one of the two hired men. She was praying that he was a
relative, but it was not so.

The mother could now distinguish the horseman plainly, though not as
much so as her daughter.

"I think it is father," she said, speaking her hope rather than her
conviction.

"No; it is not he," replied the daughter.

"Then it is Fred."

"No; you are mistaken; it is Budd."

"Alas and alas! why should it be he, and neither my husband nor son?"
wailed the parent.

Jennie was right. The man was the veteran cowboy, Budd Hankinson,
who had whirled the lasso on the arid plains of Arizona, the Llano
Estacado of Texas and among the mountain ranges of Montana; who had
fought Apaches in the southwest, Comanches in the south and Sioux
in the north, and had undergone hardships, sufferings, wounds and
privations before which many a younger man than he had succumbed.

No more skilful and no braver ranchman lived.

Budd had a way of snatching off his hat and swinging it about his head
at sight of the ladies. It was his jocular salutation to them, and
meant that all was well.

But he did not do so now. He must have seen the anxious mother and
daughter almost as soon as they discerned him. Jennie watched for the
greeting which did not come.

"Something is amiss," was her conclusion.

The hoofs of the flying horse beat the hard ground with a regular
rhythm, and he thundered forward like one who knew he was bringing
decisive tidings which would make the hearts of the listeners stand
still.

The black eyes of the cowman were seen gleaming under his hat-rim as
he looked steadily at the couple, against whom his horse would dash
himself the next minute, like a thunderbolt, unless checked.

No fear, however, of anything like that. He rounded to in front of
the women, and halted with a suddenness that would have flung a less
skilful rider over his head, but which hardly caused Budd Hankinson a
jar.

He read the questioning eyes, and before the words could shape
themselves on the pallid lips he called out:

"The mischief is to pay!"

"What is it, Budd?" asked Jennie, she and her mother stepping close to
his box-stirrup.

"We have had a fight with the rustlers--one of the worst I ever
seed--there was eight of 'em."

"Was anybody--hurt?" faltered the mother.

"Wal, I reckon; three of them rustlers won't rustle again very soon,
onless that bus'ness is carried on below, where they've gone; two
others have got holes through their bodies about the size of my hat."

"But--but were any of our people injured?" continued the parent, while
Jennie tried to still the throbbing of her heart until the answer
came.

"Wal, yes," replied Budd, removing his hat and passing his
handkerchief across his forehead, as though the matter was of slight
account; "I'm sorry to say some of us got it in the neck."

"Who--who--how was it? Don't trifle!"

"Wal, you see Zip Peters rode over from Capt. Whiting's to tell us
about the rustlers, and he hadn't much more'n arriv, when along come
the others behind him with one of our branded steers. I made them give
him up, and then the fight was on. Zip got a piece of lead through
the body and the arm, and went out of the saddle without time to say
good-by. My hip was grazed twice, but it didn't amount to nothin'; I'm
as good as ever. Grizzly lost a piece of his ear, but he bored the
rustler through that done it, so that account was squared."

"Then father and Fred were not hurt?" gasped Jennie, clasping her
hands and gazing inquiringly into the face of the messenger.

"Wal," he replied, with the same exasperating coolness he had shown
after his first exclamation, "I wish I could say that, but it ain't
quite so good."

"What--what of my husband?" demanded Mrs. Whitney, stepping so close
that she laid her hand on the knee of the sturdy horseman; "tell me
quick; and what of Fred, my son?"

"Fred fought like a house afire; he killed one of the rustlers, but
his horse was shot and Fred got it through the arm, which ended his
power to do much fighting, but he laid down behind his hoss and kept
it up like the trump he is."

"Then he isn't badly injured?"

"Bless your heart! of course not; he will be all right in a few days;
his arm wants a little nursing, that's all. In the midst of the rumpus
who should ride up but Mont Sterry, as he had heard the firing, and
the way he sailed in was beautiful to behold. It reminded me of the
times down in Arizona when Geronimo made it so lively. He hadn't much
chance to show what he could do, for the rustlers found they had
bitten off more than they could chaw, and they skyugled after he had
dropped one."

The wife and mother drew a sigh of relief, but the daughter was far
from satisfied. A dreadful fear in her heart had not yet been quelled.

Her quick perceptions noticed that Budd had said nothing more about
her father than to mention the fact that he had been wounded. The
mother, in her distress and anxiety, caught at a hope as an assurance
which the daughter could not feel.

At the same time Jennie saw that, despite the apparent nonchalance
of the messenger and his assumed gayety, he was stirred by some deep
emotion.

"He is keeping back something, because he fears to tell it," was her
correct conclusion.




CHAPTER VI.

COWMEN AND RUSTLERS.


Jennie Whitney saw something else, which almost made her heart stop
beating.

To the southward, whence Budd Hankinson had ridden, several horsemen
were in sight, coming from the direction of the cattle-ranges. They
were approaching at a walk, something they would not do unless serious
cause existed.

The messenger had been sent ahead to break the news to the sad and
anxious hearts.

"Budd," she said, "you have not told us about father."

"Why, yes, my dear," interposed her mother, as if to shut out all evil
tidings; "nothing has happened to him."

"Wal, I'm sorry to say that he has been hurt worse than Fred," was the
alarming response, accompanied by a deep sigh.

"How bad? How much worse? Tell us, tell us," insisted the wife.

"Thar's no use of denyin' that he got it bad; fact is he couldn't have
been hit harder."

The distressed fellow was so worked up that he turned his head and
looked over his shoulder, as if to avoid those yearning eyes fixed
upon him. That aimless glance revealed the approaching horsemen and
nerved him with new courage.

"Now, Mrs. Whitney and Jennie, you must be brave. Bear it as he would
bear the news about you and Fred if he was--alive!"

A shriek accompanied the words of the cowman, and Jennie caught her
mother in time to save her from falling. Her own heart was breaking,
but she did her utmost, poor thing, to cheer the one to whom the
sunlight of happiness could never come again.

"There, mother, try to bear it. We have Fred left to us, and I am with
you. God will not desert us."

Hugh Whitney had never spoken after that first interchange of volleys
with the rustlers. He died bravely at the post of duty and was
tenderly borne homeward, where he was given a decent burial, his grave
bedewed not only by the tears of the stricken widow and children, but
by those of the stern, hardy cowmen to whom he had been an employer as
kind and indulgent as he was brave.

A few paragraphs are necessary to explain the incidents that follow.

Wherever cattlemen have organized outfits and located ranches
cattle-thieves have followed, and fierce fighting has resulted. These
men are known as "rustlers." The late troubles caused cattle and
horse-thieves to unite against the legitimate owners, and the name now
includes both classes of evil-doers. The troubles in Wyoming were the
results of the efforts of the Wyoming State Live Stock Association to
put a check upon rustlers who are tempted to steal by the vast profits
afforded.

At the time the Association was formed the rustlers were few in
number, and confined their acts to branding the mavericks or unbranded
yearlings with their own brands. They did not act in concert, and
since the laws of the State require every brand to be registered, in
order to establish ownership, the rustlers had as much right to their
own brands as the legitimate cowmen. As long as the mavericks were not
openly branded there was no means of stopping them.

It happens quite often that the round-up fails to gather in all the
cattle. The mavericks are allowed to go to the outfit with whose
cattle they have run, and that outfit puts its own brand on them.

The rustlers grew more daring as their numbers increased, and, instead
of confining their operations to the mavericks, began altering brands.
Not only that, but they were often bold enough to leave the old brand
and burn a new one and forge a bill of sale.

The rustlers were generally the owners of small ranches, or cowboys
who had a few head of cattle on the range or running with some
rancher's stock. The Association made a rule that no cow outfit should
employ a cowman that had been guilty of branding a maverick, or of
helping the rustlers, or of working with or for them. A blacklist was
kept of such cowmen, with the result that a good many were unable to
get employment from the Association outfits and were compelled to
become rustlers themselves.

The association of rustlers became desperate because of the serious
check given them by the Live Stock Association, which placed its
inspectors at all the cattle-markets, Omaha, Chicago, St. Louis,
Kansas City and St. Paul. Every shipment of cattle was closely
inspected, and if it came from a rustler he was obliged to prove his
title to each steer, or they were confiscated and the proceeds sent to
the owner of the brand. Sometimes a legal proof of ownership would not
be accepted, for the owners were determined to stamp out the rustling
business.

Deprived by this means of a market for their hoof cattle, the rustlers
were compelled to butcher their cattle or drive to Montana. The latter
recourse was not only difficult and dangerous, but there was no
certainty of a market when accomplished, as the Live Stock Association
kept a vigilant watch on all Wyoming cattle.

The other scheme was unsatisfactory, but it was all that was left to
the rustlers. They employed a number of butchers at Buffalo to do
their killing for them, but even then they were not sure of always
getting their meat marketed.

In the summer of 1891 the rustlers ran waggons openly on all the
three great round-ups, and worked the round-up just as if they were a
regular Association outfit. They also gathered in all the mavericks,
and no one dared interfere.

It should be added that no more dangerous set of men can be found
anywhere than the Wyoming rustlers. No living being excels them in
horsemanship. The bucking pony is as a child in their hands. There
is not one among them who cannot rope, throw, tie and brand a steer
single-handed. They include the best riders and the best shots in the
cattle business. They do not know what fear is, and in the year named
became strong enough to elect one of their own number sheriff.




CHAPTER VII.

THE WARNING.


The full moon was shining on the second night succeeding the conflict
which Budd Hankinson described between the rustlers and the cowmen of
Whitney's ranch. The man that had fallen was laid away in a grave back
of the house, and mother, son and daughter mourned him with a sorrow
that was soothed by the consciousness that he had been a good husband
and father in every sense of the word.

On this night, before the hour was late, three persons were seated in
the balmy air on the outside of the dwelling, talking together in low
tones.

They were Fred Whitney, whose bandaged arm rested in a sling, Monteith
Sterry, and Jennie Whitney. The memory of the recent affliction
suffered in the death of the father naturally subdued the voices and
tinged the words with a seriousness that would not have been felt at
other times.

Young Sterry, as already stated, had accepted an engagement with
the Live Stock Association, which required him to investigate the
operations of the rustlers over a large portion of Wyoming and
Montana, and to report at regular intervals to his superior officers.

This was perilous business, but Sterry set about the work with a
vigour, directness and intelligence that were felt over an extent of
territory numbering hundreds of square miles, and made him a marked
man by the rustlers, who are always quick to identify their friends
and enemies. It seemed to make little difference, however, to him, who
loved the excitement. He was a capital pistol and rifle-shot, a fine
horseman, and as devoid of fear as the men against whom he directed
his movements.

Unconsciously Monteith Sterry brought a grievous peril upon his
friends, who held him in so high regard. Hated intensely by the
rustlers, they were not long in learning that he spent a great deal
of his time at the Whitneys. They came to be regarded, therefore, as
aiders and abettors of his. This enmity was emphasized by the attack
of which an account has been given.

"I think, Fred," said his sister, oppressed by the shadow that had
fallen across the threshold, "we ought to sell out and leave this
country."

"Why?" he gently asked.

"Because not only of what happened yesterday, but of the certainty
that such attacks will be repeated."

"What reason have you to fear their repetition?" asked Monteith.

"Matters are growing worse between the cowmen and the rustlers; I have
heard our men talk, and you have said so yourself."

"I cannot deny it," replied their visitor, thoughtfully smoking his
cigar. He would have been pleased had her brother, now the head of the
little household, decided to make his home once more in the East, for
then he would take up the study of his profession of law and be placed
where he could often meet them.

"It would be cowardly to sell out and abandon the country through
fear of those men," said the brother, to whom the proposition was not
pleasant.

"But suppose you should be their next victim?" suggested Jennie, with
a shudder.

"I don't think I shall be a victim," he quietly responded; "this wound
won't bother me long, and with Budd and Grizzly to help, we can laugh
at all the rustlers in the country."

"It is hardly a matter of courage," ventured Sterry, "for no one
knowing you or your sister would question your bravery, but it is
rather the peace of mind of your mother and her. It will be a
long time, if ever, before your parent recovers from the shock of
yesterday. No matter how confident and plucky you may be, Fred, you
know it is no guarantee against a bullet from one of those scamps at
five hundred or a thousand yards. I shudder to think of what might
happen."

Fred turned and looked full in the handsome face of the fellow beside
him.

"It strikes me that you are showing little faith in your own words.
Why do you remain where you are a marked man when there is no need of
it, and where your personal danger is certainly as great as mine?"

This _argumentum ad hominem_ was so unexpected that Sterry was
embarrassed for the moment, but found voice to reply:

"I have no mother and sister dependent on me, as you have."

"But you have brothers, sisters, father and mother, and therefore the
more to mourn if you should fall. The fact is, Mont, I feel that it
is a duty you owe to them to give up the dangerous calling you have
adopted. You not only do not need it, but are squandering time that
ought to be given to the study of your profession, and you have become
so feared and hated by the rustlers that they will go to any length to
'remove' you."

"The more cause, therefore, why I should stay," responded the other.

"A poor argument--"

The discussion was interrupted by the sound of a horse's hoofs. Some
one was riding toward them on a gallop, and speedily loomed to view
in the bright moonlight. The three instinctively ceased speaking and
gazed curiously at the horseman, who reined up in front of where they
were sitting.

Hospitality is limitless in the West, and, before the stranger had
halted, Fred Whitney rose from his chair and walked forward to welcome
him.

The man was in the costume of a cowboy, with rifle, revolver and all
the paraphernalia of the craft.

"Is your name Whitney?" asked the horseman, speaking first.

"It is; what can I do for you?"

"Do you know Mont Sterry?"

"He is a particular friend of mine," replied Whitney, refraining from
adding that he was the young man sitting a few paces away with his
sister and hearing every word said.

"Well, there's a letter for him; if I knew where to find him I would
deliver it myself. Will you hand it to him the next time you meet
him?"

As he spoke he leaned forward from his saddle and handed a sealed
envelope to Fred Whitney, who remarked, as he accepted it:

"I will do as you wish; I expect to see him soon; won't you dismount
and stay over night with us?"

"No; I have business elsewhere," was the curt answer, as the fellow
wheeled and spurred off on a gallop.

Budd Hankinson and Grizzly Weber, the two hired men, were absent,
looking after the cattle, for the rustler is a night hawk who often
gets in the best part of his work between the set and rise of sun.

Mrs. Whitney was sitting in the gloom, alone in her sorrow. Jennie
wished to stay with her, but the mother gently refused, saying she
preferred to have none with her. No light was burning in the building,
and that night the weather was unusually mild.

Mont Sterry accepted the paper from the hand of his friend and
remarked, with a smile:

"I suspect what it is. When the rustlers don't like a man they have a
frank way of telling him so, supplemented by a little good advice, I
fancy I have been honoured in a similar way."

He deliberately tore open the envelope, while Jennie and her brother
looked curiously at him. The moonlight, although strong, was not
sufficiently so to show the words, which were written in lead-pencil.
Fred Whitney, therefore, struck a match and held it in front of the
paper, while the recipient read in a low voice, loud enough, however,
to be heard in the impressive hush:

    "MONT STERRY: If you stay in the Powder River country twenty-four
    hours longer you are a dead man. Over fifty of us rustlers have
    sworn to shoot you on sight, whether it is at Fort McKinley,
    Buffalo, or on the streets of Cheyenne. I have persuaded the
    majority to hold off for the time named, but not one of them will
    do so an hour longer, nor will I ask them to do so. We are bound
    to make an honest living, and it is weak for me to give you this
    warning, but I do it, repeating that if you are within reach
    twenty-four hours from the night on which this is handed to
    Whitney I will join them in hunting you down, wherever you may be.

    "LARCH CADMUS."




CHAPTER VIII.

GOOD-BYE.


Monteith Sterry read the "warning" through in a voice without the
slightest tremor. Then he quietly smoked his cigar and looked off in
the moonlight, as though thinking of something of a different nature.

It was natural that Jennie Whitney should be more impressed by the
occurrence, with the memory of the recent tragedy crushing her to the
earth. She exclaimed:

"Larch Cadmus! Why, Fred, he has visited our house several times; he
was here last week."

"Yes," replied her brother; "he has often sat at our table; and, by
the way, he is a great admirer of yours."

"Nonsense!" was the response; "why do you say that?"

"It may be nonsense, but it is true, nevertheless. Your mother noticed
it; and, that there might be no mistake, Larch had the impudence to
tell me so himself."

"I never liked him; he is a bad man," said Jennie, much to the relief
of Sterry, who felt a little uncomfortable. "I did not know he
belonged to the rustlers."

"He was a cowboy until last fall. He had a quarrel with Col. Ringgold
and went off with the others, and has been on the blacklist ever
since."

"Why didn't he bring the message himself," continued the sister,
"instead of sending it?"

"He did," was the significant reply of the brother.

"What! That surely was not he?"

"It was. I knew his voice the moment he spoke; those whiskers were
false; he didn't want to be recognized, and I thought it as well to
humor his fancy, but I could not be mistaken."

"Now that I recall it, his voice _did_ resemble Cadmus'," said the
sister, more thoughtfully.

"Of course, and I can tell you something more; he was among the
rustlers with whom we had the fight yesterday. He did his best to kill
me, and came pretty near succeeding. It wasn't he, however, who put
the bullet through my arm, for I dropped that fellow."

"You frighten me!" was all that Jennie Whitney could say.

Sterry still smoked in silence. He was thinking hard, but it was his
turn to be startled by the next remark.

"Larch Cadmus hates you, Mont, not so much because you are the enemy
of all rustlers, but more because he believes my sister holds you in
higher esteem than she does him."

Sterry was clever enough to parry this compliment with considerable
skill.

"For the same reason he is jealous of every gentleman whom Miss
Whitney has ever met, for it would be a sorry tribute to any man's
worth if he did not stand higher in her regard than Larch Cadmus."

"Well spoken!" said the young lady, relieved from what threatened to
become an embarrassing situation for her.

Had her brother chosen he might have expressed what was in his mind,
but he had the good taste to refrain. None knew better than he the
deep, tender affection existing between his friend and his sister,
though it had not yet reached the point of avowal and confession.

"Well, Mont, what are you going to do about it?" asked Whitney.

By way of reply, the latter twisted the "warning" into the form of a
lamplighter. Then he applied a match to one corner, and held the paper
until it had burned to the last fragment.

"That's my opinion of Mr. Larch Cadmus and his gang, and I shall pay
the same attention to them."

"You are not wise," ventured Jennie, who, with the awful memory of
the preceding day upon her, could not but shudder at the peril to her
friend, who had never been quite so near to her as during the last few
hours, when he showed so much tender sympathy for her and her mother
and brother in the depth of their desolation and woe.

"I thank you," he said, with the same manly frankness he had always
shown; "I have no desire to appear as a boaster or to make light of
danger, but one of the truest adages is that it is not the barking dog
that does the biting."

"Don't make the mistake of supposing it is not so in this case," said
Whitney, "and none should know it better than you."

"I do not underestimate the courage of those fellows; they will shrink
at nothing, but there is no more excuse for my running away upon
receiving such a warning than there would be for all the inhabitants
of Wyoming to leave the State at such a command."

"The case is not parallel," was the comment of Fred Whitney.

"Bear in mind that if I stay, as I intend to do, I do not mean to sit
down and wait for those rustlers to pick me off. I count on having
something to say and do in the matter; but, friends, I must bid you
good-night."

"What do you mean?" asked the astonished Fred Whitney.

"I must leave," replied Sterry, rising to his feet; "I have already
staid too long."




CHAPTER IX.

A SUMMONS AND A REPLY.


Brother and sister were astounded. The hour was late, and they had
been urging their guest to remain several days with them. He had not
consented, nor had he refused, from which they were confident he would
stay.

And now he announced his intention of departing at once, riding out
into the night--whither?

They protested, but he replied so earnestly that an urgent necessity
existed that they refrained. He gave no hint of the reason for his
strange action, and they could not ask it. His fleet mare, which
had been allowed to graze on the succulent grass at the rear of the
building with the other horses, was brought forward and saddled and
bridled, and he quickly vaulted upon her back.

"Remember me to your mother; it is not worth while to disturb her; I
hope soon to be with you again."

He leaned over and pressed the hand of Fred Whitney, and then, raising
his hat with his left hand, extended the right to Jennie.

Fred made an excuse to move away a few paces, for he understood the
situation.

"Good-by," Sterry said in a voice just low enough to reach the dear
one, as he pressed the delicate hand which rested so trustingly in his
own.

"Good-by," she answered. "I am sorry you are going."

"So am I, but it is better that I should leave. As I said, I trust
soon to see you again. Do you know why I hope Fred will decide to
return to the East with you and your mother?"

"I suppose because we shall all be safer there;" and then she added,
forgetting her sorrow for the moment, "that is if we do not go skating
to Wolf Glen."

"It is not necessary to remove as far as Maine, but father insists
that I am wasting time here, when I ought to be home studying my
profession."

"And he is right, Monteith."

"But," he replied in a low voice, "before I go back I want to make
sure that you will do the same. There, good-by again."

He replaced his hat, wheeled and dashed across the prairie without
another word.

Jennie stood gazing in the direction taken by him for some time after
he had disappeared in the gloom of the night. Then she turned to speak
to her brother, but he had passed within the house. She resumed her
seat, knowing he would soon return.

Fifteen minutes and more went by and she was still alone.

Sh! Was she mistaken, or was that the faint sound of a horse's hoofs
in the distance?

She turned her head and listened. The murmur of voices, as her brother
and mother talked in low tones, did not disturb her, and the almost
inaudible lowing of the cattle on the distant ranges was but a part of
silence itself.

Hardly a breath of air was stirring, but all knew the eccentric way
in which sound is sometimes carried by it. Suddenly the reports of
rifle-firing were heard, faint but distinct, and lasting several
minutes. Then other and different noises reached her, still faint but
clear.

Her power of hearing, like her vision, was exceptionally strong. It
was that which enabled her to tell that the last sounds were not made
by a single animal, but by several going at a high rate of speed.
These, with the reports of rifles, made her certain that the rustlers
had attacked Sterry.

Meanwhile the young man found matters exceedingly lively.

The reception of the "warning" through the hands of Fred Whitney was
proof that his enemies knew he was frequently at his house. Their
messenger had gone thither to deliver it. Young Whitney had slain one
of their number, and though the law-breakers themselves had suffered
the most, they felt bitter resentment toward the family.

If Sterry remained with them they would have trouble. He was satisfied
that Larch Cadmus recognized him, as he sat in front of the rancher's
house, and would not forget to tell it to his comrades, who would
speedily make the place a visit. He believed they were likely to do it
before the rise of the morrow's sun.

If the Whitneys were attacked, his presence would add to the defensive
strength, but such an attack would not be made if he was not there.
Desperate and defiant as the rustlers had been, it would be an
injustice to represent them as capable of such wantonness.

He felt, therefore, that it was his duty to leave the ranch without
delay, thus removing an element of grave danger. It would have been
hardly wise to make this explanation to them, though he believed Fred
suspected it.

Turning his back, therefore, upon the dearest spot in all the West
to him, he set his mare Queenie on an easy, swift gallop, heading
southward toward the ranges where the cattle of the Whitneys were
grazing.

Sterry, in one sense, was without a home as long as he remained
in Wyoming or Montana, while in another sense he was the owner of
numberless dwelling-places or "headquarters." He may be likened to a
commercial traveller in a vast and sparsely-settled region, where he
is well known and welcomed by the inhabitants.

The ranchmen who knew him--and there were few who did not--were his
friends, for he was working in their interests. At whichever cabin he
drew rein he was certain of a hospitable reception.

With no clearly defined idea of where he would spend the remaining
hours of the night, he turned the nose of Queenie toward the ranges,
among the mountain spurs.

Grizzly Weber and Budd Hankinson would stay near the cattle for an
indefinite time, and he was debating whether to join them or to ride
on to the ranch of Dick Hawkridge, a number of miles to the northeast,
when his meditations were broken in upon in the most startling manner.

During those perilous times, the lonely horseman, in a dangerous
region, relies much on his intelligent steed for warning. While
Monteith Sterry could do a great deal of thinking in the saddle,
he was too alert to drop into a brown study that would divert his
thoughts from his surroundings.

He was no more than a mile from the Whitney ranch when his mare
pricked up her ears, gave an almost inaudible whinny, and slightly
slackened her pace.

That meant that she scented danger, and her rider was on the _qui
vive_.

He tightened the rein and drew her to a full stop. She turned her head
to the right and looked steadily in that direction, with her pretty
ears thrown forward. This meant that whatever impended was coming from
that point of the compass.

But the keen eyes of Mont Sterry could not penetrate the moonlight
sufficiently far to detect anything. He was out of the saddle in a
twinkling, and tried a trick learned from the old hunters. He pressed
one ear against the ground, which, as all know, is a much better
conductor of sound than the air.

This told the story he anticipated. The faint but distinct clamping of
horses' hoofs was heard. The number was indefinite, but, somewhat to
his surprise, none of them was running or loping; all were moving on a
walk.

The noise was so clear that when he rose to his feet and looked off to
the right he expected to see the animals and their riders, and he was
not disappointed.

On the outer margin of the field of vision the outlines of several
horsemen assumed shape. They were approaching, and one of their steeds
emitted a whinny, as a salutation to the motionless Queenie, who had
shifted her pose so as to face that point of the compass.

"Sh!" whispered Sterry to her.

But there was no call for the warning; she was too well trained to
betray her master, and remained mute.

But it was inevitable that if the young man could discern the figures
of the approaching horsemen, they must also see him. He leaped into
the saddle and turned away.

He knew instinctively they were rustlers, and he was almost equally
certain they were hunting for him. There were at least three; and,
well aware of their character, he was only prudent in shying off, with
the intention of avoiding them altogether.

But they were not the men to be bluffed in that fashion. They were
"out" for the inspector, and did not intend that such an opportunity
should slip by unchallenged.

"Hello, pard!" called one of the trio, "where from and where going?"

This was a pointed demand, to which Mont Sterry made an equally
pointed response.

"That is my own business; I will attend to it, and you may attend to
yours."

All this time he was keeping watch of their movements. Their horses
were still walking, but they were now coming straight toward him. At a
touch of the rein Queenie headed directly away, and her gait was about
the same. She acted as though she shared the thoughts of her master,
who shrank from sending her off on a flying run, as would have been
more prudent for him to do.

A brave man dislikes to flee, even when his better judgment tells him
it is the only wise thing to do.

The night was so still that Sterry plainly heard the words of the men
when talking to each other in an ordinary conversational tone.

"I believe that's him," said one of them, eagerly.

"It sounded like his voice, but he wouldn't leave the Whitneys at this
time of night when she's there."

"He's too free with his tongue, anyway; we'll make him show up."

"Say, you! hold on a minute. Do you know anything about Mont Sterry?
We're looking for him."

"I am Mont Sterry," was the defiant response. "What do you propose to
do about it?"




CHAPTER X.

A HOT PURSUIT.


It may be said Mont Sterry answered his own question at the moment of
asking it, for, bringing his Winchester to his shoulder, he let fly at
the rustlers, and then with a word and touch of the spur sent Queenie
bounding away with arrowy swiftness.

Unquestionably it was a daring act on his part, but there was wisdom
in it. He knew those men were seeking his life, and would shoot him,
as they had threatened to do, on sight. When they met, it would be a
question simply as to which got the drop on the other.

They were preparing to make a rush at him, and while he had no fear
of a contest of speed between Queenie and any animal that "wore
horse-hair," they were altogether too near at the beginning of the
contest, and the chance of using their rifles was too much against
him.

The crack of the Winchester accompanying his sharp reply, with the
whistle of the bullet about their heads, gave them a momentary shock,
which delayed the pursuit for a few precious seconds.

This was the object of the fugitive, for, while that brief interval
was thrown away by them, he improved it to the utmost. At such crises
a few rods count immensely, and they were made to count on the side of
Mont Sterry.

They were insufficient, however, to take him beyond peril. Men like
those horsemen are quick to recover from a surprise, and it would have
seemed that Sterry was hardly started in his flight when they were
speeding after him. He heard their maledictions and knew that the
struggle for life was on.

Comparatively brief as had been the time spent in the West by Sterry,
he had not neglected his education along the lines indispensable to
those following his manner of living. At the moment of giving Queenie
rein he flung himself forward on her neck, hugging it close and
uttering an involuntary prayer that the bullets might pass harmlessly
by him and his horse.

There were enough of the missiles to kill several men, but the chance
for aiming was so poor that even such fine marksmen as the rustlers
had little chance. The mare was only dimly discernible, and she, like
their own horses, was going at full speed.

Had the sun been shining the result must have been widely different.

The encounter with these men was so unexpected and the several changes
of direction by Queenie so sudden and unavoidable that Sterry was not
given a chance to take his bearings. The one object was to get as far
from them as possible in the quickest time in which it could be done.

When that distance became a safe one it would be soon enough to give
attention to the points of the compass.

Nobly did Queenie do her duty. She had carried her master out of many
a peril, and she could be counted on to do it as long as the ability
remained with her. Sterry's anxiety was really more on her account
than on his own. He knew there was little danger of himself being
struck by the bullets of the rustlers, who, as I have shown, had no
possible chance of taking any sort of aim, but she was a conspicuous
target, which it would seem they ought to hit with little difficulty.

Often must a person in the situation of Sterry leave everything to his
horse. He did not seek to guide Queenie, but sat, or rather lay, in
the saddle and on her neck, as she skimmed like a swallow over the
undulating prairie.

Strange imaginings were in the brain of the young man during those
few minutes. He listened to each shot of the Winchesters, and then,
instead of feeling any apprehension for himself, waited for the
dreaded evidence that his horse had been struck.

The skilful railway engineer, sitting in his cab, with his hand on the
throttle, can discover, on the instant, the slightest disarrangement
in the mass of intricate mechanism over which he holds control. His
highly trained senses enable him to feel it like a flash. So it was
that Mont Sterry would have detected any injury to his horse as
quickly as she herself. No matter if but the abrasion of the skin, the
puncture of the flesh, or the nipping of an ear, she would betray it
involuntarily.

If she were wounded and should fall, the situation of her rider would
be well-nigh hopeless. He could only throw himself behind her body and
have it out with his enemies. Such a defence has been successfully
made many a time by white men against Indians; but Sterry would not
be fighting Crows nor Sioux, but those of his own race and blood, as
brave and skilful as he.

"Thank God!" he murmured, after each shot, as the splendid play of the
machinery under him continued without a break or tremor; "she was not
hit that time. She is running at her best."

Once his heart stood still, for she seemed to quiver through her body,
as if involuntarily shrinking from the prick of a sword.

In his alarm, Sterry rose to an upright posture in the saddle, and
leaning to the right and left, and looking forward and behind him,
searched for the wound. He hardly expected to see it, for it would
have been beyond his sight in any one of a dozen different portions of
the body.

But if in one of the limbs, it would quickly show in the gait of the
animal.

"No," he murmured, "there is no change of pace; it could not have been
much, and it may be she was not hit at all."

The rustlers fired two shots at this moment, when the horseman was
more of a target than his animal, but he gave no heed to that; it was
she for whom he felt concern.

A glance backward brought a thrill of hope. The distance between him
and his pursuers had perceptibly increased. Queenie was showing her
heels to those who dared dispute with her the supremacy of fleetness.
She would soon leave them out of sight, unless it should prove she was
disabled by some of the shots.

All would have gone well but for the appearance of a new danger of
which he did not dream.

Suddenly Queenie emitted her faint, familiar whinny, and swerved to
the left. She had scented a new peril.

In the gloom almost directly ahead loomed the figures of other
horsemen bearing down upon the fugitive. They might be friends, and
they might be enemies, but it would not do to take chances. Without
an instant's hesitation Sterry wheeled to the left and spoke to his
horse:

"Now, Queenie, do your best."

The mare responded with the same gameness she always showed; but the
situation had suddenly become so grave that Monteith Sterry assuredly
would have been overwhelmed and cut off but for one of the most
extraordinary occurrences that ever came to any person in the
extremity of danger.




CHAPTER XI.

A STRANGE DIVERSION.


It was the wonderful sagacity of the little mare which intervened at
this crisis in the fate of her rider.

She was no more than fairly stretched away on a dead run from the new
peril when she shot into an arroya or depression in the prairie. Such
a depression suggests the dry bed of a stream through which the water
may not have flowed for years. It is sometimes a few feet only in
width, and again it may be a number of rods. The rich, alluvial soil
often causes a luxuriant growth of grass, cottonwood or bush, which
affords the best of grazing and refuge for any one when hard pressed
by the enemy.

The arroya into which Queenie plunged had gently sloping sides, and
was perhaps fifty feet wide. The bottom was covered not only with
grass, but with the thin undergrowth to which allusion has been made,
and which was so frail in character that it offered no impediment to
the passage of a running horse.

Sterry's expectation was that his mare would shoot across the
depression and up the other bank with the least possible delay; but of
her own accord, and without suggestion from him, she turned abruptly
to the left and dropped to a walk.

He was astounded, and was on the point of speaking impatiently to her
as he jerked the bridle-rein, when the occurrence already referred to
took place, and made the action of the animal seem like an inspiration
or instinct approaching the height of reason.

At the moment she made the sharp turn to the left, another horseman
galloped up the opposite slope and off upon the prairie. By an amazing
coincidence it happened that he was in the arroya, and in the act of
crossing in the same direction with the fugitive, when the furious
plunge of the mare sent his own bounding up the farther bank.

Sterry caught the situation like a flash. Before Queenie had gone more
than a half-dozen rods he brought her to a standstill. They resembled
an equestrian statue, so motionless were they for a full minute.

The converging parties of pursuers could plainly see the second
horseman speeding away from the other side, and inevitably concluded
that he was the inspector whom they wanted. They were after him
hot-footed on the instant.

This man was Ira Inman, a well-known rustler, and the intimate friend
of Larch Cadmus. When he saw himself pursued by a half-dozen of
his friends he reined up, and calmly but wonderingly awaited their
arrival, which took place within the next few seconds.

"Up with your hands! Quick about it, too! You're the man we want!"

"Wal," replied the leader, surveying them with a grin, and paying no
heed to their fierce commands, "now that you've got me, what are you
going to do with me?"

If there ever were a set of dumbfounded men, they were the rustlers
who closed about the leader and recognized him in the moonlight. The
remarks that followed his identification were as ludicrous as they
were vigourous.

The majority believed he had played a trick on them in pretending to
be Mont Sterry, whom all were so anxious to bring down; but there
were one or two who were not satisfied. They knew the voice of the
inspector, which in no way resembled the gruff tones of Inman. Then,
their leader was not given to practical jokes.

"What set you to hunting me so hard?" he asked, after the first flurry
was over.

"We're looking for Mont Sterry."

"Wal, what made you take me for him? Do I look like him in the
moonlight?"

"But you said you were, and fired at us," explained one.

"Fired at you? Said I was that chap? What in the mischief are you
driving at?"

One, who suspected the truth, now interposed.

"We did meet Sterry and hailed him; you must have heard our guns; he
dashed into the arroya; we saw you gallop out on t'other side, and
took you for him."

"Ah, I understand it all now," replied Inman; "I had ridden down there
on my way back from a little scout, when a horseman dashed into the
slope behind me like a thunderbolt. My horse was so scared that he
went up the other side on the jump, and before I could turn around to
find out what it all meant, you lunkheads came down on me with the
request to oblige you by throwing up my hands, which I will see you
hanged before I'll do."

"But where is he? What has become of him?" asked several, looking
around, as thought they expected to see the young man ride forward and
surrender himself.

"Wal, calling to mind the kind of horse he rides, I should say he is
about a half-mile off by this time, laughing to find out how cleverly
he has fooled you chaps."

"It looks as if you was in the same boat, Inman," retorted one of the
chagrined party.

"I wasn't chasing Sterry."

"He seemed to be chasing you, for you came out of the arroya ahead of
him."

"If he was chasing me," replied the leader, who felt that the laugh
was on his companions, "he would have followed me out; but I don't see
anything of him;" and he, too, stared around, as though not sure the
man would not do the improbable thing named.

"It was a blamed cute trick, any way you look at it," remarked one of
the party. "It was queer that you should have been there, Inman, just
at the minute needed. But for that, we would have had him, sure."

"Wal, you can make up your mind that we have him as good as catched
already. He can't get out of the country without some of the boys
running against him, and the first rustler that catches sight of Mr.
Sterry will drop him in his tracks."

"If he gets the chance to do it," was the wise comment of another.
"That fellow is quick on the shoot and isn't afraid of any of us."

"He ain't the first one that's made that mistake, only to find himself
rounded up at last. Larch Cadmus' idea of 24 hours' notice don't go
down with this crowd, eh?"

And the crowd unanimously responded in the negative.




CHAPTER XII.

THE BACK TRAIL.


Mont Sterry had wisdom enough to turn to the fullest account the
remarkable advantage gained through the sagacity of his mare.

His pursuers, in their haste to head him off, had dashed across the
arroya at a point only a short distance above where he entered and
their leader emerged from it. They were sure to discover the truth in
a short time.

Waiting, therefore, only until they had passed beyond, he rode his
horse a few rods along the depression, and then left it on the same
side by which he had ridden into it.

Unconsciously he fell into an error of which he was not dreaming. In
the short distance passed, the arroya made a sweeping curve, and he
had repeatedly changed his own course since leaving the Whitney ranch.
Thus it was almost inevitable that he should get the points of the
compass mixed, and that he should follow a route widely different from
the one intended.

Had he paused long enough to note the position of the full moon in the
heavens, or the towering Big Horn Mountains, he would have gained an
approximate idea of where he was; but, despite his experience in the
West, he galloped forward at an easy canter, with never a suspicion of
the blunder he was making.

He was on the alert for rustlers, and kept glancing to the right and
left, and to the front and rear. As has been shown, he had little fear
of being overtaken in a chase where he was given an equal chance with
his pursuers, but his narrow escape rendered him more apprehensive
than usual.

"I thought of staying with Weber and Hankinson to-night," he mused,
"but I think it hardly prudent. The rustlers may pay them a visit, and
my presence will only make matters worse; and yet those fellows don't
want to start up a band of regulators who will shoot them down without
mercy, and that's just what will take place if they carry their
outrages too far."

"My death won't bring the regulators into existence," he grimly
reflected, "for one man, more or less, doesn't count; but there is
much bitter feeling in the country."

Once he thought he caught the sounds of horses' feet on the prairie,
and checked his mare to listen, but she gave no evidence of
suspicion--a thing she was sure to do, if the cause existed.

Sterry was so well satisfied by this fact that he did not dismount to
test the matter as before. He rode on, however, and held her down to a
walk.

His eventless course had continued some minutes before a thought came
to him of the direction he was following, with the possibility that he
was wrong.

"I wonder if we are on the right track, Queenie?" he said, addressing
his animal, as was his custom when they were alone. "It would be
strange if we didn't drift away from our bearings. Hello! that can't
be Dick Hawkridge's ranch; we haven't gone far enough for that; but
what the mischief can it be, unless a fire that some one has started
in the open?"

The starlike twinkle of a point of light suddenly shone out directly
in advance. It puzzled him by appearing only for a moment, when it
vanished as quickly as it entered his field of vision.

This fact suggested that it was within some dwelling and had been
extinguished, or was shut from sight by being moved past a window or
open door to another point in the interior.

"We are so near, Queenie, we may as well go farther," he added, not
unmindful of his danger from those who were making such a hot search
for him. He kept his horse on a walk, maintaining a keen watch between
the dainty ears that were already pricked up as if she knew something
was likely to happen quite soon.

Advancing in this deliberate fashion, the outline of one of those
long, low wooden structures so common in the West was gradually defied
in the moonlight, and he knew he was approaching the home of some
ranchman.

But whose? was the question that perplexed him. He recalled that some
of his travelling had been done at a high rate of speed, but the
distance between the Whitney and Hawkridge ranches was fully a dozen
miles, and he was sure that that space had not been covered by him
since bidding his friends good-by earlier in the evening, especially
as he had not followed a direct course.

"Can it be?" he exclaimed, with a sudden suspicion. "Yes, by gracious!
What a blunder!"

The exclamation was caused by the sight of a young man, with one arm
in a sling, who came forward to welcome him.

He had returned to the Whitney home, which he supposed was miles away,
and this was his old friend Fred, who came smilingly forward and said,
as he recognized him:

"I am glad, indeed, to see you, Mont; we heard the sound of the firing
and feared that something had happened to you."

"Nothing at all, thank you, and nothing to Queenie--but that reminds
me," he added, slipping out of the saddle; "she acted once as though
she had been hit, though it wasn't bad enough to show itself in her
gait."

The two made a hasty examination but discovered nothing; proof that,
as her owner said, the wound, if any, was too slight to trouble her.

"Fred, what do you think of my coming back to you in this fashion?"
abruptly asked Sterry, with a laugh, looking around in his friend's
face.

"The most sensible thing you could have done; it redeems your
foolishness in leaving us as you did."

"But my return was involuntary."

"How was that?"

"I thought I was miles distant, and had no idea of my location until I
caught the outlines of your house; I assure you I contemplated no such
performance as this."

"Well, you're here, so what's the use of talking unless you mean to
mount your mare and try it again."

"Hardly that; I have too much mercy on her."

The couple walked past the dwelling to the rude but roomy shelter at
the rear where the horses were sometimes placed when not in use, or
when the severity of the weather made the protection necessary. There
the saddle, bridle and trappings were removed from the mare, and she
was made comfortable. Then the two returned to their seats at the
front of the building, to smoke and chat a few minutes before retiring
for the night.




CHAPTER XIII.

A CONSULTATION.


That mysterious warm-air current known as the Chinook wind steals
through the depressions of the Rocky Mountains, at certain seasons
of the year, from the mild surface of the Pacific, and tempers the
severity of the winters in some portions of Montana, Wyoming, and
the great West to a degree that renders them milder than many places
farther south.

It was early in the month of May, when even in the Middle States it is
not often comfortable to remain seated out of doors after the close of
day, but Sterry and Whitney found it pleasant to occupy their chairs
in front of the building, with no other protection then their own warm
garments.

Whitney's wound was doing so well that he expressed himself ashamed
to wear his arm in a sling. He freed it from the support, moved it
readily about, and declared that after the next morning he would no
longer shirk duty.

In one sense, Monteith Sterry was disappointed. He hoped they would be
joined by Jennie, from whom he parted earlier in the evening, but he
reflected that the hour was late, and she probably felt that her duty
was with her sorrowing mother.

"She belongs there," he concluded, "and I respect her for doing her
duty."

But she heard the murmur of voices after they had talked a few
minutes, and appeared at the outer door, where she greeted her friend
and listened with an intensity of interest that may be imagined to
his account of his brush with the rustlers. Although she had become
accustomed to danger during her life in the West, there could be no
mistaking her solicitude for him. She said little, however, and,
excusing herself, bade the two good-night.

"I tell you," said her brother, when she was gone, "if you stay, or
rather attempt to stay, in this section, Mont, it is suicide--nothing
more nor less."

"Well, I know times are likely to be warm, but, hang it, I can't bear
the thought of being run out of Wyoming. It's a mighty big State, and
there ought to be room enough for me."

"You persist in treating it lightly, but it is no trifling matter;
you have been warned; were shot at, when we had our flurry with the
rustlers; and, even while attempting to ride across the country,
had the narrowest escape of your life--an escape so curious that it
couldn't be repeated in a hundred years."

"It's the unexpected that happens."

"Not so often as the expected. Mont, what made you leave us so
abruptly to-night?"

"O, I can hardly tell," replied the other, carelessly flinging one leg
over the other and puffing at his cigar, as though the matter was of
no importance.

"I know; you believed that if you stayed here you would increase the
peril to us."

"You've hit it exactly; that was it."

"What sort of friends do you take us to be?"

"That isn't it; rather, what sort of friend would I be, thus knowingly
to place you and your mother and sister in danger? If those rustlers
knew where I am, a dozen would be here before sunrise."

"What of it? We are ready for them."

"That's a poor answer to my statement; you had enough of that woeful
business yesterday; they hold me in such hatred that they would burn
down your place, if they could reach me in no other way."

"And yet you propose to stay in Wyoming and have it out with them?"

"I haven't said that," remarked Sterry, more thoughtfully; "I may soon
leave for a more civilized section, much as I hate to play the seeming
coward; but what you said about my parents, brothers and sisters at
home, gave me something to think over while riding across the prairie
to-night."

"I shall hate to lose your company, for it is like old times to
talk over our school days, but I would not be a friend to allow my
selfishness to stand in the way of your good."

Sterry smoked a moment in silence, and then flung away his cigar and
turned abruptly on his companion.

"Fred, if you could have prevented what took place yesterday by
sacrificing every dollar of the property you have in Wyoming, you
would have done it."

"Yes, God knows I would have done it a thousand times over; mother
will never recover from the blow."

"And yet you may be the next to fall during this frightful state of
affairs. If the situation of your mother and sister is so sad because
of the loss of the head of the household, what will it be if you
should be taken?"

"I appreciate your kindness, Mont, but you put the case too strongly;
in one sense we all stand in danger of sudden death every day. I might
live to threescore and ten in Wyoming, and be killed in a railroad
accident or some other way the first day I left it. There is no
particular enmity between the rustlers and me; that brush yesterday
was one of those sudden outbursts that was not premeditated by them."

"It didn't look that way to me."

"You were not there when it opened. They were driving a lot of
mavericks toward their ranch down the river, when Budd Hankinson saw
a steer among them with our brand. You know it--a sort of cross with
father's initials. Without asking for its return, Budd called them a
gang of thieves, cut out the steer and drove him toward our range. If
he had gone at the thing in the right way there would have been no
trouble, but his ugly words made them mad, and the next thing we were
all shooting at each other."

"You inflicted more harm than they, and they won't forget it."

"I don't want them to forget it," said Fred, bitterly, "but they won't
carry their enmity to the extent of making an unprovoked attack on me
or any of my people."

"Possibly not, but you don't want to bank on the theory."

"You must not forget," continued the practical Whitney, "that all we
have in the world is invested in this business, and it would be a
sacrifice for us to sell out and move eastward, where I would be
without any business."

"You could soon make one for yourself."

"Well," said Whitney, thoughtfully, "I will promise to turn it over
in my mind; the associations, however, that will always cling to this
place, and particularly my sympathy for mother and Jennie, will be the
strongest influences actuating me, provided I decide to change."

Mont Sterry experienced a thrill of delight, for he knew that when
a man talks in that fashion he is on the point of yielding. He
determined to urge the matter upon Jennie, and there was just enough
hope in his heart that the prospect of being on the same side of the
Mississippi with him would have some slight weight.

"I am glad to hear you speak thus, for it is certain there will be
serious trouble with the rustlers."

"All which emphasizes what I said earlier in the evening about your
duty to make a change of location."

The proposition, now that there was reason to believe that Fred
Whitney had come over to his way of thinking, struck Sterry more
favourably than before. In fact he reflected, with a shudder, what a
dismal, unattractive section this would be, after the removal of his
friends.

"I shall not forget your words; what you said has great influence with
me, and you need not be surprised if I bid adieu to Wyoming within a
week or a few days."

"It can't be too soon for your own safety, much as we shall regret to
lose your company."




CHAPTER XIV.

UNWELCOME CALLERS.


Although Budd Hankinson and Grizzly Weber were removed from the scene
of the events described, the night was not to pass without their
becoming actors in some stirring incidents.

Ordinarily they would have spent the hours of darkness at the ranch of
their employer, for the immense herds of cattle, as a rule, required
no looking after. The ranges over which they grazed were so extensive
that they were left to themselves, sometimes wandering for many miles
from the home of their owner. They might not be seen for days and
weeks. Their brands and the universal respect in which such proof of
proprietorship was held prevented, as a rule, serious loss to the
owners.

But the date will be recognized by the reader as one of a peculiarly
delicate nature, when men were obliged to look more closely after
their rights than usual.

The couple, therefore, rode behind the cattle to the foothills, along
which they were expected to graze for an indefinite time. Hustlers
were abroad, and the occurrences of the previous day had inflamed the
feeling between them and the cowmen. It was not unlikely that, having
been beaten off, some of them might take the means of revenging
themselves by stealing a portion of the herd.

Budd and Weber dismounted after reaching the foothills, and, without
removing the saddles from their horses, turned them loose to graze for
themselves. No fear of their wandering beyond recall. A signal would
bring them back the moment needed.

The hardy ranchers seated themselves with their backs against a broad,
flat rock, which rose several feet above their heads. The bits were
slipped from the mouths of their horses, so as to allow them to crop
the succulent grass more freely, while the men gave them no attention,
even when they gradually wandered beyond sight in the gloom.

"Times are getting lively in these parts," remarked Weber, as he
filled his brierwood and lit it; "this thing can't go on forever; the
rustlers or cowmen have got to come out on top, and I'm shot if one
can tell just now which it will be."

"There can only be one ending," quietly replied his companion, whose
pipe, being already lit, was puffed with the deliberate enjoyment of a
veteran; "the rustlers may stir things up, and I s'pose they've got to
get worse before they get better, but what's the use? It's like a mob
or a riot; the scamps have things their own way at first, but they
knuckle under in the end."

"I guess you're right; that was bad business yesterday; I shouldn't
wonder if it ended in the young folks moving East again with their
mother, whose heart is broke by the death of her husband."

"The younker is too plucky a chap to light out 'cause the governor has
been sent under; he's had better luck than most tenderfeet who come
out here and start in the cattle bus'ness; he done well last year, and
if the rustlers let him alone, he'll do a good deal better this year;
he may move, but he ain't agoin' to let them chaps hurry him, you can
make up your mind to that."

The couple smoked a minute or two in silence. Then Weber, without
removing his pipe from between his lips, uttered the words:

"Budd, something's going to happen powerful soon."

Hankinson, also keeping his pipe between his lips, turned his head and
looked wonderingly at his friend. He did not speak, but the action
told his curiosity; he did not understand the words.

"I mean what I say," added Weber, shaking his head; "I know it."

"What do you mean? Something happens every night and every day."

"That isn't what I'm driving at; something's going to happen afore
daylight; you and me ain't through with this work."

Hankinson was still dissatisfied. He took his pipe from his mouth,
and, looking sideways at his friend, asked:

"Can't you come down to facts and let a fellow know what you're
driving at?"

"I don't exactly know myself, but I feel it in my left leg."

At this strange remark the other laughed heartily and silently. He had
little patience with superstition. He knew his friend held peculiar
whims in that respect. Weber expected something in the nature of
scoffing and was prepared for it. He spoke doggedly:

"It has never deceived me. Six years ago, when we was trying to round
up Geronimo and his Apache imps, ten of us camped in the Moggollon
Mountains. Hot! Well, you never knowed anything like it. All day long
the metal of our guns would blister our naked hands; we didn't get a
drop of water from sunup till sundown; we was close on to the trail of
the varmints, and we kept at it by moonlight till our horses gave out
and we tumbled out among the rocks so used up that we could hardly
stand. Our lieutenant was a bright young chap from South Car'lina that
had come out of West Point only that summer, but he was true blue and
warn't afeared of anything. We all liked him. I had seen him fight
when a dozen of the Apaches thought they had us foul, and I was proud
of him. He belonged to a good family, though that didn't make him any
better than anyone else, but he treated us white.

"So when we went into camp, I goes to him and I says, says I,
'Lieutenant, there's going to be trouble.' He looked up at me in his
pleasant way and asks, 'What makes you think so, Grizzly?' The others
was listening, but I didn't mind that, and out with it. ''Cause,' says
I, 'my left leg tells me so.'

"'And how does your leg tell you?' he asked again, with just a faint
smile that wasn't anything like the snickers and guffaws of the other
chaps. 'Whenever a twitch begins at the knee and runs down to my
ankle,' says I, 'that is in the left leg, and then keeps darting back
and forth and up and down, just as though some one was pricking it
with a needle, do you know what it says?'

"'I'm sure I don't, but I'd like to know.'

"'Injins! Varmints! They're nigh you; look out!'

"Wal, instead of j'ining the others in laughing at me, he says; just
as earnest-like as if it was the colonel that had spoke, 'If that's
the case, Grizzly, why we'll look out; you have been in this business
afore I was born and I am glad you told me. I didn't s'pose any of 'em
was within miles of us, but it's easy to be mistaken.'

"Wal, to make a long story short we didn't any of us go to sleep; the
boys laughed at what I said, but the way the lieutenant acted showed
'em he believed me, and that was enough. The Apaches come down on us
that night and wiped out two of the boys. If the lieutenant hadn't
showed his good sense by believing what I told him, there wouldn't
have been one of us left."

Budd Hankinson then crossed his legs, extended on the ground as they
were, shoved his sombrero back on his head, with his Winchester
resting against the rock behind him, and smoked his pipe after the
manner of a man who is pondering a puzzling question. The latter
assumed much the same position, but, having said sufficient, was not
disposed to speak until after the other had given his opinion.

"Grizzly, when your leg warns you like that, does it speak plain
enough to tell you the sort of danger that's coming? Does it say what
hour; where the trouble is to come from, and who them that make the
trouble will be?"

"No!" replied the other, contemptuously; "how could a fellow's leg do
that?"

"How could it do anything 'cept help tote him around when he wanted it
to?"

"I've just explained, that twitching is a warning--that's all. I
'spose the leg thinks that's enough; so it is."

"There ain't any Apaches or Comanches in this part of the world."

"But there's rustlers, and where's the ch'ice?"

"Wal, Grizzly, all I've got to say is let 'em come; it ain't the
first time we've seen 'em, and we're ginerally ready for 'em. We was
yesterday, and I reckon we'll get there, all the same, to-night or
to-morrow morning."

Grizzly Weber felt it his duty to be more explicit.

"The night I was telling you about down in Arizona wasn't the only
time my leg signaled to me. While it allers means that something is
going to come, it doesn't always mean it'll amount to much. It has
happened that only a slight flurry follored. That may be the case
to-night."

"What's to be done? Are we to set here on the ground and wait for it?
I was going to take turns with you watching, but I guess we hadn't
better go to sleep yet."

"You can sleep till near morning if you like, and when I want to lay
down I'll wake you, but afore you do that I'll take a look around."

Weber rose to his feet, yawned, stretched his long, muscular arms,
looked about him and listened. The moonlight enabled him to see only a
comparatively short distance in any direction. Near-by were the forms
of several cattle stretched upon the ground and sleeping. One or two
were still chewing their cuds, but the scene was suggestive of rest
and quiet, the reverse of what he told his friend was coming.

The horses had drifted too far off to be visible, but it was certain
they were within signal distance. Rocks, stunted undergrowth, bushes,
and the rich, luxuriant grass met the eye everywhere. Thousands of
cattle were scattered over an area of many acres, and, unless molested
by dishonest persons, would be within ready reach when the time for
the round-up arrived. Neither eye nor ear could detect anything of the
peril which the rancher believed impended with the same faith that he
believed the sun would rise on the following morning.

That faith could not be shaken by the profound quiet. Without speaking
again to his friend he strolled toward the north, that is parallel
with the spur along whose slope the cattle were grazing. As he moved
forward they were continually in sight. Most of them were lying on
the ground, but a few were on their feet, browsing and acquiring the
luscious plumpness which has made that section one of the most famous
grazing regions of the Union. They paid no attention to the rancher
while making his way around, among and past them. They were too
accustomed to the sight of the sturdy cattleman to be disturbed by
him.

An eighth of a mile from the rock where he had left his comrade, Weber
once more paused. Nothing as yet had come to confirm that peculiar
warning described, but his faith knew no weakening on that account.

From a long way came the sound of rifle-firing, sometimes rapid, and
sometimes consisting of dropping shots.

"They're at it somewhere," muttered the rancher; "it doesn't come from
the ranch, so I guess the folks are all right."

The reports were too far off for him to feel any interest in them;
that which was foretold by the twitching of his limb must come much
closer to answer the demands of the occasion.

Weber resumed his walk around and among the prostrate animals. He was
on the alert, glancing to the right and left, and speculating as to
the nature of the "trouble" that could not be far off.

Through the impressive stillness he caught a subdued sound which
caused him again to stop in his walk and listen. His keen vision could
discover nothing, nor was he certain of the nature of the disturbance.

He knelt down and pressed his ear to the ground. That told the story;
several hundred of the herd were in motion and moving away from him.
They would not do this of their own accord, and the rancher translated
its meaning at once; they were being driven off.

He broke into a loping trot toward the threatened point, holding his
Winchester ready for instant use. As he was likely to need his horse,
he placed his fingers between his lips and emitted the whistle by
which he was accustomed to summon the faithful beast. Then he sent out
a different call. That was for the listening ears of Budd Hankinson,
who would be sure to hasten to his comrade.

But Weber did not wait for man or animal. They could come as fast as
they chose. The case was too urgent to admit of delay.

He believed the moving cattle were hardly a furlong distant, but they
were not only going at a rapid pace, but were moving directly away
from where the rancher had halted.

He could run as swiftly and as long as an Indian, but the course was
difficult, and he believed the cattle were going so fast that he was
gaining little if anything on them. When he had run a short way he
stopped and glanced impatiently back in the gloom.

"Why doesn't Cap hurry?" he muttered, referring to his horse; "he must
have heard my call, and he never lets it pass him. Budd, too, don't
want to break his neck trying to overtake me."

His impatience made him unjust. Neither man nor beast had had time to
come up, even though each had set out at their best speed the moment
they heard the signal. They would be on hand in due course, unless
prevented.

Weber called them again, with a sharp, peremptory signal, which could
not fail to apprise both of the urgency of the case. Then, afraid of
losing any advantage, he pushed after the fleeing cattle. The figures
of the sleeping animals around him grew fewer in number. By and by
none was to be seen. He had passed the outer boundary of those that
were left, and was now tramping over the section from which they had
been stampeded or driven by the rustlers.

He dropped to the ground again. But it was only to use the earth as a
medium of hearing. The multitudinous trampings became distinct once
more. The cattle were running, proof that the thieves were pressing
them hard and were in fear of pursuit.

Leaping up again, the rancher peered backward in the moonlight.
Something took shape, and he identified the figure of a man
approaching. The Winchester was grasped and half aimed, so as to be
ready for instant use.

But it was his friend, who was coming on the run. Budd Hankinson had
heard the call, and obeyed it with surprising promptness.

"What's up?" he asked, as he halted, breathing not a whit faster
because of his unusual exertion.

"They're running off some of the cattle; where's the hosses?"

"Hanged if I know! I called to Dick the minute I started, but he
didn't show up; I don't know were he is."

"I whistled for Cap at the same time I did for you; he ought to
be here first. I wonder if they've stolen him?" added Weber,
affrightedly.

"No, they wouldn't have come that close; they didn't have the chance;
but it gets me."

With that he sent out the signal once more. Budd did the same, and
then they broke into their swift, loping trot after the fleeing
animals, both in an ugly mood.

They were at great disadvantage without their own horses when it was
clear the rustlers were mounted. But, though on foot, the ranchers
could travel faster than the gait to which the cattle had been forced.
They increased their speed, and it was quickly evident they were
gaining on the rogues.

It was not long before they discerned the dark bodies galloping off in
alarm. Almost at the same moment the ranchers saw the outlines of
two horsemen riding from right to left, and goading the cattle to an
injuriously high pace. Grizzly Weber, who was slightly in advance,
turned his head and said, in excitement:

"Budd, they're not rustlers; they're Injins!"




CHAPTER XV.

THE "DOG INDIANS."


Weber was right in his declaration that the parties who were
stampeding a part of the herd were Indians. They were two in number,
both superbly mounted, and dashing back and forth with great
swiftness, as they urged the animals to a frantic flight. They knew
the danger of pursuit and the value of time.

The rancher, who shouted to his companion, was a few paces in advance
at the exciting moment he made the discovery. The sight so angered him
that he stopped abruptly and brought his rifle to his shoulder, with
the intention of shooting the marauder from his horse.

This would have been done the next instant but for the exclamation of
Grizzly Weber. Despite the noise and confusion, the Indian heard him
and saw his danger. Before the rancher could sight his weapon the
thief seemed to plunge headlong over the further side of his steed;
but instead of doing so he resorted to the common trick of his people,
all of whom are unsurpassable horsemen. He flung himself so far over
that nothing of his body remained visible. The horse himself became
the shield between him and the white man. The redskin was in the
saddle, but he would have been just as expert had he been riding
bareback.

Weber muttered his disappointment, but held his rifle ready to fire
the instant he caught sight of any part of the fellow's person. At any
rate, a recourse was open to him; he could shoot the horse, and thus
place his enemy on the same footing with himself. He decided to do so.

The hurly-burly was bewildering. The cattle were bellowing in
affright, galloping frenziedly before the two horsemen, dashing back
and forth among them at the rear like two lunatics, and goading them
to desperate haste.

At the instant the Indian whom Grizzly Weber selected as his man
eluded his fatal aim, his horse was running diagonally. This could not
be continued without the abandonment of the herd. He must wheel, to
come back behind the fleeing cattle. The rancher waited for that
moment, prepared to fire the instant any tangible part of the body of
the rogue was revealed by the moonlight.

But an astonishing exploit prevented the shot. The savage wheeled,
just as was anticipated, but, in the act of doing so, threw himself
for a second time over the side of his horse, so as to interpose his
body. He did it with such inimitable dexterity that the rancher was
baffled.

All this took place in a twinkling, as may be said; but, brief as
was the time, it caused Weber to lose valuable ground. The horse was
growing dimmer in the gloom, and, unless checked, would quickly be
beyond reach of the Winchester still levelled at him. Nothing was
easier than to drive a bullet through his brain and then have it out
with the Indian. Possibly the single bullet would end the career of
both.

Budd Hankinson called out something, but Grizzly Weber did not catch
it. With grim resolution he sighted as best he could in the moonlight
at the galloping steed, and then with a shiver lowered his weapon
undischarged, awed by the sudden discovery of the deed he had come
within a hair of committing.

The erratic motions of the Indian and his horse entangled both with
the flying cattle. All at once the nimble steed became so crowded on
every side that his only escape from being gored to death was by a
tremendous bound which he made over the back of a terrified steer who
lowered his head for the purpose of driving his horns into his body.
He made the leap with amazing skill and grace.

As he went up in the air, with the Indian clinging to his side,
the astonishing leap was executed with perfect ease, precision and
perfectness, his figure rising above the mass of struggling animals
and standing out for a moment in clear relief.

That one glimpse of the outlines of the splendid horse, together with
the brilliancy of the performance itself, told Grizzly Weber that
the steed was his own Cap. The owner had by a hair escaped sending
a bullet through the brain of the animal whom he loved as his own
brother.

Grizzly was stupefied for an instant. Then, knowing that Cap had been
duped by some conjuration, he sent out the familiar signal with a
sharp distinctness that rose above the din and racket, which, to
ordinary ears, would have been overwhelming.

The result was remarkable, and approached the ridiculous. Cap heard
the call, and instantly turned to obey it. The Indian on his back
strove furiously to prevent and to keep him at his work. Cap fought
savagely, flinging his head aloft, rearing, plunging, and refusing
to follow the direction toward which the redskin twisted his head
by sheer strength. It was a strife between rider and steed, and the
latter made no progress in either direction while keeping up the
fight, which was as fierce as it was brief.

The Indian could not force the horse to obey him, and the efforts of
Cap to reach his master were defeated by the wrenching at the bit. It
looked as if the horse had been seized with the frenzy that possessed
every one, and was fighting and struggling aimlessly and accomplishing
nothing.

But Grizzly Weber was not the one to stand idly by and allow this
extraordinary contest to go on. Nothing intervened between him and the
daring marauder, and he dashed toward him.

The redskin's audacity, nimbleness and self-possession excited the
admiration of Grizzly Weber, angered though he was at the trick played
on him. The rider knew the risk of keeping up the fight with the
obdurate beast, for the master was sure to arrive on the spot within
a few seconds. Before the rancher could reach him he went from the
saddle as if shot out of a gun.

Freed from his incubus, Cap emitted a joyful whinny and trotted toward
his master.

"You rascal!" exclaimed the delighted rancher, vaulting upon his back
in a twinkling. "Now we'll settle with the chap that tried to part you
and me."

All this consumed but a few moments. The Indian could not have gone
far. He would not dash among the cattle, who, now that they were
stampeded, were as dangerous as so many wild beasts. He had hardly
time to conceal himself, and Grizzly was certain that he had him.

All the same, however, the cowman made a miscalculation. When he
wheeled Cap about to run down the daring redskin he was nowhere to be
seen. There were no trees near, but there were boulders, rocks and
depressions, with the rich grass everywhere, and the dusky thief was
as safe as if beyond the Assinaboine, in British territory.

"I'm glad of it," thought Weber, a moment later; "a redskin that can
show such a performance as that desarves to save his scalp."

In the dizzying flurry Grizzly had no time to think of his companion,
who had enough to attend to his own matters. He now looked around for
him, but he, too, was invisible.

"I wonder whether he got his horse back, for Dick must have been
stole, the same as was Cap."

And, grateful for having regained possession of his horse, he patted
the silken neck of the noble animal.

Grizzly's years of experience with cattle apprised him of a gratifying
truth. The course of the stampeded herd was changing. Instead of
fleeing away from the main body they were veering around, so that, if
the change of course continued, they would return to the neighbourhood
from which they started.

Panic-smitten cattle are not apt to do a thing of that kind of their
own accord. Some cause, and a strong one, too, must have effected this
diversion in the line of flight. All at once, above the din, sounded
the penetrating voice of a man, who was striving with herculean energy
to change the course of the wild animals.

One sound of that voice was sufficient to identify it as Budd
Hankinson's. He must have played his cards well to have done all this
in so brief a space of time.

And such had been the case beyond a doubt. Budd suspected from the
first what did not enter Grizzly's mind until it flashed upon him
as described. The fact that neither of their horses appeared when
summoned convinced Budd that they had been stolen. True, even in that
case they would have obeyed the signal, had they been near enough, and
had the circumstances allowed them to identify it; but, although
not far off, the noise immediately around them shut out the call of
Grizzly from their ears, until he repeated it, as has been told.

Hankinson anticipated his friend in this act. In his case, the thief
in the saddle of Dick gave it up at once. He leaped off, and whisked
out of sight. It was then Budd called to Grizzly that the thieves had
their horses; but the other did not catch his words, and, therefore,
gave them no further heed.

The instant Budd's feet were in the stirrups he set his horse bounding
along the side of the herd, with the purpose of checking the stampede
by changing its course. Grizzly understood matters and set off after
him, leaving to the sagacious Cap to thread his way to the other side
of the running cattle.

In the course of a few minutes the ranchers opened communication and
pushed their work with a vigor which brought good results. The cattle
were tired. They had been on their feet most of the day while grazing,
were growing fat, and naturally were indisposed to severe exertion.
Their pace dropped to a walk, and sooner than would have been
supposed, the fright passed off. The herders kept them moving until
close to the main herd, where they were allowed to rest. Budd and
Grizzly dismounted once more, turning their horses loose, and seated
themselves on the ground. The night, as will be remembered, was mild,
and they did not need their blankets to make them comfortable.

"Wal," was the smiling remark of Grizzly, as he began refilling his
pipe, "my leg didn't deceive me this time."

"No, I'll own up it played square; but, Grizzly, if we've got to fight
the red varmints as well as rustlers, there will be some lively fun in
Wyoming and Montana before the thing is over."

"The Injins won't take a hand in this. You know who them two thieves
were, don't you?"

"A couple of 'dog Injins,' of course."

"There isn't anybody else that's got anything to do with this; it's
sort of queer--that is, it has struck me so two or three times--that
the Injins have tramps among 'em the same as white folks. They call
'em 'dog Injins,' I s'pose, 'cause they don't claim any particular
tribe, but tramp back and forth over the country, slipping off their
reservations whenever they get a chance."

"Yes, there are plenty of 'em," assented Budd; "we've met 'em before;
you'll find 'em as far north as the Saskatchewan and as low down as
the Rio Grande. But I say, Grizzly, they were two slick ones; I never
seen finer work."

"Nor me either; if they had been satisfied with taking our hosses we'd
never seen 'em agin. Gracious!" added the rancher, "for myself, I'd
rather lost half the herd than Cap."

"It seems to me," said Budd, after smoking a moment in silence, "that
although them 'dog Injins' was pretty smart in getting out of the way
when we come down on 'em, they weren't smart in trying to run off the
cattle. They must have known we'd find it out at daylight and would be
after 'em hot-footed."

Grizzly had been puzzling over the same phase of the question. The
'dog Indian' is a vagabond, who, belonging to some particular tribe,
as of necessity must be the case, affiliates with none, but goes
whithersoever his will leads him, provided he is not prevented.
Sometimes they remain on the reservation for weeks and months, as
orderly, industrious and well-behaved as the best of the red men. Then
they disappear, and may not turn up for a long time. In truth, they
are as likely not to turn up at all, but to lead their wandering,
useless lives just as the vagrants do in civilized communities.

Surely the couple who had played their parts in the incidents of the
night must have known that nothing could be gained by stampeding a
part of Whitney's herd. The cattle were branded, and could not be
disposed of for that reason. Besides, a couple of Indians in charge of
several hundred cattle would be objects of suspicion themselves, and
certain to be called to account. They could make no common cause with
the rustlers, for the latter would have naught to do with them.

More than likely Grizzly Weber hit the truth when he said:

"It was a piece of pure deviltry on their part. When they got into the
saddles they felt safe. Instead of making off with the hosses, they
thought they would stir up a little fun by stampeding the cattle.
After injuring 'em by rapid driving for a good many miles they would
have paid no more attention to 'em, and let us find 'em as best we
could."

"Yes," assented Budd, "they bit off more'n they could chaw, and so
lost the hosses. But, Grizzly, have you noticed there's been several
guns shot off around the country to-night?"

"Yas," replied the other, indifferently; "I've heard 'em several
times, but I haven't obsarved any coming from the house; it must be
that some of the boys are having fun to-night instead of sleeping like
lambs, as they ought to do."

"And there'll be more of it to-morrow, but that's what we've got to
expect at all times. I'm going to sleep; call me when you want me."

Budd spread the blanket, which he had taken from the back of his
horse, on the ground and lay down. Hardly five minutes passed when
he was wrapped in sound slumber. To prevent himself from becoming
unconscious, Grizzly rose and walked slowly around and among the herd.
He had no thought of anything further occurring, for the 'dog Indians'
would be certain to keep away from that neighbourhood after what had
occurred. He did not feel easy, however, concerning his friends at the
ranch. He knew trouble was at hand, and he would have been glad if
the mother and daughter were removed beyond danger. The sounds of
rifle-firing and the bright glow in the horizon, made by a burning
building, confirmed his misgivings as to what a few days or hours were
sure to bring forth.




CHAPTER XVI.

AN UNPLEASANT VISIT.


IT will be recalled that during these incidents Monteith Sterry and
Fred Whitney were sitting at the front of the long, low building,
which was the home of the latter, discussing the incidents of the
last day or two, as well as the matter of Whitney removing, with
his family, to the East, in order to prevent any addition to the
affliction they had just suffered.

Besides this, Whitney had turned on his young friend, and impressed
upon him that he, too, was incurring unjustifiable risk by remaining
in Wyoming during the inflamed state of public feeling. There was much
less excuse in the case of Sterry than of his host. He ought to be at
home prosecuting the study of his profession, as his parents wished
him to do. His health was fully restored, and it cannot be denied that
he was wasting his precious days. He was fond of his father, mother,
brothers and sisters, and it would grieve them beyond expression if he
should uselessly sacrifice himself.

"Yes," he replied, "I cannot deny the truth of what you say, Fred. I
ought to leave this part of the country."

"Of course; you're not needed; your future has been mapped for you,
and it is hard to make up lost time."

"We found that out at the high school," returned Mont, with a light
laugh; "but the pearl of great price, in a worldly sense, is good
health, and I have been repaid in securing it."

"And having secured it, it remains--Mont," added his companion
abruptly, but without the slightest change of tone, "don't stop to ask
me why, but step quickly through the door and into the house, and keep
out of sight for a few minutes."

"I understand," said Sterry, obeying without an instant's hesitation.

The prompt, unquestioning compliance with the request of Fred Whitney
showed that Monteith Sterry understood the reason that it was made of
him.

The truth was, that during the last few minutes the young men were
talking in front of the house, each descried something suspicious on
the broad plain. They instinctively lowered their voices, and though
neither made reference to it, both gave more attention to it than to
their own words.

They heard nothing of the tramp of horses, but saw the shadowy
figures of several men hovering on what may be termed the line of
invisibility. Sometimes they were distinguished quite clearly, and
then seemed to vanish; but the youths could not be mistaken.

A number of persons were out there, not mounted, but on foot, and
moving about, without approaching any closer, for the space of several
minutes. It looked as if they were reconnoitering the house from a
distance and debating the best manner of procedure.

The suspicions of the friends were the same. They were rustlers
looking for the inspector.

Mont Sterry would have preferred to stay where he was and have it out
with them, but the circumstances were so peculiar that he could not
refuse to do as his comrade requested.

The cause of Whitney's wish was the abrupt increasing distinctness
of the figures, proof that they had reached a decision and were
approaching the house.

They speedily came into plain sight, four men, in the garb of cowmen,
and they were rustlers beyond question.

Conscious that they were seen, they now advanced directly, as if
coming from a distance, though the fact that they were on foot showed
that such was not the case.

With feelings which it would be hard to describe, Fred Whitney
recognized the first as Larch Cadmus, wearing the same whiskers as
before. Had he been thoughtful enough to disguise his voice the young
man would not have suspected his identity.

The moon had worked around into that quarter of the heavens that its
light shone on the figure of Fred, who rose to his feet, as was his
custom, and advanced a few paces to meet the newcomers.

"Good evening!" he said. "How happens it that you are afoot at this
time of night?"

"Our horses ain't fur off," replied Cadmus; "the rest of the boys
didn't think it worth while to trouble you."

"What do you mean by troubling me?" asked Fred, though he understood
the meaning.

"We're on an unpleasant errand," continued Cadmus, acting as the
spokesman of the party, the others remaining in the background and
maintaining silence.

"Shall I bring chairs for you? It is so unusually mild to-night that
I am sitting out doors from choice, and I do not wish to disturb my
mother and sister, who retired some time ago."

"No, we'll stand," was the curt response. "Whitney, as I suppose it
is, are you accustomed to sit out here alone?"

"Not when I can have company."

"Were you alone before we came up?"

"When you were here earlier in the evening, as you saw for yourself, I
had my sister and a friend."

"Exactly; who was that friend?"

"Mont Sterry, the gentleman who is on a little tour through some
parts of Wyoming and Montana to try to help make you fellows behave
yourselves."

"Yes; wal, we're looking for him."

"Why do you come here?"

"Because he spends a good deal of his time here; he seems to be
interested in Miss Whitney."

"Well, if he is, that is no business of yours," retorted Fred, angered
by the reference to his sister.

"Perhaps not, but it would be well for you to keep a civil tongue in
your head, Fred Whitney; we're not in a pleasant mood to-night, for
we've had trouble."

"It matters not to me what trouble you've had; you have no right to
name any member of my family. They are in affliction; my father was
shot down by your gang yesterday, and, though we made several of you
fellows bite the dust, the whole of them weren't worth his little
finger."

"We'll let them matters drop; I told you we're looking for Mont
Sterry, and we're going to have him."

"And I ask you again, why do you come here after him? I don't deny
that he was with me, but he left fully two hours ago."

"We know that; he gave us the slip, but we believe he came back."

"And I ask what reason you have for such belief; why did he bid us
good-by and ride away? I know that he had not the slightest intention
of returning for several days," said Fred, sticking to the technical
truth.

"We don't care what his intention was, he did come back."

"How do you know that?"

"He was sitting in that chair alongside of you less than ten minutes
ago; you were smoking and talking, though you didn't speak loud enough
for us to catch your words."

"Where is the proof, Larch Cadmus, of what you say?"

Without noticing this penetration of his disguise, the rustler turned
and spoke to the nearest of his companions:

"Spark Holly, how was it?"

"I seen 'em both and heard 'em talking," was the prompt response of
the individual appealed to.

"Are your eyes better than the others'?" asked Fred.

"They don't have to be," replied Cadmus, speaking for him. "While we
stayed in front of the house, Spark stole round to the rear, where
none of your family seen him. He got to the corner and had a good look
at both of you."

"Does he know Sterry?" inquired Fred, purposely raising his voice,
that his friend, standing a few feet away within the house, should not
miss a word.

"He don't know him, but I do, and the description Spark gives fits the
man we're after to a T. We want him."

"But the notice you gave Sterry allowed him twenty-four hours' grace.
Why do you ask for him now?"

"Them was my sentiments, but when I joined the party under Inman, a
little while ago, he told me the boys had reconsidered that matter,
and decided that after what Sterry has done, and tried to do, I hadn't
any right to make the promise."

"That may be their decision, but it cannot affect yours; you are bound
by the pledge you made in writing to him."

Larch Cadmus, like his companions, was growing impatient. He said:

"I haven't come here to argue the matter with you; I've come after my
man, and am going to have him."

"And I repeat what I said: he left more than two hours ago, and you
have no business to come here."

"Do you mean to tell me he isn't in the house?" demanded Cadmus, with
rising temper.

"I refuse to answer, but I do say that neither you nor any of your
gang shall enter my home, where are my mother and sister, their hearts
stricken by your murderous doings of yesterday, except over my dead
body."

"We don't like to disturb the ladies," said Cadmus, "but we mean
business; we have promised the boys to bring back that fellow; but
I'll make a proposition."

"What is it?"

"If you will say that Mont Sterry is not in there, we'll go away
without disturbing any one; we'll take your word."

"I recognize no right of yours to question me," was the scornful reply
of Fred Whitney.

"Boys," said Cadmus, turning again to his companions, "that's only
another way of owning up that the coward is hiding here, afraid to
meet us; he's our game."




CHAPTER XVII.

A DELICATE SITUATION.


Few men possessed more courage than Fred Whitney, and he was
thoroughly aroused.

Sitting in front of his own home during the evening, it naturally
happened that he was without any weapon at immediate command. His
Winchester and revolvers, his inseparable companions, during those
stirring times, whenever away from home, were inside. It need not be
said that every one of the rustlers had his "guns" in his possession,
so he was a single, defenceless man against four armed ones.

Nevertheless, he strode forward in front of the open door, determined
to make good his threat.

"You talk of cowards," he said; "you are four, and each has his
pistols and rifle; I have none and one arm is wounded, but I defy
you!"

"Come, come," said the leader, "this will do you no good; we're bound
to have that man, and if he won't come out we must go after him. If
you stand in the way we'll pitch you aside. We don't want to hurt
you."

"Advance at your peril--"

"Fred, move a little to the left--that will do. I've got a bead on him
now."

It was the voice of Mont Sterry, a few feet away, in the darkness of
the room. The muzzle of his rifle, however, projected just enough
to reflect the moonlight, and it was leveled at the breast of Larch
Cadmus.

"One step," added Sterry, "and you're a dead man."

"Larch Cadmus," said Fred, thrilled by the occurrence, "for we
recognize you despite those whiskers, I never knew Mont Sterry to
break his word!"

Language cannot do justice to the situation. At the very moment the
miscreant was about to advance to hurl Whitney from his path he was
confronted by the muzzle of a loaded rifle, held by a man who was in
deadly earnest, and who realized he was at bay.

The startled ruffian recoiled a step and stared into the darkened
room, as if he failed to grasp the situation.

"Not a step in any direction," said Sterry, warningly; "if you attempt
to retreat, advance, or move aside, I'll fire."

It would be a rash thing for any one to deny that the young inspector
had secured the "drop" on Larch Cadmus.

But the man was accustomed to violence, and it took him but a minute
to rally.

"Pretty well done, I'll own," he said, with a forced laugh; "but what
good is it going to do you? There are three more of us here and a
half-dozen hardly a hundred yards away."

"And what good will they do you?"

"Spark," said Cadmus, "slip back to the boys and give 'em the tip;
we'll see about this thing."

"The moment Spark or either of the other two stirs I'll let the
moonlight through _you!_ I'm going to keep my gun pointed right at
you, Mr. Cadmus. If those fellows think I'm worth more than you, they
have a chance to prove it, for only one of them has to take the first
step to leave, when I'll press this trigger just a little harder than
now. More than that, if one of them shouts, whistles, or makes any
kind of a signal, I'll do as I threaten. If any man doesn't think so,
let him make the trial."

"Well, I'll be hanged!" muttered Larch Cadmus; "this _is_ a go!"

Judging from the new turn of affairs, it looked as if a single
individual had the "drop" on four others.

It struck Larch Cadmus that this was a good occasion for something in
the nature of a compromise.

"See here, Sterry," he said, assuming an affected jocularity which
deceived no one, "I'll own you've played it on me mighty fine. But you
can't stand there all night with your Winchester p'inted at me, and
bime-by I'll git tired; can't we fix the matter up some way?"

"Fred," said Sterry, with the same coolness shown from the first,
"slip through the door; you know where your gun is; stoop a little,
so I won't have to shift my aim; when that is done we'll talk about
compromise."

Fred Whitney, as quick as his companion to "catch on," did instantly
what was requested. He dodged into the darkened apartment, with which,
of course, he was so familiar that he needed the help of no light to
find his weapon.

Had Larch Cadmus been as subtle as his master, perhaps he might have
prevented this by ordering one of his men to cover Whitney with his
gun, though it is more than probable that Sterry still would have
forced the leading rustler to his own terms.

But there was one among the four with the cunning of a fox; he was
Spark Holly, who had located the inspector when in front of the house.

At the moment Cadmus was brought up all standing, as may be said,
Holly stood so far to one side that he was not in the young man's
field of vision. He, like his two companions, could have slipped off
at any moment without danger to himself, but it would have been at the
cost of their leader's life; nor could they shift their position and
raise a weapon to fire into the room, where there was a prospect
of hitting the daring youth at bay, without precipitating that
catastrophe.

The instant, however, Fred Whitney turned his back on the rustlers,
Holly saw his opportunity. He vanished.

The others, more sluggish than he, held their places, dazed,
wondering, stupefied, and of no more account than so many logs of
wood.

Shrewd enough to do this clever thing, Spark Holly was too cautious to
spoil it by allowing his movement to be observed. Had he darted over
the plain in front of the house, Mont Sterry would have seen the
fleeing figure, understood what it meant, and, carrying out his
threat, shot down Larch Cadmus.

Holly lost no time in dodging behind the structure, moving with the
stealth of an Indian in the stillness of the night. Then he made a
circuit so wide that, as he gradually described a half-circle and came
round to the point whence he had first advanced to the dwelling, he
was so far off that the keenest vision from the interior could not
catch a glimpse of him.

Certain of this, he ran only a short distance, when he came up with
the half-dozen mounted rustlers of whom Cadmus had spoken, and who
were wondering at the unaccountable delay.

The messenger quickly made everything plain, and they straightway
proceeded to take a hand in the business.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A MISCALCULATION.


Larch Cadmus was well fitted to act the leader of so desperate a
company of men. He was chagrined beyond measure at the manner in which
the tables had been turned on him, but, like all such persons, when
caught fairly, he knew how to accept the situation philosophically.

None understood better than he that the individual who held that
Winchester levelled would press the trigger on the first provocation.
He was the one that had sent the warning, and the other was the one
that had received it. The twenty-four hours' truce had been ended by
the words and action of Cadmus himself, and his chief wonder, now that
Fred Whitney was with him, was that Monteith Sterry should show any
mercy to his persecutor; had the situations been reversed, the course
also would have been different.

But the ruffian was on the alert. He noticed the guarded movement of
Spark Holly at the moment Whitney entered his home, and he needed no
one to tell him what it meant.

He had slipped off to bring help and it would not take him long to do
it, though Cadmus might well feel uneasy over what would take place
when Sterry should learn the trick played on him.

It may be that a person's senses are keener in situations of grave
peril than at other times, for, calculating as clearly as he could the
period it would take his comrade to reach the horsemen, only a short
way back on the prairie, Cadmus heard sounds which indicated their
approach, though they must remain invisible for several minutes.

"Wal," said he, in his off-hand manner, directly after Whitney had
whisked into the house, "now that you're together, how long do you
mean to keep this thing up?"

"We're through," was the response.

"What do you mean?" asked the surprised fellow.

"You can go away as soon as you please. Mont Sterry doesn't care
anything more about you, but I'll keep you covered as long as you are
in sight, and if you or any of your men try any deception you'll take
the consequences."

With a moment's hesitation, doubtless caused by distrust of his
master, Cadmus began edging to one side. A few steps were enough to
take him out of range of that dreaded weapon, and then his demeanour
changed.

"That was a good trick of yours, Mont Sterry, but it won't do you a
bit of good."

"Why not?"

"Here come the rest of the boys, and if you think you can hold them
up, why try it."

At that moment the horsemen assumed form in the gloom and approached
the house in a diagonal direction. Encouraged by their presence, Larch
Cadmus once more moved toward the open door and resumed the position
of leader.

"Now, my fine fellow, we summon you to surrender," he called in his
brusquest voice and manner.

The reply was striking. A young man stepped from the door and advanced
to meet the horsemen. There was an instant when Cadmus believed his
victim had come forth to give himself up as commanded, but one glance
showed that it was Fred Whitney. He calmly awaited the coming of the
mounted men, saluted them, and said:

"You have come for Mont Sterry, and Cadmus there assures me that if
I give him my word that he is not in my house he will accept the
statement; do you agree to it?"

"How's that, Larch?" asked Ira Inman, turning toward him.

"Them was my words, but--"

"Well, then, I have to say that Mont Sterry is not in my house; the
only persons there are my mother and sister."

"But I seen him, and he got the drop on me--how's that?"

"Yes," replied Whitney, enjoying his triumph, "he was there a few
minutes ago, and he _did_ get the drop on you and the rest of your
fellows; but I took his place; he went out of the back door, mounted
his mare, and if there's any of you that think you can overhaul him,
you can't start a moment too soon."

No man who heard these words doubted their truth. They told such a
straightforward tale that they could not be questioned. They would
have been zanies had they believed that, with the back door at command
and the certain approach of his enemies, Sterry had waited for them to
attack him.

True, he and his friend would have held a strong position, in which
they could have made it warm for the others, but the ultimate
advantage must have been on the side of the assailants.

The laugh was on Cadmus, and those were the men who, in their chagrin,
vented their feelings upon him. The worst of it was, he was as angry
as they; but he might well ask how he could have helped himself, and
whether any one of them would have done any better.

The foxy Holly, at a whispered word from Inman, darted around the end
of the building and entered the stables. A brief examination showed
that no animals, all being known to him, except those belonging to
Whitney, were there.

Had any doubt remained, it was removed by his sense of hearing.
Without the intervention of the dwelling to obstruct the sound, he
caught the faint, rhythmic beating of the earth, barely audible and
gradually growing fainter in the distance. It was just such a sound as
is made by a horse going at a leisurely, sweeping gallop, and that was
the explanation he gave it.

Mont Sterry was safe beyond pursuit, for there was no horse in the
company that could overtake him. Spark Holly returned to the party in
front and made his report.

It may be said the report was accepted and placed on file for future
reference.

It was characteristic of those men, too, that they did not delay
their own actions, now that their business may be said to have been
finished.

"Well," said Inman, "that isn't the first time that fellow gave us the
slip to-night. The way he did it before was mighty clever, but I don't
see that he deserves any credit for fooling Cadmus, for any one would
have known enough to do that. But remember that Mr. Mont Sterry is
still in Wyoming, and we are not through with him yet."

"And there ain't any twenty-four hours' truce," added Cadmus.

"After what has taken place, there's little fear of Sterry making any
mistake on that point," said Whitney, who was so pleased over the
outcome of matters that he could speak in gentler terms than he would
have used had the circumstances been different.

It would seem strange that these men, who but a brief time before were
so hostile to the single person now in their power, should converse
without the least offensive action; but most, if not all, of the
doings of the men concerned in the late troubles in that section were
in hot blood, and would not have occurred had time been taken for
thought and consideration.

Inman and his brother rustlers wheeled about and rode off in the
direction whence they came. Their movements indicated that they had
no intention of following Sterry, since the course taken by him was
almost directly the opposite; but Whitney was not fully satisfied. He
remained in front of his home, listening in the stillness of the night
to the sounds made by the hoofs of the galloping horses.

Gradually they grew fainter, until, had there been any air stirring,
or had the tension of hearing been less, he would have heard nothing;
but, when the noises were hovering close to inaudibility, they
continued thus. They neither increased nor diminished, but remaining
the same, steadily shifted the direction whence they came.

Instead of keeping to the westward, as they had been for a long
time, they worked around to the north and east. Then the decrease in
distinctness of sound was so rapid that it was quickly lost.

The truth was evident: the rustlers had started in pursuit of Sterry,
though why they should have taken so much pains to conceal the fact
from Fred Whitney was more than he could understand.

"They may overtake him," thought the young man as he turned to enter
the house, "but it will not be right away."

A light foot-fall sounded in the darkness of the room.

"Is that you, Jennie?" he asked in a guarded undertone.

"Yes, brother; have they gone?"

"Some time ago. Is mother asleep?"

"She was asleep before they came, utterly worn out. I am glad she
knows nothing of the cause of their visit. And what of Monteith?"

"He is many miles away, and still riding hard."

"Will they pursue him?"

"Let them do so if they wish, they will have a fine time overtaking
him," was the light reply of the brother, who, leaning over in the
gloom, affectionately kissed his sister good-night.




CHAPTER XIX.

THE BURNED RANCH.


Meanwhile Monteith Sterry was making the best of his opportunity.

It was no great exploit for him to slip out of the back door, when he
found his enemies gathering in front; but, had he not been convinced
that the movement was in the interests of his friends, as well as
himself, he would not have made it.

His flight was at a moderate pace for several hundred yards, by which
time he considered himself safe from pursuit and gave his mare free
rein. Her speed was rapid, but she was capable of maintaining it for
hours without fatigue.

Sterry's intention was to make his way to the ranch of his friend,
Dick Hawkridge, which lay to the westward. He began veering in that
direction, so that it may be said that while Inman and his band were
riding toward him, he was approaching them. Two causes, however,
prevented a meeting of the parties.

Sterry was much further out than the rustlers, and in the darkness
they could see nothing, if indeed they could hear anything of each
other. Then he had not ridden far when he was checked by an unexpected
sight.

A bright red glow appeared to the northward in the sky. It was too
vivid, distinct and near for him to mistake its nature. It was a
burning building, the flames showing so strongly that, aware as he was
of the deceptive nature of such a light, he knew it was no more than a
mile away. He turned the head of his mare in that direction.

"Things seem to be stirring to-night," was his thought as he galloped
forward, with his gaze fixed on the burning structure. "That may be
an accident, but such accidents are not common in this part of the
world."

His supposition was that it was the work of the rustlers, but he was
mistaken.

The building was similar to that occupied by the Whitneys, though
somewhat smaller, and burned so fast that when he reached the spot it
was a mass of blazing embers, with hardly a semblance of the original
structure remaining.

The sight was interesting of itself, but the attention of Sterry was
riveted by the figure of a man lying motionless on the ground, only
a few paces in front of where the door had been. His nerveless right
hand still grasped the Winchester with which he had evidently made a
sturdy fight when stricken down.

Sterry did not dismount, but, sitting in the saddle, looked on the
sorrowful sight as revealed by the glow of the burning building. He
was saddened that such things should be.

Little time, however, was given him for gloomy reverie, when Queenie
sniffed the air and turned her head a little to one side. Looking in
that direction, the rider saw the figure of a horseman assume shape in
the glow as his animal advanced at a slow step. He must have detected
Sterry before the latter saw him, and was studying him with close
attention, his rifle supported across his saddle in front, ready for
instant use.

Reading his suspicion, the young man called out:

"Come on, partner! You and I cannot be enemies at such a time as
this."

The salutation reassured the other, who increased his pace.

Before he reached Sterry the latter half-regretted his action, for
he recognized the man as Duke Vesey, one of the most notorious of
rustlers and a bitter personal enemy. But a certain chivalry rules
among such people, and after the greeting of Sterry to Vesey there was
little danger of the latter taking unfair advantage of it.

"This is bad business," remarked the younger, pointing to the figure
on the ground.

A hard look crossed the face of the rustler and his thin lips
compressed as he shook his head.

"Yes, that's what's left of Jack Perkins; he was my pard."

"How did it happen?"

"How did it happen! A pretty question for you to ask. He was killed by
the stockmen less than an hour ago."

"But they didn't ride hither and shoot him down, I am sure."

"I don't know what you can be sure of," said Vesey, ominously. "Jack
and I were riding along peaceable like, when we heard horsemen behind
us. We didn't pay any attention to them till we got home and Jack
slipped off his horse. I concluded to stay in the saddle until the
fellows came up and I had a talk with them. They were Capt. Asbury and
his stockmen, and the first thing they called out was an order for us
to throw up our hands.

"Well," continued Vesey, grimly, "we aren't in that kind of business,
and the next thing the guns were popping all around us. Jack had
nerve. I wish the poor fellow had stayed in the saddle; but his horse
scooted off, and he stood right there where he fell, without a leaf to
shelter him, and pumped the lead into those stockmen, who were mean
enough to shoot the brave fellow in his tracks without giving him a
chance for life."

"You told me they ordered him to surrender before the firing began."

"So they did, that they might shoot him down the easier. I had a hot
chase with them, and it was a pretty close call for me; but they
didn't keep up the hunt for long. You would think," added Vesey,
bitterly, "that they would have been satisfied with dropping poor
Jack, without burning down our home; but that is the style of the
stockmen."

Here was a representative of each of the factions, or associations, so
hostile to each other. The rustler knew Monteith Sterry, and must
have felt a consuming resentment toward him. His words and manner
indicated, too, that he was not averse to a quarrel. He had fought the
stockmen more than once, and, with the memory of the recent collision
and the advantages on the other side, he welcomed the chance of a
conflict on anything like equal terms.

Monteith did not stand in any personal fear of the famous rustler, and
was fully armed and on the alert. Without seeming to do so, he kept a
watch on the man, but he disliked the thought of a personal encounter
with him. The scene, the surroundings, and his own nature, revolted,
and he resolved to submit to all that it was possible to bear before
falling back on the last resort.

"No doubt," said Sterry, "there has been injustice on both sides, and
stockmen as well as rustlers have done things for which there is no
justification; I hope the trouble will soon end."

"It will end as soon as we get justice."

"Yes," Sterry could not help retorting, "for if justice were done to
you rustlers none would be left. However," he hastened to add, "there
is no reason why you and I should quarrel, Vesey; I had no share in
the death of your friend; and if the case is as you represent it, he
was more sinned against than sinning."

"Of course you had no share in that simply because you wasn't here,
but you have been concerned in other affairs like this where some of
the rustlers have gone down."

"It is quite possible I have," coolly replied Sterry, "inasmuch as
when a man is attacked it is his duty to defend himself. I have not
yet been convinced that I ought to stand up and allow others to do as
they please when weapons were in my hands."

"You have no business in Wyoming anyway," said Vesey, angrily; "you
have been sent here by the Association to do its underhand work."

"Duke Vesey," said Sterry, "you are a man of too much education to
talk in that way. If you and I quarrel, it will be your fault, but
don't fancy that I hold you in any fear. Good-night."




CHAPTER XX.

THE TRUCE.


It was a dignified proceeding on the part of Monteith Sterry, and
the rustler possessed enough gentlemanly instinct to appreciate the
feelings of the young man, who had attested his courage too often for
any one to question it. But at the moment of wheeling his mare to ride
off both caught the sound of approaching horsemen, and Sterry checked
his animal.

"Who are they?" he asked, glancing at the rustler.

"How should I know? They may be some of your folks."

"They are as likely to be yours. I don't think, Duke, it is wise for
us to stay here where we offer such inviting targets, for whoever the
party may be, one of us is sure to be an enemy."

Monteith Sterry moved away from the area of illumination as he spoke,
Vesey keeping close to his side.

"Is it understood, Duke," asked the younger, "there's a truce between
you and me?"

"Of course; if you know anything about Duke Vesey, you know he's
square. If they happen to be some of our boys, I won't take any
advantage of you, nor let them, if I can help it."

"And if they are Capt. Asbury and others, I will reciprocate."

Enough was said. Enemies though the men were, no bosom friends could
have been more in unison for the time. Ready to shoot each other on
sight less than an hour before, and as they were liable to be within
the following hour, they were equally ready to risk their lives, if
necessary, to carry out the pledge just exchanged.

They had to ride but a short way when the gloom became deep enough to
protect them against the sight of the horsemen who were approaching
from the opposite direction.

Six men rode into view, halting on the spot vacated by the couple
just before, the one at the head being recognized in the glow of the
burning ruins as Capt. Asbury, with whom the affray had taken place a
short time previous. Sterry knew each, as did his companion.

"All the party do not seem to be there," remarked Sterry.

"They are not," replied Vesey; "three are missing."

"I wonder if anything can have happened to them?"

"Accidents are liable to take place in this part of the world--"

"Hands up!" was the startling command that broke upon the couple at
that moment, from a point directly behind them.

The truth was, Sterry and Vesey had been seen by the horsemen as they
stole away in the gloom. Capt. Asbury, suspecting they were rustlers,
sent three of his men out beyond them on foot, and they did their part
so well that they came up without alarming either of their horses, who
ordinarily would have detected them.

"I've been trapped!" muttered Vesey, savagely, glancing at the
figures, standing but a short way off in the moonlight, with their
Winchesters levelled.

"Never mind," said Sterry, quickly, "up with your hands, as I do, or
we'll both catch it; I'll stand by you."

The rustler was wise enough to obey, with only a momentary hesitation.
Had he not done so, he would never have had a second chance, for the
stockmen were very much in earnest.

The footmen came forward with their weapons at a level, for they were
too prudent to give their prisoners a chance.

"How are you, Hendricks?" asked Sterry, with a laugh, as the trio
joined them.

The man addressed peered closely in his face, suspecting, and yet not
convinced of his identity until after a minute or two.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" he exclaimed; "is that you, Mont?"

"I have a suspicion that it is," was the reply of Sterry, laughing
quite heartily as he lowered his hands.

"Who is your friend?" he asked, moving around to gain a better view of
the rustler.

"Ah, that's the man we're looking for," added Hendricks a moment
later; "he's Duke Vesey, the partner of the late Jack Perkins."

"You are right," Sterry hastened to say, "but he is under the
protection of a flag of truce."

"A flag of truce!" repeated the other; "where is it?"

"I gave him my pledge to shield him against you folks, as he agreed to
do if your party had proven to be his friends."

"Well, that's a queer state of affairs," laughed the other, not
forgetting to keep guard of the prisoner, who was permitted to lower
his hands. The other stockmen were equally alert, now that there was
but one man to watch, so that Vesey was really as helpless as though
deprived of all his weapons.

"I do not see what is so queer about it," replied Sterry, warmly; "we
heard you coming and moved off out of sight. Before doing so Vesey
pledged himself to stand by me against any of his friends, if it
became necessary, and I promised to do the same for him. The issue
shows that it is my privilege to keep my promise--that's all."

It was plain that Hendricks felt himself in a quandary. He had been
sent out to capture the two men under the supposition that they were
rustlers. It was proved that one of them was the very individual whom
Capt. Asbury was anxious to secure. To release him after taking him
prisoner would place his captor in anything but a pleasant situation
with his leader.

Suspecting his dilemma, Sterry said:

"You can readily arrange it by taking me in as prisoner and allowing
Vesey to go."

"That is all well enough, but it will put me in a hole that I don't
intend to be put in. Capt. Asbury is the boss of this business; you
two can ride up to him and make your report; that will place the
responsibility where it belongs."

This seemed reasonable, but Sterry felt uneasy. He knew the violent
temper of Capt. Asbury, and feared he would refuse to acknowledge
the agreement as binding upon him. On the other hand, Sterry was
determined to stand by his pledge to the last.

"I can't consent to that," he said.

"You've got to," replied Hendricks; "it is idle to suppose that any
such bargain as you may choose to make can be binding on others who
were not present when it was made, and therefore were not parties to
it."

"That is one way of putting it, but the promise is binding on me, and
as true as I am a living man I will fight to the death against you and
the whole party before this person shall suffer because of his faith
in my word."

"Very well, then, fight it is; he has got to surrender to Capt. Asbury
and await what he is willing to do with him."

"Duke," said Sterry, turning to the rustler, "it's two of us against
three, and you and I have been there before."

But on the verge of the explosion the rustler came to the rescue.

"There's no need of any row, Sterry; I'll surrender and take my
chances."

And to settle the dispute he struck his horse into a gallop, and
before the surprise was over rode up to the group, who were gazing
wonderingly off in the gloom, whence came the sound of voices.

Sterry and the footmen were but a brief space behind them. While the
astonished captain and his companions were looking around for an
explanation, Mont Sterry made it in as brief and pointed words as were
at his command.

Capt. Asbury fixed his gray eyes upon the handsome countenance of the
young man during the few minutes he was speaking, and Sterry saw,
despite the forceful terms in which he stated the agreement, that the
leading stockman was angry.

"I've no objection," he remarked, striving to control his voice, which
was tremulous with anger, "if you choose to play the woman, but I
don't see what I've got to do with it."

"Vesey surrendered under my promise that he should be protected; had
he not believed that promise he would not have surrendered."

"But would have been shot down where he sat in the saddle. Had he been
beyond reach and come in under such a pledge, the case would have been
altogether different; but as it is--"

The fateful words were interrupted by a rush and dash. Attention had
been diverted for the moment from the prisoner to the one who was
pleading for him and to him who held his fate in his hands. The
observant Vesey saw the inevitable trend of events, and, taking
advantage of the chance, was off like a thunderbolt.

The parting glimpse showed him leaning forward on his horse, who was
plunging at utmost speed straight away in the gloom. A half dozen
shots were sent after him and something like pursuit was attempted,
but brief as was the start gained it was sufficient, and he was soon
beyond all danger.




CHAPTER XXI.

A MESSENGER IN HASTE.


The daring escape of the prisoner did not tend to improve the temper
of Capt. Asbury, and he indulged in a number of emphatic expressions,
during which Monteith Sterry was dignified enough to hold his peace.

But the leader of the stockmen quickly recovered his self-poise and
accepted the matter as one of the peculiar incidents liable to take
place at any time.

His version of the difficulty with the rustlers differed from that
given by Vesey. They rode up to the house, not knowing who dwelt
there, and were received with a shot, which, fortunately, did no
damage. Duke Vesey was at the rear, near the structure in which the
horses were stabled, when he hurriedly mounted and dashed off, just as
he had recently done. He did not make a fight like his companion, who,
as was represented, stood his ground. He was repeatedly summoned to
surrender, but paid no heed to it, and it became a choice whether to
shoot him down or allow him to empty the saddles.

While Sterry could not feel so well disposed toward Vesey after
hearing this account, he did not regret the part he had acted, and he
was also suspicious that Capt. Asbury had tinged his version with a
little romance.

The incident itself was of small moment, but the consequences were
likely to be far-reaching and important. One of the rustlers had
fallen and his companion had escaped. His story of the fight would
place the blame wholly upon the stockmen and inflame the feeling
between the rustlers and ranchmen, already at a dangerous intensity.

Capt. Asbury was out with his men for the purpose of arresting several
of the most notorious of the offenders against the law. Those rustlers
were sufficiently powerful to make trouble. If they were given time to
organize they could sweep the captain and his little party from the
earth. There was reason to believe they would do that very thing,
now that Duke Vesey was at liberty to spread his account of the last
outrage.

Capt. Asbury held a brief consultation with his men, all, including
Sterry, taking part. The consensus of opinion was that they ought to
effect a junction with some of the larger parties of stockmen known to
be abroad, or withdraw to some safe point like Buffalo, Riverside, or
the nearest military station.

Ira Inman, Larch Cadmus and the others were on the "war-path," and at
no great distance. Morning would probably find them in sight, if the
stockmen should stay where they were.

Capt. Asbury decided to ride to the westward, in the hope of effecting
a junction with friends or of reaching a point where they would be
secure against their assailants.

The night was well advanced, but their horses had done comparatively
little travelling and were capable of a good deal more. The captain
took the lead, holding only occasional converse with his men as he
swung along at an easy pace; but he, like the rest, was on the lookout
for danger, which was liable to approach from any point of the
compass.

A marked change showed itself in the temperature. The weather, as will
be remembered, had been unusually mild earlier in the evening, but
it now became sharp and chilly, as though the breath from the snowy
mountain crests was wafted down upon them.

In a valley-like depression, an hour later, where there was an
abundance of grass, beside a flowing stream of water, the party went
into camp, with a couple of their number on guard, just as they would
have done if in a hostile country--which in point of fact was the
case.

The night passed, however, without any disturbance, and all were astir
before sunrise. The men were provided with several days' rations,
while the succulent grass afforded the animals all the food they
needed, so there was no trouble on that score.

Capt. Asbury and Monteith Sterry mounted their horses and rode to the
crest of the nearest elevation, which was fully 100 feet in height and
commanded a wide sweep of country. The morning was clear and bright,
and the first glance they cast to the northward revealed a stirring
sight. A horseman was less than a half-mile away, and riding at
headlong speed, as if in the extremity of mortal fright.

"What can it mean?" asked the puzzled leader; "no one is pursuing him,
and I see no cause for his panic."

"I suspect," replied Sterry, thoughtfully, "that he is a messenger
bringing important tidings to you."




CHAPTER XXII.

IMPORTANT TIDINGS.


It seemed strange that the messenger, if such he was, should know the
right course to follow in order to reach the camp of Capt. Asbury, for
he was riding directly toward it, and that, too, at the highest speed
of which his horse was capable.

But Monteith Sterry had noted a fact which escaped the captain, though
he was an observant man. The horseman was not approaching the camp at
the moment the couple reached the crest of the elevation and began
scrutinizing the surrounding country; he was going at right angles to
it, but (as it afterward proved) he carried a glass, with which, at
that moment, he was also scanning the horizon for something he was
very anxious to find.

Fortunately he caught sight of the couple, and though he could not be
assured of their identity at so great a distance, the suspicion of
the truth as to Capt. Asbury caused him to put his animal to his best
speed.

In a brief time he rode up. While some rods away he recognized the
captain and saluted him. A little nearer approach and he identified
Sterry, who was astonished beyond measure to discover that he was his
old friend, Dick Hawkridge, toward whose ranch he had ridden on the
preceding evening.

"You're out early, Dick," was the salutation of Sterry, as his old
friend reined up beside him and extended his hand.

"And are riding hard," added Capt. Asbury, who liked the young man.

"I ride hard," replied Hawkridge, gravely, "because there is need of
it; I was looking for you."

"And why looking for me?" inquired the captain.

"Because you and your men are in great peril."

"Ah. What might be its nature?"

"From the rustlers."

"I was trying to persuade myself that it was they who were in peril
from us, but you put it differently."

"It might be as you wish if you had twenty-five or fifty men; but with
less than a dozen, and more than twice that number looking for you,
discretion is the better part of valor."

"Tell me, Hawkridge, how all this interesting information came to
you," continued Capt. Asbury.

"My ranch is not far to the northward, my cattle are ranging among the
foothills of the Big Horn Mountains, and all my hands are with them. I
sat up late last night, going over my accounts and trying to get them
into shape, and it was past midnight when two rustlers rode up. I
supposed they meant to stay all night and invited them in. I have
never had any trouble with them, and they had two purposes in
calling. One was to give me a little advice, and the other to secure
information."

"Their advice, I suppose, was that you cast in your fortunes with
them, and take up the business of branding mavericks and altering
other brands."

"Hardly that, but it was that I should keep out of the trouble, for
there are going to be ugly times. Now you know that, however much I
may wish to let things proceed smoothly, I will never identify myself
with the law-breakers. I gave my callers to understand that, and I
think they respect my position.

"It seems to me," added Hawkridge, thoughtfully, "that there have been
some woeful mistakes made. The Cattle Association have organized
an expedition to rid Johnson, Natroma and Converse Counties of
cattle-thieves, as they call them. They have imported twenty-five
picked men from Texas, every one of whom is a fighter and dead shot,
with Capt. Smith, an ex-U.S. marshal, as their leader. One of the
party may be taken as a type of the rest. He is Scott Davis, once a
guard on the Deadwood coach, and he carries a gun with twenty notches
on the stock, each representing the death of a road-agent or other
outlaw.

"The expedition left Cheyenne some days ago and is somewhere in this
section. Strong as it is, it is doomed to defeat, for I don't care
how brave and skilful those fellows are, they are no more so than the
rustlers, who far outnumber them.

"However, it isn't that which concerns you and me just now, though it
may do so later. The rustlers have learned that you are out with a
small party, and they are after you."

Capt. Asbury was a brave man, and he did not start on hearing this
announcement, for he had been expecting it from the first; but he
was prudent as well as daring, and he knew his young friend did not
underestimate the danger of himself and companions.

"Have they learned anything about last night's doings?" asked Sterry.

"That's what started me off after you in such a hurry. My callers
stayed more than two hours, and were about leaving when who should
ride up but Duke Vesey, with his story of the killing of his comrade,
Jack Perkins, by you and your men."

"I suppose he called it a murder," remarked Capt. Asbury,
sarcastically.

"Yes, the worst kind, too. I knew he was drawing a long bow, but he
will tell it to others, and it will spread like wildfire. He was
looking for Ira Inman, Larch Cadmus and his party. There are more of
them than you and others are aware of, riding up and down the country,
ripe for any mischief. From what I know, Inman and a dozen of the most
desperate rustlers are in the neighborhood, and as the two fellows who
were at my ranch volunteered to help Vesey find them they will do it
pretty soon, if they have not already done so. Vesey declared it as
his belief that you would be discovered not far from his burned home,
so as soon as they left I mounted my best horse and started to give
you warning."

"I appreciate your kindness, Hawkridge; how did you know the right
direction?"

"I knew the course to Vesey's ranch, and was speeding that way when
I caught sight of you and Sterry on the top of this hill. I took a
squint through my glass, was pretty sure who it was, and then came
like mad. I didn't suspect it was you though, Mont, until I almost ran
against you."

"Did Vesey say anything about me?" asked Sterry, with a meaning glance
at the captain.

"He said you had acted like a white man in some dispute, but he didn't
give the particulars and I didn't question him. He is intensely bitter
against the captain and his party, and declares that not one of them
shall get out of the country alive; and, captain, Duke Vesey is a man
of his word."

"Then I suppose I may consider myself disposed of," replied Asbury,
with a laugh.

"Not as bad as that, but it depends upon yourself."

"What do you advise?"

"Start southward at once with your men; if you meet the Texans and
their friends, join them if you choose; it will make their strength so
much the greater, and they need it all. If you fail to meet them,
keep on till you cross the Platte and strike Fort Fetterman. In other
words, captain, you have no business to be where you are."




CHAPTER XXIII.

AT BAY.


Capt. Asbury drew a cigar from his pocket and lit it, first offering
one to each of his companions. He puffed in silence for a minute or
two, evidently absorbed in thought. He was a veteran of the civil war,
and had learned to be cool in dangerous crises.

"Hawkridge," he remarked, removing his cigar, "you are right in the
main, although not wholly so."

"I await correction."

"Doubtless it is all true what you say about the festive rustlers
roaming up and down the land seeking whom they may devour, but you
forget that, leaving out the quarter of a hundred from the Lone Star
State, there are also other bands of stockmen abroad. Now, if we could
effect a junction with one or two of those companies, why, you'll
admit, the aspect of affairs will be changed."

"Unquestionably; but consider how slight the chance--"

"On the contrary, I think the prospect is good. Now, if you'll be kind
enough to level your glass to the eastward, possibly you will observe
something interesting."

Both young men quickly turned their heads in the direction indicated,
and there, sure enough, was descried a body of horsemen, probably a
mile distant, approaching on a gallop.

Hawkridge levelled his glass. While thus engaged, Capt. Asbury
signalled to his men to mount and be ready to move on a moment's call.

It was well to be ready for any emergency.

Dick Hawkridge studied the horsemen closely for some minutes without
speaking. Then, with his eye still at the glass, he repeated slowly,
as if to himself:

"There are thirteen of them, and the spotted horse at the head I am
sure belongs to Ira Inman; the whole party are rustlers."

He lowered the binocular and looked at the captain, adding:

"I suspected it; their party is but a little stronger than yours, for
Mont and I will stand with you, but it seems to me it would be foolish
to risk a fight in the open."

"I am willing to retreat, but I don't intend to be run out of Wyoming
by all the rustlers between Sheridan and Cheyenne. I am willing,
however," he added, with a smile, "to make a strategical movement to
the rear until we strike some place where there's a show for defence;
do you know of any such place?"

"My house is well fitted for that, and is not far off."

"All right; lead on."

By this time the rest of the party had ridden to the top of the hill,
where the situation was quickly made clear to them. They looked off at
the party of rustlers, and several expressed the wish that the captain
would stay and fight them; but he replied that they were quite certain
to get enough of fighting before they were many days older, and he
followed Hawkridge.

At sight of the flight, the rustlers uttered tantalizing shouts
and discharged their Winchesters in the air. At the same time they
increased the speed of their animals; but, as they were no better
mounted than the stockmen, there was little chance of overtaking them.

The surface was undulating, the ground being well covered with verdure
even 

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