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Ted Strong in Montana

by Edward C. Taylor · English · Gutenberg #19951 · 510,705 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Ted Strong in Montana

Author: Edward C. Taylor


        
Release date: November 28, 2006 [eBook #19951]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19951

Credits: E-text prepared by Steven desJardins, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TED STRONG IN MONTANA ***


E-text prepared by Steven desJardins, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/)



TED STRONG IN MONTANA

Or

With Lariat and Spur

by

EDWARD C. TAYLOR

Author of the Ted Strong Stories

1915







CONTENTS

   CHAPTER I.       THE BIG SNOW.
   CHAPTER II.      THE LONG TOM RANCH.
   CHAPTER III.     THE SIGN-CAMP GHOST.
   CHAPTER IV.      THE BIG COON TREE.
   CHAPTER V.       THE PHANTOM LINE RIDER.
   CHAPTER VI.      CAUGHT IN THE ACT.
   CHAPTER VII.     A NIGHT RAID.
   CHAPTER VIII.    THE WAR PARTY.
   CHAPTER IX.      A BATTLE OF QUIRTS.
   CHAPTER X.       SILVER FACE.
   CHAPTER XI.      LOST IN THE WILDERNESS.
   CHAPTER XII.     WHO WHIPPLE WAS.
   CHAPTER XIII.    AN UNEXPECTED GUEST.
   CHAPTER XIV.     CHRISTMAS AT BUBBLY WELL.
   CHAPTER XV.      THE THUGGEE CORD.
   CHAPTER XVI.     A LETTER FROM THE DEAD.
   CHAPTER XVII.    BESIEGED.
   CHAPTER XVIII.   TED SAVES THE HOUSE.
   CHAPTER XIX.     HELEN MOWBRAY'S WILL.
   CHAPTER XX.      KNIFE AND FANG.
   CHAPTER XXI.     'WARE THE GRAY WOLVES.
   CHAPTER XXII.    THE WOLFSKIN.
   CHAPTER XXIII.   BAGGING THE GRAY WOLVES.
   CHAPTER XXIV.    WHITE FANG LEADS HOME.
   CHAPTER XXV.     TED'S INDEPENDENCE.
   CHAPTER XXVI.    A COMPROMISE.
   CHAPTER XXVII.   THE BEEF ISSUE.
   CHAPTER XXVIII.  A SLAP ON THE FACE.
   CHAPTER XXIX.    RUNNING BEAR'S SQUAW.
   CHAPTER XXX.     "THE WOOFER" APPEARS.
   CHAPTER XXXI.    SINGING BIRD'S SECRET.
   CHAPTER XXXII.   A NIGHT CHASE.
   CHAPTER XXXIII.  THE LOCOED STEER.
   CHAPTER XXXIV.   THE BOBWHITE'S CALL.
   CHAPTER XXXV.    A DUEL WITH LARIATS.
   CHAPTER XXXVI.   THE MOTHER LODE.




CHAPTER I.

THE BIG SNOW.


"We're going to have snow to-night!"

Ted Strong, leader of the broncho boys, was sitting on the back of
Sultan, his noble little black stallion, on the ridge of a prairie
swell, looking at a lowering sky.

Out of the northwest a chilling wind, damp and raw, was sweeping
dull-gray clouds before it.

Ted had addressed his remark to Bud Morgan, his chum and able
lieutenant, who threw a glance at the clouds and grunted.

"I reckon we be," he muttered, "an' I'm free ter say I'm dern sorry ter
hear it."

"It's hard luck," resumed Ted. "If we had got away a week earlier, or
hadn't been held up by the high water at Poplar Fork, we would have been
at the ranch now, and settled for the winter."

"Thar's no telling whar an 'if' won't land yer sometimes. If we hadn't
started we wouldn't hev been here at all. But here we aire, an' we'll
hev ter git out o' it."

"Think we better push on, or make camp?" asked Ted.

"Got ter make camp fer ther night somewhere," answered Bud. "But I wisht
ther storm hed held off till ter-morrer this time; we'd hev been within
hootin' distance o' ther Long Tom Ranch."

"Suppose we push on a few hours more. We can camp down in the dark if we
must. If the snow gets deep before ye reach the high ground you know
what it means."

"I shore do. I wuz all through a big snow in this yere man's country a
few years back, an' it wuz some fierce."

"All right. Ride back and drive them up. I'll point. We'll drive until
it gets too dark. Tell the wagons to move up."

Bud wheeled his pony and dashed to the rear of the great herd of cattle
that was coming on at a snail's pace.

The cattle were lowing uneasily. They knew even better than the men that
a storm was coming, and they dreaded it.

This was the big Circle S herd which the broncho boys had bought in
Texas in the spring of that year, and which they had herded and driven
northward throughout the summer to winter on the Montana plateau, later
to be driven to Moon Valley, and there put into condition for the
market.

Various things had delayed the arrival of the herd on their winter
grounds. A detention of several days at a time by flood, by a stampede,
and by fights with rustlers, had brought the cattle several weeks late
to their winter grounds.

Ted Strong had determined to try the experiment of wintering Southern
cattle in the Montana country in order to harden them and improve the
quality of the beef.

The broncho boys had a large order to fill for the government the
following summer, and it was to accomplish their contract that they had
bought the Texas cattle and driven them north to the Long Tom Ranch in
northern Montana.

Now that they were within a few miles of it, and still on the low
ground, it appeared that a big snow was inevitable, which might
frustrate all their plans and cause them great loss.

But Ted Strong did not complain. It was a condition which he could not
have foreseen, and, being close at hand, there was nothing for them to
do but meet it with all the fortitude at their command.

Soon the herd began to move forward, being crowded by the broncho boys
and the force of cow-punchers whom they had employed to assist them.

Stella Fosdick, who, with her aunt, Mrs. Walter Graham, had accompanied
the boys on their drive, now came galloping up to Ted. She had been
riding beside the carriage in which her aunt had been comfortably
traveling.

"Going to keep on, Ted?" she asked.

"Yes. Got to do it. Those clouds are full of snow. If it catches us down
here we're likely to be snowed in, and if we do it's all up with the
Circle S," he replied.

"That's bad."

"Oh, I guess we'll pull through all right, if we can keep the cows
moving; but it is not going to be very comfortable for your aunt or you.
We'll have to drive until the cattle refuse to move farther."

"I can stand it, and aunt will have to. She's getting a little anxious,
though, and asked me to ride ahead to learn when we're going to stop.
Poor auntie likes her comfort. I often wonder why she became the wife of
a ranchman."

"Or why she consents to traipse all over the country with you," laughed
Ted.

"Ted, she absolutely cannot refuse me a thing."

"So I see. You've got her hypnotized--as, indeed, you have all the rest
of us. But ride back and cheer her up all you can. I told McCall, the
cook, to make some good, strong coffee and to serve it to any of the
boys who wanted it, as it will be some time before we can have supper.
Have Mac take her a cup of good, strong coffee and something to eat.
That may make her a little more cheerful."

"I'll do it. But don't you want some coffee, too?"

"Not for me. I've got something else to do right here. This is going to
be a race between the herd and the snow clouds, and it means a whole lot
to us."

"Afraid of being snowed in?"

"You bet. If this bunch of cattle gets snowed in I see our finish. We'll
lose half of them before we get to the grass."

"I don't know a thing about the Northern range, and I can't see how
you're going to bring that herd through to spring. It would take
thousands of tons of hay, and I don't know how much corn to feed them."

Ted laughed.

"I see you don't know much about the North," he said. "But what should a
girl brought up in Texas know of wintering cattle in the snow? You see,
it's this way: Montana is the best winter cattle range in the United
States.

"The winds from the mountains sweep the snow, which is dry and loose,
from the high, level ground, exposing the grass which has been cured on
the ground, and which makes the best kind of feed. Then there is plenty
of water, and the deep coulees, with which the country is cut up, afford
ample protection for the cattle during storms.

"Occasionally there comes warm winds from the northwest. These are
called chinook winds, because they come from the direction of the
country of the Chinook Indians. They are warm and balmy, and melt the
snow as if by magic. Their warmth is caused by having come in contact
with the Japanese stream, which crosses the Pacific Ocean, after being
warmed in the sunny East, and which strikes the shores of North America
along about south Alaska. This stream is called by the Japanese, Kuro
Siwo. It is the equivalent of the Gulf Stream, which leaves the Gulf of
Mexico to cross the Atlantic and warm the shores of Great Britain."

"Quite a lecture," said Stella, laughing.

"I didn't mean to lecture," replied Ted, laughing also, "but I wanted
you to know why it is that it is a good thing to winter cattle in this
north country. In the first place it puts strength and stamina into the
cattle, and makes the beef better, and all the conditions of which I
have spoken make it possible to keep cattle on the open range out here,
where one would think they would perish of cold and starvation. But it
is no picnic to run a winter range, as we will all learn before spring
comes again."

"I understand now, and I'm sure I shall enjoy the experience. But I must
go back to aunt and jolly her up, for she is easily discouraged, and she
is no more used to rough winters than I."

"She'll be all right when we get to Long Tom, for there is a bully ranch
house there, and she'll be as snug as a bug in a rug when we get
settled."

The cattle were going forward over the gentle, rising ground, being
pushed by the punchers in the rear and the fellows on the side lines,
while Ted and Kit were pointing them in the direction of a tall butte,
which they could see in the distance, rising needlelike and black
against the gray sky.

This was Long Tom Butte, after which the ranch, which Ted had leased,
had been named.

Suddenly, Ted felt something wet on his cheek, and looked up. A
snowflake, big and floating lazily down, had struck him.

Others followed it, and soon there were myriads of big, wet snowflakes
falling slowly through the air.

The cattle began to hurry, and were lowing in a distressing way. Their
instinct told them to seek shelter, and they were telling their drovers
as much in their own fashion.

For a half hour the snow continued to come down, wet and soft.

But suddenly the wind changed in temperature. Before it had been raw and
damp. Now it became sharp and frosty.

The snow changed quickly from heavy, wet flakes, to small, dry, sharp
particles, which, driven by a strong wind, which had veered around into
the north, stung the faces of the boys like needles, and worried the
cattle, which seemed to want to lag in their pace.

"Kit, go back and tell the boys to keep pushing harder. The cattle want
to stop, and if they quit now it's all up. There's a blizzard coming. If
we can keep them at it an hour longer, we will be in the lee of the
buttes, and there's a deep coulee into which we can drive and hold them
until morning."

At Ted's command Kit dashed toward the rear, and repeated the order, and
the cow-punchers rode into the herd with shouts and with active lashing
of their quirts, and the beasts picked up their pace again and hurried
forward through the snow, which had begun to whiten the ground.

Kit returned to Ted's side.

"What do you think of it?" he asked.

"If we had an hour more of daylight, I think we could make it," said
Ted.

"Any doubt of it?"

"Well, when it becomes dark we'll lose sight of Long Tom, and we're
likely to drift, because, unless the cattle are driven into the storm,
they'll turn tail to it and go the other way."

"I can't see Long Tom now."

"I can, although the snow almost blots it out. There it is right in the
northwest. I can just make it out. The herd is drifting south of it now.
Better get over on your point, and head them up this way a bit."

Soon the herd was driving forward in the right direction again.

But suddenly the darkness came down like of pall of black smoke,
shutting out everything, and the wind increased in violence, rising with
a howl and a shriek like some enormous and terrible animal in rage.

"It's all off," said Ted to himself, with a sigh.

The cattle came to a stop.

"Keep them going!" shouted Ted, riding back frantically along the line.

The cow-punchers dashed among the animals, shouting and beating them
with their quirts, and managed to get them started again, but it was
only for a short time, for again they stopped, bellowing, the leaders
milling and throwing everything into confusion.

"That settles it," shouted Ted to Bud. "They're going to drift all night
if we don't stop them."

"Dern ther luck, I says," growled Bud. "How fur aire we from ther
ranch?"

"The worst of it is we're right on it. The ranch house isn't more than
three miles from here, and if we could have got there we would have been
all right. By morning we may be ten miles away, if we let the herd
drift, and we'll have a dickens of a time getting the brutes back
through the snow."

"What aire we goin' ter do with the wimminfolks?"

"I'm going to try to get them to the ranch house. You boys will have to
make a snow camp, and hold the herd from drifting at all odds. Don't let
them sneak on you. Keep pushing them from the south. You see, they're
all turned that way now with their tails to the wind. As soon as they
get cold they will begin to move. Don't let 'em do it."

"All right, Ted. We'll do the best we can. You take care o' ther
wimminfolks. So long, an' good luck."

Ted rode back to where Mrs. Graham was shivering in the closed wagon the
boys had provided for her, and Stella was sitting her pony by her side,
trying to encourage her.

Carl Schwartz was the jehu of the outfit, and sat on the driver's seat,
a fair imitation of a snow man.

"Carl, get a move on you. We're going to try to make the Long Tom ranch
house," said Ted. "I'll lead, and you follow. If you lose sight of me,
yell to me and I'll come back. I've got my pocket searchlight, and will
send you back a flash now and then."

Carl was half frozen and would have been pleased to get down and walk
the rest of the distance, but he knew the danger that surrounded them,
and simply yelled back "Yah!" and gathered up the reins for a start.

"Come on, Stella," said Ted. "We're going to try to make the ranch
house."

Without a word Stella followed him, and the little caravan struck into
the teeth of the snow-laden wind, which was now blowing half a gale.

The wagon moved slowly through the snow, which was getting deeper every
minute, and was like heavy sand.

Every few minutes Carl's voice could be heard, and Ted called back to
him.

Ted was traveling entirely by instinct, for it was so dark that he could
not see a foot in front of them.

So they struggled on for an hour, halting occasionally to give the
horses a breathing spell, then drove obstinately forward again.

"We should have been at the ranch house long ago," shouted Ted at last,
pulling in his panting horse.

"Then we're lost, I suppose," shouted Stella in return.

"Looks that way."

"What are you going to do?"

"Stop for the rest of the night."

"I wouldn't. Keep on until the horses won't go any farther."

"All right, if you think best."

On they went again for a half hour more, and Ted was beginning to
believe it was folly to go any farther when his pony stumbled and almost
fell.

In front of them loomed a darkness more intense than before.

Ted scrambled from the back of his pony and led it forward. The pony had
stumbled over the horse block at the very door of the Long Tom ranch
house.




CHAPTER II.

THE LONG TOM RANCH.


Ted and Stella raised such a shout that Carl pulled his horses up just
in time to keep them from trying to climb upon the veranda.

With the aid of his searchlight Ted had found the door and entered the
house, followed by Stella.

In the big, front living room they found a lamp, which they lighted and
looked around.

The house had been left ready for occupancy, and in the great, wide
fireplace logs were piled high ready to be burned.

In a moment Ted had a fire leaping high up the chimney, then hastened
out to the carriage.

Carl had scrambled down from the seat of the carriage, and was so cold
and numb that he couldn't walk, while Mrs. Graham had to be carried into
the house by Ted and placed before the fire to thaw out.

Soon the room was comfortable, and Ted, who had set out on a tour of
inspection, found that the kitchen was well stored with food.

He started a fire, and soon had coffee and bacon cooking.

Outside the storm continued to rage through the night, but all within
was tight and warm, and Stella and her aunt retired to their comfortable
bedrooms. But Ted sat up through the night.

He had considered starting back through the storm to the herd, but
thought better of it, for Bud was perfectly capable of doing all that
could be done with the cattle until daylight came to their rescue.

While daylight was struggling up through the leaden eastern sky the wind
died down as suddenly as it had risen, and the snow ceased falling.

Ted had fallen into a doze in a chair in front of the fire, but a stray
sunbeam coming through a window fell upon his closed eyelids, and he
awoke with a start. For a minute he could not think where he was. Then
the cheery voice of Stella fell upon his ears. Somewhere in the distance
she was singing, and he sprang to his feet and looked about him.

It came to him that he was at the Long Tom, and he remembered having
left the Circle S herd out in the blizzard.

This stirred him to action, and he went back to the kitchen with the
intention of lighting the fire and getting breakfast.

He stopped in the doorway in astonishment. Stella, with her sleeves
rolled to the elbows, was busily engaged at the stove, singing as she
worked.

"Good morning," said Ted. "You beat me to it. Why didn't you wake me up
and put me to work?"

"Hello!" said Stella cheerily. "You looked so tired sitting in that
chair that I thought I'd let you sleep. At any rate, cooking breakfast
is no work for a boy in a house. Get ready. Breakfast will be on the
table in a minute. What do you think I found in the shed behind the
house? A mountain sheep already dressed, and hung up for us. The fellow
who left this house for us certainly was a good one. He knew we'd come
in hungry, and left everything ready for us."

"That was just like Fred Sturgis. He's one of the best fellows in the
world. He's the owner of the ranch. Young New York fellow. Wanted to
spend the winter in the East. That's how I was able to get the ranch.
But I'll bet he'll be back here before the snow melts. You couldn't keep
him off the range for any length of time."

"He certainly has good taste. The house is almost as nice as the Moon
Valley house, but nothing is quite as nice as that."

Mrs. Graham and Carl were roused, and they were soon sitting down to
chops from a mountain sheep and corn bread which Stella had made; and
they all voted that winter life in Montana promised to be a very jolly
thing.

When Ted went outdoors the whole world was simply a glittering waste
where the sun shone on, and was reflected back from the vast field of
snow.

Sultan was in the sheltered corral, and as Ted threw the saddle on his
back he reared and jumped about like a playful kitten.

"Quit your cavorting about, you rascal," said Ted, as Sultan wheeled
away from the saddle with a playful snort, at the same time reaching
around and trying to nip Ted's shoulder with his teeth.

"My, but you're feeling gay this morning," said Ted. "Here, hold still,
won't you? How do you suppose I'm ever going to get this saddle on you
if you don't stand still?"

But the cold weather and the bright sunshine had filled Sultan with
ginger, and he was as full of play as a small boy when he wakes up some
early winter morning and sees the ground covered with the first snow,
and remembers the sled that has lain in the woodshed all summer.

But at last the saddle was on, and then Ted had his hands full getting
into it.

"Gee, but you're skittish this morning," said Ted, giving Sultan a
vigorous slap on the haunch. "But just you wait a few minutes until I
get on you. I'll take some of that out of you."

But when he tried to find the stirrup with his toe, Sultan wheeled away
from him with a little kick that was as dainty as that of a professional
dancer.

But at last Ted made a leap and landed safely upon Sultan's back, and
gave him a slap with the loose end of his rein. The little horse gave a
leap like a kangaroo, and dashed through the gateway of the corral and
across the white prairie, running like a quarter horse.

The herd was nowhere in sight, but in the far distance Ted saw a thin
blue stream of smoke rising in the still, frosty air.

He knew it to be the camp fire of McCall, and that breakfast was going
forward at the cow camp in the snow.

Heading Sultan toward it, Ted rushed on through the stimulating air of a
Northern winter, and soon came in sight of the chuck wagon, and several
of the boys standing around a fire.

As he dashed forward he raised the long yell, which was gleefully
answered, and soon he was at the camp.

This was where he and Stella had started from the night before.

Turning his eyes back in the direction he had come, Ted could see the
smoke rising from the chimney of the ranch house, although the house
itself was hidden behind a swell in the surface of the prairie.

Had he only known it, he might have driven the herd right up to the
ranch house during the night. As it was, he saw now that he and Stella,
with the carriage, had ridden for almost two hours in the night,
traveling in a circle, and by the merest chance had stumbled upon the
ranch house.

"Hello, fellows!" he shouted as he rode up. "Where are the dogies?"

"Oh, to blazes and gone!" exclaimed big Ben, who was trying to thaw out
his boots at the fire.

"Where?" asked Ted anxiously.

"Away off yonder." Ben pointed disconsolately toward the south.

"Are they all right?"

"All right, nothing. They're up to their bellies in snow in a coulee,
and won't stir. They're the sickest-looking lot of beef critters you
ever saw. We've been working with them ever since daylight, then Bud
sent us along to thaw out and get some chuck into us, and hurry back so
that the other fellows could get limbered up some. Find the house?"

"Yes, accidentally stumbled on to it. Bully place, and the womenfolks
are comfortably settled."

"Looks like it," grunted Ben, pointing to the north.

Ted looked in that direction and saw a spotted pony leaping toward them,
and above it a dash of scarlet. It was Stella, riding like the wind on
Magpie.

"Have any trouble with the critters in the night?" asked Ted.

"Did we? Well, I should howl. After you got under way they began to
drift before the wind. We fought them all night, and if we'd let them go
they'd been plumb into Colorado by this time. I don't want any more such
nights in mine."

"That was only a starter, my friend. That was a picnic compared to what
you may have to go up against before the daisies bloom again."

"Chuck!" yelled McCall, beating on the bottom of a griddle with a big
iron spoon.

The fellows left the fire in a hurry and, squatting in the snow with a
tin cup full of steaming coffee and a plate heaped with fried bacon and
griddle cakes, were soon too busy to remember their weariness.

Stella had ridden up, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling with
the frost and the exercise.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" she cried to Ted. "You're a mean thing.
Thought you'd leave me behind, but here I am." She made a little face at
Ted.

"I thought you'd rather stay indoors to-day on account of the cold,"
stammered Ted.

"Well, change your line of thought. There's going to be nothing to keep
me indoors in this country, and don't you forget it. If I've got to stay
indoors, I'll go South."

As soon as the boys had finished breakfast they were ready for another
day's work.

"Come on, fellows," shouted Ted. "Let's hurry to where the critters are,
and send the other boys back. Mac, cook up another breakfast for them."

They were in the saddle in a jiffy, and scurrying toward the south as
fast as their ponies could carry them.

Ted found the herd bogged in a shallow coulee that was filled to the top
with snow, in which they stood up to their bellies, lowing from fright,
hunger, and thirst.

They were packed in a solid mass, and could not get out on the other
side because the wall of the coulee was too steep for them to clamber
up, as they might have done had it not been for the deep snow with which
it was drifted full.

As a matter of fact, though, the coulee had saved the herd from drifting
many miles in the night.

But how to get them out was the question that perplexed Bud, and with
the arrival of Ted he thankfully turned the task over to him.

"Hike for the chuck wagon, boys," shouted Ted, as he came up.

"Well, I should smile to ejaculate," said Bud, "we're as hollow an' cold
as a rifle bar'l. I'll turn this leetle summer matinée over ter you, my
friend, not wishin' you any harm."

"Go ahead and enjoy yourselves," said Ted. "But as soon as you have
filled up and warmed up come back. As soon as we get the bunch out of
this hole it will be a snap to get them near the ranch house. If we'd
only known it, we could have made it in half an hour more last night."

When Bud had ridden away Ted took stock of the situation, and found that
he had a difficult problem to solve.

Under ordinary circumstances it would have been easy to snake the cattle
out of the coulee by roping them around the horns and dragging them out
with the ponies, but it was utterly impossible to do that with a couple
of thousand of them.

While he was looking things over he became aware that Stella had ridden
away. He looked anxiously after her, for he knew her propensity for
getting into trouble when she rode alone. Soon she dropped out of sight
behind a swell in the prairie with a flash in the sunlight of her
scarlet jacket.

Ted was still studying the situation, riding up and down the edge of the
coulee, trying to figure out some plan of rescue, and noting the cattle
that were down, and which were rapidly being trampled to death by the
other beasts, or being smothered by the snow.

The prospect was not a pleasing one to the young cow boss, for he saw
the profits of the venture fading away hourly.

Suddenly a faint, shrill yell reached his ears, and he wheeled his pony
in the direction from which it came.

Stella's scarlet jacket was coming toward him in a whirlwind of flying
snow, and he rushed toward her.

What could have happened to her? He looked in vain for whatever was
pursuing her, and saw that she was not being followed, but was swinging
her arm above her head with a triumphant gesture.

He slowed his pony down, and soon she dashed to his side.

"You fellows are certainly a bright lot of cow-punchers," she exclaimed.

"What's the matter now?" asked Ted gloomily.

"Didn't any of you think of scouting down the coulee?"

"I confess I didn't."

"You ought to be laid off the job for a week."

"Why?"

"You can get those cattle out of that hole in an hour."

"We can! How do you know?"

"The coulee runs out about a mile to the west, and straight to the
north, up a wide swale, lies the ranch house in full view."

"Stella, you're all right. But the cattle are bogged, and they can't
move even down the coulee."

"I believe they can."

"How?"

"When the other boys come back from breakfast all of you jump into the
coulee and tramp the snow down as much as you can ahead of the leaders.
Then start them up."

"Bully for you, Stella; you're a better cow-puncher than any of us."

"No, I'm not, but because I don't know as much about it I go at it in a
woman's way, which is a roundabout way, and nearly always foolish to
look at, but sometimes does the work."

This suggestion had the effect of taking a great load from Ted's
shoulders, for if he did not succeed in getting the herd out before
night they would freeze solid in their molds of snow, and then he would
never get half of them out alive.

Presently Bud and the other boys came winging back from breakfast, and
Ted told them of the plan for releasing the cattle, at the same time
praising Stella and giving her all the credit for the idea.

"Peevish peppers, but I'm a tenderfoot," grunted Bud. "Why in Sam Hill
didn't I think o' that myself? I reckon I'm gettin' too old fer ther cow
business. I ought ter be milkin' cows at some dairy farm."

The boys followed Stella's suggestion, and, leaping into the coulee,
wheeled their ponies about until they had a well-beaten road for several
hundred feet toward the west.

Then, cutting out a bunch of about fifty steers, led by a wise old
fellow, the herd leader, whom they called Baldy on account of the spot
of white hair between his horns, drove them along the path. After
getting the bunch going well, the boys drove them with yells and the
lashing of quirts into the deep snow ahead, and would not let them stop.

Another bunch was driven up, and soon there was a smooth road along the
bottom of the coulee to the open ground, over which the cattle passed to
safety.

Stella's good common sense had saved the herd.




CHAPTER III.

THE SIGN-CAMP GHOST.


As the last of the herd came out of the coulee to the open ground, a
cheer went up for Stella, who blushed rosy-red, and told the boys to
hush.

Then the drive to the big pasture began, word having been sent to McCall
to follow with the chuck wagon.

The big pasture ran north from the home pasture, which was near the
ranch house.

It comprised thousands of acres, and was so high that nearly always it
was free of snow, which the strong winds coming down from the mountains
swept as clear as if a gigantic broom had been used.

Back of the pasture lay a range of low mountains, the Sweet Grass they
were called, in which several high buttes towered like sentinels.

The Sweet Grass Mountains had the reputation of harboring a great many
"bad men," both whites and Indians, who had forsaken the Blackfeet
Indian reservation to the west.

The mountain valleys afforded a splendid protection for the cattle, as
did the numerous coulees with which the country was seamed.

The big pasture of the Long Tom was reputed to be the best winter
feeding ground in Montana. The grass was high and nutritious, and there
were plenty of water holes.

Once on the pasture the cattle scattered into smaller herds, each under
the leadership of a bull, while the steers drifted off by themselves.

All that was necessary to care for the herd was to ride the lines of the
pasture, and keep the cattle on their own feeding grounds, prevent them
from straying, and hunt down the packs of wolves which preyed upon the
weak cows and young cattle.

At stated intervals along the lines of the pasture were cabins, known as
"sign camps," in which the line riders lived.

The first sign camp out of the home pasture was eight miles distant, and
the next was under the lee of the mountains, on the west line.

As Ted directed the drive of the herd to the big pasture, on the south
and west line of which the first sign camp was situated, he cut out part
of the herd and held it back, while the remainder of the cattle went
forward.

At the first sign camp Bud and Carl were dropped, for they were to ride
the line to the north and east from that point.

Bud was glad to get some rest, and with a wave of the hand went on his
way to the camp to await the arrival of Carl, who had ridden back to the
ranch house for his blankets and other supplies.

During the day the chuck wagon, following the instructions of Ted,
stopped at the sign camp, and left a supply of provisions and Bud's
blankets.

Bud looked out the window of the cabin, and saw that the herd was
grazing quietly, for the cattle were very hungry, and as they were safe
for the time being, he rolled himself in his blankets and was soon
sleeping soundly.

He awoke on hearing a fumbling at the door, and sat up.

It was pitch dark, and he had slept nearly all day.

Unlimbering his six-shooter, he called, "Who's thar?"

"Ach, Pud, it's me alretty," came the muffled reply.

"So it's you, Carl. Why don't you come in?"

"Der door open, Pud, please. I my arrums full mit dings have."

Bud sprang from his blankets and threw the door open, admitting a cold
blast and a flurry of snow.

"Ugh!" he ejaculated, with a shudder. "Come in, yer fat wad o' Dutch.
What yer waitin' fer?"

"Someding has my hat stolen off mit my head." Carl's voice expressed
both perplexity and awe.

Evidently something unusual had happened, and Bud put on his hat and
stepped outside.

He had no sooner passed through the doorway than his own hat was
snatched from his head.

He drew his revolver, leaped into the open, and looked about him.

There was no one in sight except Carl, who was standing near him with
his arms full of blankets and bundles.

Carl could not have played the trick on him, and there was not wind
enough to have blown the hat away. Anyhow, it had been snatched from his
head by a hand and not by the wind.

There was something uncanny about this.

It was still light enough to see out in the open, and the snow-covered
ground reflected light enough to have discovered an intruder had one
been there.

Bud ran around the house, but could find no person, and there were no
tracks of a man's foot in the snow.

"Jumpin' sand hills, but that's queer," said Bud, coming back to where
Carl was still standing in the snow before the door, staring about in a
bewildered way. "Gosh ding yer, Carl, I believe yer swiped my hat, an'
if yer don't give it up I'll plant my toe whar it'll be felt
onpleasantly."

"Honest, Pud, I ain't your hat taking," said Carl distressfully. "Vhy, I
my hat losing too, yet."

"That's so, an' yer loaded down with truck. Throw them things inter ther
house an' help me hunt ther thief. Don' be standin' thar like a
sausage."

"Don'd you calling me a sissage," said Carl wrathfully. "I ain't feeling
mooch as having fun mit you now. I bring all dese dings mit der saddle
on, und I lose two or three every dime der pony makes his jumpings, und
get down kvick to pick dem up maype as fifty dimes."

"Oh, all right. Quit yer bellyachin', an' come an' help. We can't get
along without hats. That's a cinch."

Carl retired into the house with his bundles.

"Wow! Stop it, cuss ye," yelled Bud, as Carl came out of the cabin.

"I ain't didding noding," said Carl, backing away as Bud rushed upon
him.

"Yer did, yer fat galoot. Yer pulled my hair 'most out by ther roots."

"I ain't pulling no hairs," Carl persisted.

"Then who done it? Yer ther only person what I can see. It's a cinch
some one pulled my hair."

"Say, Pud."

"What?"

"Let us camp outside."

"What, an' freeze ter death before mornin'? Nixy. Not fer me."

"Ain't you heard about der shack?"

"No, I ain't, an' I don't want ter. What I'm after now is ther galoot
what got our hats an' pulled my hair."

"Ain't you heard about der ghost?"

"Ghost!"

Bud was staring at Carl with his jaw dropped.

"Yah. Dis is a ghost haus, filled mit ghostesses."

"Don't you go making any monkey talks at me. There ain't no sich things
as ghosts. That'll do fer ter frighten kids with, but not fer me."

"Den who tooken our hats, und who your golden locks pulled?"

"That's so. Who took them? Tell me, who put all thet dope about this
bein' a haunted house in ther shell what yer calls yer head?"

"Bill Simms, der cow-puncher vot we picked up on der drive,
informationed me about it. He says a man was kilt in dis shack, und dot
he valks aroundt mit it ven der night cooms."

"That Bill Simms is ther worst liar in forty States. He tried ter fill
me with wild dreams about a feller what rides ther line on this yere
ranch what can stand havin' ther contents o' a six-shooter pumped inter
him, an' it don't feaze him none."

"Yah. Dot's der ghostes vot runs dis shack. I don'd vant ter stay here,
Pud. Please let us camp out in der snow."

"Why, yer doodle, can't ther ghost come out yere jest ez easy ez he kin'
go inter ther house--that is, if he's a sure-enough ghost?"

"Yah, I guess he can. Vat vill ve didding?"

"I don't care what you do, but I'm goin' inter ther shack ter start up
ther fire an' get warm. I don't care what you do, but I'm 'most froze."

"Don't leaf me alone, dear Pud. Please, I imploring you."

"Come on, then."

Bud stepped inside, and, as he did so, he uttered an exclamation of
surprise.

Both the purloined hats lay in the middle of the floor.

"There, didn't I told you?" exclaimed Carl, in an awed voice.

Bud simply stared at the hats.

"Nopody but a ghostes could haf did dat."

Bud looked around the room, and then up at the ceiling.

Then he burst into a roar of laughter.

"Thar's ther ghost," he shouted, grasping Carl by the arm and twisting
him around so that he could see.

In the corner just below the ceiling were two sharp, green points of
light that glowed in the faint radiance cast by the fire, which had sunk
to embers.

"Ach, mutter, save your liddle Carl. It vor der ghostes."

"That ain't no ghost," said Bud scornfully. "Ain't you never hear tell
how ghosts look? They're all white an' long an' skinny, an' when they
walk they carry chains what clanks, an'----"

"Oh, Pud, stop. Don't say it some more. My plood vas chilling now so I
ain't aple to svallow in my troat alretty. I vas so scared as nefer vas
I."

"Yer a cheerful roommate, I must say. See, ther ghost is gone."

"I ain't nefer goin' ter be happy some more. I haf seen a ghost. I vill
die, I am sure."

"Yer kin bet on that ez a shore thing, an' I reckon I will, too."

"Listen!" Carl grasped Bud by the arm with the clutch of despair.

There was a faint and stealthy noise on the roof.

Both stood for a few moments listening breathlessly.

Then they heard a faint, far-away wail, like that of a banshee.

Carl threw his arms around Bud in an agony of fear.

"Dere it iss. Ve are gone. All iss lost."

Again the gruesome wail came to them, this time louder and clearer, and
in a moment or two a hand was at the door. The latch clicked softly, and
the door swung slowly open.




CHAPTER IV.

THE BIG COON TREE.


"Hello, what's the matter with you fellows? Are you going to have a
waltz, or is it going to be a two-step, or a catch-as-catch-can
wrestling match? Perhaps you've suddenly grown very fond of one
another."

It was Ted who spoke, standing in the doorway, laughing as if he would
burst his buttons off, at the strange tableau in the middle of the
floor, Carl clinging to Bud, who was trying to shake him off.

"Let loose o' me," shouted Bud. "Why, ther feller's plumb daffy on
ghosts. He says as how this shack is haunted, an' he's plumb loco."

"Yah. Didn't we just hear der ghostes yell mit der outside?" said Carl,
who had been thrust away from his clutch on Bud, and was standing in the
middle of the floor, trembling like one with the ague.

"Ha, ha!" laughed Ted. "Ghost, eh? It was me calling to the cattle, and
sending them back from the line."

"Yah, aber I seen mit mine own eyes der green ones oof der ghost up in
dot corner, und heart him on der roof."

"Come outside, and I'll show you the footprints of the ghost," said Ted,
leading the way.

Out in the snow by the side of the cabin Ted showed them several tracks,
something like a small hand, which ended at the wall of the cabin.

"That's where the ghost went up," said Ted. "Let's climb the wall, and
see what is on the roof."

It was easy climbing up the log wall, for there were plenty of
footholds.

When they were high enough to look over the edge of the roof, Bud gave
an exclamation of surprise, and then burst out laughing, in which Ted
joined.

But Carl could not see the joke.

"It's a vild cat," he shouted, scrambling to the ground.

"It ain't, neither," asseverated Bud. "It's a bully little ole pet coon.
That's what it is."

He held out his hand, and the coon, making a queer little chuckling
noise, came slowly toward him as he held out his finger, which the
sharp-eyed little beast clasped in its fingerlike paw and pulled.

Bud reached out, tucked it under his arm, and climbed down with it.

"This yere coon was a pet ter ther fellers what rid line yere before,"
said Bud, when they were in the cabin again. "He's been hangin' eround
ever since, an' when he saw us he thought it wuz his ole pardners come
back. He's been taught ter swipe hats an' drop 'em down inter ther house
through ther chimbley hole. That accounts fer it, an' I reckon he's ther
whole ghost."

"Yah, mebbe I dinks so," said Carl, who looked rather sheepish at his
exhibition of fear.

"He's a smart little piece," said Ted. "By the way, Carl, get busy with
the pots and pans. I'm going to stay to supper and sleep here to-night.
I've got the cattle and the boys planted, and it is too far to go on to
the ranch house to-night. Stella and Kit went back an hour ago."

Carl went to work to cook supper, while Bud played with the coon, which
was as full of tricks as a monkey, and kept the boys laughing all the
time.

"A coon is a mighty smart animile," said Bud as they sat down to supper.

"So I've heard," said Ted. "But I've never seen many of them."

"Dere is no such beast in Chermany," Carl put in proudly.

"That's so," said Bud. "Ameriky is the land o' ther free, an' ther home
o' ther coon. Never went coon huntin', did yer, Ted?"

"I never did."

"Well, ye've missed some mighty good fun. Down in Missouri is whar ther
coon grows wild an' independent, an' ther ain't one o' them what's come
o' age what ain't as smart as ary congressman you ever see."

"I've heard something about coon hunting," said Ted.

"It's great down in Missouri. Thar's whar ther coon trees grow."

"Vat such foolishment for?" said Carl, with a sneer. "Coons don't grow
mit trees on."

"Nobody said they could, but they live in trees, yer loony. A ole gum
tree what's holler is ther home o' ther coon. Thar's whar ther best coon
dogs come from, too. Ever hunt coons with a dog?" continued Bud.

"Never did," said Ted. "It seems too picayunish fer me. I like bigger
game than that. Besides, I don't care much fer hunting in the
nighttime."

"Do they hunt mit der coons in der nighttime?" asked Carl, who was
beginning to be interested.

"Shore! That's ther time ter tree 'em. My Uncle Fletcher out in ole
Missou, we ust ter call him ole Unc' Fletch, had four or five coon dogs
that was ther cream o' the coon-huntin' canines in several counties, an'
Unc' Fletch was out near every night chasin' coons."

"Many of them there?" asked Ted.

"Ther country was overrun with 'em. They ust ter eat all ther roastin'
ears o' corn in ther bottom lands, an' git away with more chickens than
ever those that raised 'em did, until it got so that ther farmers said
they was only raisin' corn an' chickens ter keep ther coons fat."

"No money in that."

"Not much. But I wuz goin' ter tell yer what happened ter Unc' Fletch
one night ter show how plenty coons wuz in his section.

"One night he starts out with his best coon dog, Ballyhoo, so called
because he made sech a noise when he treed a coon.

"Bally runs acrost ther scent o' a coon an' takes after it. Unc' Fletch
trails along, an' Ballyhoo stops at a big sycamore tree. But there don't
seem ter be no hole, an' after unc' looks around, an' can't find
nothin', he calls Ballyhoo off, an' they start through ther woods ag'in.

"Pretty soon Ballyhoo scents another coon, an', by jing, it leads them
ter ther same sycamore. About twenty times that night they strikes ther
scent, an' every time it stops at the same tree.

"Now, Unc' Fletch wuz some o' a woodman, an' he says it ain't nat'ral
fer ther dog ter tree so many coons at ther same place, an' wonders if
thar is somethin' wrong with ther dog, if he's gone daffy, er whether
it's jest an onusual smart coon what has gone out jest ter have a joke
by runnin' them ter ther same tree every time.

"While he is contemplatin' thus he is leanin' with his back ter ther
tree. Pritty soon he thinks he'll go home, an' he starts away sorter
disgustedlike with ther night's sport, an', by gee, he finds he's caught
by ther tail o' his coat an' can't break loose.

"He tries ter get away, but he's shore fast. He reaches around, an' ther
tree hez got hold o' him all right, an' bein' some superstitious, Unc'
Fletch begins ter git some scared. Then he ricollects about hearin' the
colored folks talk about the haunted coon tree."

"Coons is ghostes, not?" asked Carl.

"Wait an' you'll hear," continued Bud. "Long about this time, Ballyhoo
begins ter howl in ther most sad an' lonesome way, an' that don't make
Unc' Fletch feel any better. Jest as he's thinkin' about hollerin' fer
help----"

"Why didn't he skin out of his coat, and leave it sticking to the tree?"
asked Ted.

"I ast him ther same question, an' he says as how he was too plumb
scared ter do sich a thing. But jest as he was goin' ter holler he finds
that he's loose, an' all his spunk comes back again.

"Then he begun ter be curious ter find out what it was that held him
fast. He lights a fire an' gets a torch ter examine ther tree, but can't
find nothin' that would hev cotched him thataway.

"But as he's lookin' ther strangest thing happens. Ther tree opens a
crack runnin' all ther way from ther roots up as far as Unc' Fletch kin
see. Ther crack is big ernuff ter put yer finger in, but Unc' Fletch
doesn't do no such fool trick ez that.

"In less than a minnit ther crack closes up ag'in, an' thar ain't no
sign o' it. Now this is some puzzlin' ter Unc' Fletch, an' he hez some
more o' them funny feelin's erbout ghosts, an' them things.

"While he's still watchin' ther tree, ther crack opens again, then
closes an' opens an' closes, same as if it wuz breathin'. This makes
Unc' Fletch some riled, fer he wa'n't never a feller what can stand
bein' made a joke of, an' he thinks ther ghost in ther tree is havin'
fun with him."

"What did he do?" asked Ted, when Bud stopped and looked reflectively
into the fire.

"Well, he starts out ter make a fool out o' ther ghost, if it is a
ghost, er outer ther tree, if it is jest a tree what is triflin' with
him.

"He has his ax with him, fer every real coon hunter always carries an ax
ter chop down ther tree when he finds a coon in it. But he wa'n't goin'
ter chop down this tree none."

"What did he want with the ax, then?"

"I'll soon tell yer. First he chops down a small tree, an' he makes a
wedge with an edge erbout ther size o' yer little finger, an' he waits
until ther tree breathes ergin. Then he slips ther wedge in, an' hammers
it home.

"'Ha, ha!' says he ter ther tree, 'ye'll make monkey-shines with me,
holdin' me by ther coat tails, will yer?' An' all ther time he is
choppin' out another wedge, bigger than ther first.

"As he keeps choppin' out, an' shovin' bigger an' bigger wedges inter
ther crack, he hears noises comin' from ther tree like what he ain't
never heard before. But ther tree is beginnin' ter give out crackin'
noises, too, like as if it was splittin'.

"While this is goin' on Ballyhoo is makin' a terrible fuss, an' jest
tryin' ter tear ther tree down with his claws. At last ther tree busts
plumb open, an' what d'yer think Unc' Fletch sees?"

Neither Ted nor Carl replied. What the tree contained was a thing
unguessable, but Carl's eyes were as big as saucers as he stared at Bud,
awaiting the solution of the mystery.

"What did it contain?" asked Ted at last.

"It was plumb full o' coons," said Bud solemnly. "Thar must 'a' been two
hundred coons in that tree. It was a regular coon hotel. They made it a
sort o' winter colony. Every coon fer miles eround made it home."

"But that doesn't explain the crack in the tree and the strange way in
which it opened and closed."

"That's easy now that yer knows that the tree was holler an' plumb full
o' coons."

"I don't see it yet."

"Why, it wuz like this: Every time them coons drew a long breath it
expanded ther tree so that it opened a crack, an' when their lungs
filled the crack opened wide. Then, when they let out thar breath ag'in,
ther crack closed tight ag'in. Unc' Fletch happened ter lean up ag'in
ther tree jest ez ther crack closed, an' that's how his coat tails got
caught."

"And what became of all those coons?" asked Ted.

"Yer see they got inter ther tree through a hole in ther top. Unc'
Fletch didn't dare leave ther tree alone, so he tied a note ter Ballyhoo
an' sent him back ter ther village fer a carpenter. When ther carpenter
come they put a roof on ther tree an' made a door at ther bottom, an'
let ther coons out one at a time. By this means they got every dodgasted
coon in them woods, an' Unc' Fletch's bounties was enough ter enable him
ter lift ther mortgage on ther farm."

"I guess that will do for to-night," said Ted, laughing. "I'm going to
hit the blankets, for it's up at daylight for all of us. I only hope
your pet coon does not attract so many others as to turn this sign camp
into a coon hotel."




CHAPTER V.

THE PHANTOM LINE RIDER.


For several days the weather remained fine, and the cattle were able to
get accustomed to their new range and become hardened.

The boys at the sign camps took things easy. In each sign camp were two
boys, one of whom rode days, and the other nights, when it was necessary
in bad weather to hold the cattle from drifting.

In order to keep in touch with one another the riders started from their
camps and met midway between, in order to exchange notes as to the
condition of the cattle and other things necessary to the welfare of the
whole herd.

There was another reason for this constant interchange of communication
between the camps.

Ted had received a warning from the town of Bubbly Creek, a small cattle
station, about twenty miles from the Long Tom Ranch, where there was a
cattleman's hotel, a few saloons, and an outfitting store, to look out
for the Whipple gang, which had its rendezvous in the Sweet Grass
Mountains.

Fred Sturgis, in the last letter Ted had received from him, had also
mentioned this gang of thieves and desperadoes, whose operations
extended from Canada, into which they made extensive raids when the
Canadian Mounted Police happened to be out of that part of the country,
as far south as the central portion of Montana.

"I have had considerable trouble with the Whipple gang myself," Sturgis
wrote, "but as yet I have never seen but one member of the gang to know
it. I have had plenty of cattle stolen, and have always attributed the
thefts to the Whipples. All I know about the gang is that it was founded
by a fellow named Whipple, an outlaw on the scout, who attracted to
himself a desperate gang of fugitives from justice who had taken refuge
in the Sweet Grass Mountains.

"I have never seen Whipple himself, but from those who claim to know him
he is described as an enormous man of prodigious strength, and a perfect
brute, who has forced his men into absolute subjection by his acts of
brutality toward them.

"With Whipple are a number of bad Indians, who have fled from the
various reservations in Montana after having committed all sorts of
crimes, from theft to murder. It is said that these are more to be
feared than the white men, for they are terribly cruel, and when they
get a victim he is tortured with all the horrible rites of the true
savage. They know that the moment they are caught that is the end for
them, so that they are reckless to the verge of insanity.

"I tell you these things, believing that you already know what ranching
in northern Montana means, and with every confidence in Ted Strong's
ability to take care of himself, and meet conditions when they appear.
All I can say is, go after them if they molest you. I and my boys fought
them so successfully that they gave us a wide berth toward the end. But
when they learn that new hands have taken hold of the Long Tom they may
think that they can start their funny business again.

"Knowing your reputation, and the ability you have shown in the past in
wiping out, or at least breaking up and scattering, bands of bad men, I
leave the Long Tom in your hands with the hope that when I take it over
again in the spring there will be no more Whipple gang, and that the
Sweet Grass Mountains will be as safe as one's own dooryard.

"A word in your ear about the Sweet Grass Mountains: It is known to a
few men in Montana, and a few others in various parts of the country
that somewhere in those mountains are rich mines of gold and copper, and
at various times men have brought out beautiful and valuable specimens
of sapphires and rubies in the rough, not knowing what they were, having
picked them up solely because they were beautiful and unusual.

"If it were not for the Whipple gang the mountains would have been
opened up to the prospectors long ago. Several prospectors, unheedful of
the warnings, have gone in, but none have ever come out of the Sweet
Grass Mountains.

"Whoever is at the head of the Whipple gang possesses more than the
usual share of brains, courage, and luck. Keep your eye peeled, and good
fortune to you."

This letter had been read to the boys one night in camp, and all were
instructed to look out for strangers on the ranch and to inform
themselves of the business of such.

One night Carl started from the sign camp to ride north to meet the
rider from sign camp No. 2, which lay nearer the mountains.

The camp in which Bud and Carl were stationed was camp No. 1.

The distance between the camps was about six miles, so that each rider
had to go about three miles to meet.

The night was clear and cold, and the air fairly sparkled with the frost
in the brilliant white moonlight. It was a glorious night, and Carl, in
a leather coat lined with fleece, and with a fur cap upon his head, and
his feet in thick felts, started away from the camp on his ride.

There was no wind, but the temperature was very low.

To the north the Sweet Grass Mountains loomed, a black mass against the
sky, while all about the world was carpeted with snow.

Carl had not progressed more than a mile from his camp when he saw a
dark object against the snow some distance in front of him.

At first he thought it might be a bush or a rock, so still it was in the
moonlight.

But he could not remember of ever having seen either a rock or a bush in
that part of the range.

Then he wondered if he was late at the meeting place, and that the other
line rider had got tired of waiting for him, and had ridden forward upon
his line to meet him.

This stimulated him to greater speed, and he pricked up his pony.

But as he got nearer the black blot on the snow there seemed to be
something unusual about it, and he unconsciously slowed his animal down
to a walk.

At last he got within hailing distance, and saw that it was a man on
horseback that he had been approaching.

The man on night duty at the second sign camp was a cow-puncher named
Follansbee, a short, reckless, yet amiable fellow, whom Carl knew well.

The rider who was awaiting him was an unusually large man, and bestrode
an enormous horse. The two were as if they had been carved from ebony,
as they stood silent and absolutely still, outlined sharply against the
dazzlingly white background.

Something inside of Carl began to sink as he went on, slower and slower,
his hand gripping the reins tightly, and holding back on them.

"Vot it is?" he was saying over and over to himself. "Vot it is? Dot is
not Billy Follansbee. Dot man vould make dree times of Follansbee, nit?"

Cold fear was slowly stealing over Carl, and he wanted in his heart to
turn and ride the other way.

But something seemed to draw him forward, and, try as he would, he could
not bring himself to turn back.

The man on the black horse could not be a member of the Long Tom force,
for Carl knew every one of them well, as a fellow will who has camped
with them for months on a cattle drive.

Now Carl was near enough to see the man's face, and he peered eagerly
forward to get a glimpse of it.

Then his heart sank lower yet, for the man's face was as white as the
snow beyond. There were no features; neither nose, nor mouth, nor
eyebrows, only a pair of black eyes gleamed out of that dead-white face.

Carl clutched at the horn of his saddle to keep from falling, he was so
frightened.

"Vot it is?" he kept repeating to himself.

His pony stopped of its own volition directly in front of this black
apparition, and Carl swayed in his saddle and would have fallen out of
it had he not clung to it with the unconscious strength of despair.

"Iss dot you, Follansbee?" asked Carl, in a weak, thin voice, well
knowing that it was not his line partner, but trying to break the spell
of fear that held him.

There was no reply, but the gleaming black eyes never left his own, nor
did the figure on the horse move a hair's breadth.

"Vy don't you say someding?" said Carl, his voice sounding like the
piping noise of the wind through a keyhole. "Speak someding."

Then it suddenly struck Carl that the man could not speak, because in
that white, immovable face there was no mouth to speak with, only those
black, blazing eyes.

"If you can't speak, make motionings," said Carl, in an imploring voice.

The sinister figure on the black horse slowly raised his arm, and
motioned Carl toward him, at the same time swinging his black horse
around and riding toward the mountains.

Chilled to the heart, Carl obeyed the signal, and sent his pony forward.

The man, apparition, demon, or whatever it was, sent his horse into a
gallop, and Carl, with no volition on his own part, followed at the same
speed.

But with the black and menacing eyes of the man with the dead face away
from his own, some small part of courage oozed back into Carl again, and
he remembered Ted's injunction to question every stranger met on the
range, and if he did not give a satisfactory answer to drive him off.

But Carl had not got over the fright the sight of that face and eyes had
thrown him into.

Suddenly his hand came into contact with the handle of his six-shooter,
and a thrill of daring ran through him.

He looked ahead at the back of the man riding only a few feet in advance
of him.

Should he take the chance? He knew that Ted or Bud or any of the boys
would do so. Why not he?

If the man was only human a bullet would soon settle the matter. But if
he should be a ghost or an emissary of the devil, as Carl strongly
suspected, nothing like a ball from a forty-five would do him harm.

This had the effect of staying his hand, and the revolver stopped
halfway out of its holster.

Then Carl thought of the boys, and what they would say if they knew that
he had not nerve enough to pot the enemy when he met him.

Carl was not the bravest fellow in the world, and he was intensely
superstitious.

Again the thoughts of the taunts of the other boys, should they ever
know that he lacked the nerve to take advantage of the moment, came to
him, and he gulped something hard that rose in his throat, and drew out
his revolver.

At that moment the man in black turned and looked over his shoulder, his
dead face gleaming white, out of which shone those terrible black eyes.

The revolver stopped suddenly in its upward course, and Carl's jaw
dropped as he stared in abject fear at that white and expressionless
face.

Then the man in black turned his horrible face once more to the fore,
and rode on.

Something inside of Carl seemed to snap, and a great glow of courage
swept over him. He fairly hated the sight of the grim rider in front of
him, who was taking him he knew not where, and whom he yet dreaded with
all his heart.

Up came the revolver again, and, almost before he realized what he was
doing, Carl was firing, straight at the back in front of him.

The target could not be fairer, that black mark against the snow.

The first ball struck, for Carl heard the thud of it, as if it had
struck and sunk into something soft.

The report of the weapon crashed through the still night, and was
carried far on the frosty air, reverberating and echoing back from the
distant mountains.

But the creature in whose body the ball had lodged did not seem to know
it. The head was not turned, the body did not lurch or sway.

Carl, now blind to everything but the terror that had taken possession
of him, fired again and again until every chamber in his revolver was
empty, pausing after every shot to note the effect.

That every shot was fair he was sure, for he could hear the sound of the
impact of the bullet.

The recipient of the bullets seemed not to know that they had been
fired, for he did not hasten or retard the progress of the horse, nor
did he take any personal notice that they gave him any discomfort.

But when Carl ceased firing he threw his head backward, looking over his
shoulder again, and from that hideous face without nose or mouth came a
gurgling noise that was like, and yet not like, laughter.

The laughter was worse on Carl's nerves than the silence, and he felt
himself grow sick at heart.

How could he expect to fight or escape from a devil impervious to the
balls from a Colt forty-five?

Then, to Carl's amazement and relief, the black horse sprang forward
over the snow so swiftly that it seemed as if it was flying rather than
running, but this probably was due to the uncertainty and the illusion
of the moonlight, and vanished into thin air, leaving Carl staring
open-mouthed.

It was several minutes before Carl regained his senses and knew that he
was sitting with his revolver in his hand, staring into space and seeing
nothing.

Then he rode slowly forward to the brink of a deep coulee.

Here was where he had last seen the phantom rider, for such Carl had at
last come to regard him.

Looking to the bottom of the coulee, Carl saw nothing but snow, where he
had expected to find a dead horse and rider.

"Ach, vot a country," he wailed. "Vy did I effer come to it? Mutter, I
vish you vas here to hellup your Carlos."

Then he heard a groan close at hand and looked about, expecting to see
the phantom rider by his side.

A short distance off lay a black splotch on the snow.

It resembled the prostrate form of a man. Had he, after all, killed his
horrible enemy? Cautiously he rode toward it. It was a man, and not the
phantom, and it looked very much like a cow-puncher, for it was clad in
leather coat and chaps, and there was a belt filled with cartridges, and
in the snow beside it lay a Colt forty-five.

This at least was human, and Carl climbed stiffly from his saddle and
bent over it.

He started back with a cry of surprise.

The man in the snow was his line partner, Follansbee.

That he was not dead was evident, for he groaned occasionally.

It was up to Carl to get him to camp as soon as he could, and when he
tried to raise the insensible form he was stopped by a gush of blood
from a wound in the breast.

But he heard a shot in the distance, then another, and another.

The boys had heard his shots, and were riding toward him with all speed.

Presently he heard the long yell, and in a few minutes Bud Morgan came
dashing toward him at top speed, and soon they were joined by Kit
Summers from sign camp No. 2, and the horror of the night was over for
Carl.




CHAPTER VI.

CAUGHT IN THE ACT.


Follansbee was carried to camp No. 2, where Bud, who was a pretty good
cow-camp surgeon, examined his wound. A ball from an automatic revolver
had struck him in the breast, but on account of the thickness of the
clothing he wore, and the fact that he had on a heavy vest of caribou
hide, in the pocket of which he carried a small memorandum book, the
ball had penetrated only a short distance.

While he had lost a lot of blood, and the shock of the ball striking had
caused him to lose consciousness, he was not seriously hurt.

It did not take Bud long to extract the bullet and stanch the flow of
blood, and Follansbee opened his eyes and looked about wildly.

"Where is he?" he cried in terror.

"Whar's who?" asked Bud.

"The man what didn't have no face," cried the cow-puncher.

"Carl chased him avay alretty," said Carl, bending over his partner.

"All right, Carl. You saw him, too, did ye?"

"Sheur I sawed him, mit mine own eyes."

"Then it's all right," murmured Follansbee, sinking back on his bunk. "I
wuz afeared the boys wouldn't believe me if I told them what I saw."

When Follansbee sank into a deep sleep, due to his weakness from loss of
blood, the three boys sat before the fire while Carl told of his
encounter with the faceless man, and of the six shots which he had fired
at him and the ineffective bullets which had struck his body.

As the story was told a hush fell upon Bud and Kit. They were deeply
affected by the fact that this unknown and terrible menace was upon the
range which they were compelled to patrol, and which not even the balls
from a heavy weapon could kill.

"I would hardly have believed it if both of you hadn't seen the
creature," said Kit. "It sounds too much like a pipe dream."

It was morning before Bud and Carl left Kit's camp and rode to their
own. Follansbee was apparently all right, and exhibited no symptoms of
fever, for he had the iron constitution of a seasoned cow-puncher, who
almost invariably recovers as if by magic from a gunshot wound if the
missile does not penetrate a vital spot or splinter a bone.

Follansbee, when he awoke from his sleep, told Kit of his meeting with
the "man without a face," as he called the man who had given him his
wound.

"I wuz ridin' at a pretty good clip along the line to meet Carl," he
began, "when I see a feller standin' waitin' for me by the deep coulee,
about three miles south.

"At first I thought it wuz Carl, but soon I see that it wuz too big fer
the Dutchman.

"I slowed down a bit, fer I saw it wasn't any o' our outfit. Ye see I
had in mind what Ted said about that Sweet Grass Mountain gang, an' I
wuz some skittish.

"As I rode along slowly the feller on the black hoss made a sign as if
he wanted me to foller him. But I didn't like the stunt, so I stops
still an' rubbers at him.

"Two or three times he makes his motions, an' I don't do nothin' but
shake my head.

"Kit, that wasn't no human bein'. It wuz ther devil as sure as shootin'.
I started to draw my gun, but shucks, I ain't got no chanct ter make a
move before thar was a crash, an' a blaze o' flame come from his chest,
right about the middle, an' I felt the ball strike me, I heard a queer
sorter laugh, like a man bubblin' with his mouth in a basin o' water,
an' then I went out, an' all I remember wuz fallin' out o' the saddle."

About noon of that day, Ted and Stella rode over from the ranch house on
a tour of inspection, and stopped at Bud's camp, where they were told
the story of Carl's strange encounter with the man without a face, to
which he listened in troubled silence.

When Carl was through with his story, Ted looked for a long time into
the fire without saying anything.

"Well, what do you think?" asked Stella, at last.

"I think it is the work of the Whipple gang," answered Ted.

"But why should they shoot Follansbee?"

"It is a piece of intimidation. Of course, they do not know us. Under
ordinary circumstances an apparition like that, followed by the shooting
of a man, would cause a panic among ignorant men on a ranch. It is a
cinch that the Whipple gang has got it in for us, and this is just the
beginning of it. You will soon see other evidences of their work."

"But why should they hev it in fer us?" asked Bud. "We ain't never done
nothin' ter them."

"I don't know, but I have several ideas."

"What are they?"

"There are two or three things to be considered. In the first place they
have it in for the ranch on general principles. You know Fred Sturgis
said in his letter that he and his boys had driven the gang away from
the ranch. That is reason number one. Then we are strangers in this part
of the country, and they have seen us and have us sized up for a lot of
boys, and, therefore, easy marks for them. Again, we have a big bunch of
cattle, which Whipple and his bunch think we will not be able to protect
against them.

"They may have learned that we are deputy United States marshals. That
is enough to condemn us in their eyes. They are all old and fugitive
criminals, and if we knew them I think that we would find that they are
all wanted in one or more of the States and Territories, and that the
aggregate amount of rewards which have been offered for them, dead or
alive, would amount to a neat sum. They do not need marshals in this
part of the country. There may be other reasons why they will make war
on us, which we will learn later, but the ones I have mentioned are
sufficient for them to make themselves very troublesome."

"So you think it is war, eh?" said Stella.

"I do, and I think that you will be a shining mark for them when they
learn that you are here. For that reason I would warn you to be very
careful where you go about the ranch, and especially ask you not to ride
about alone, and to keep away from the mountains."

"Oh, dear, and just when I had planned to explore those mountains from
one end to the other," said Stella, with a pout.

"Can't help it. You know what would happen if they should catch you and
spirit you off as Shan Rhue did in the Wichita Mountains."

"Yes, I know, I'm a lot of trouble to you, Ted, but you know I don't
mean to be."

"Of course I know it, but if you run into danger, and expose yourself to
the attack of those who are avowedly our enemies, you run the chance of
being caught, and then, of course, it is our duty to get you out of
trouble."

"Well, I'll be good."

"The attempted killing of Follansbee was no accident," continued Ted.
"It was the work of an exceedingly shrewd man, who knows the moral
effect of his strange and mysterious appearance."

"Ain't it a ghost?" asked Carl, who had become all swelled up at the
thought that he had made a ghost run away from him.

"I should say not."

"Den vy shouldn't mine bullets haf killed him?"

"I'm sure I don't know. That is why I say that he is a remarkably clever
man, and it is probably the cause of the power he wields that he is able
to do such things. It wouldn't surprise me any if some day we learned
that your visitor was none other than the renowned Whipple himself."

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Stella.

"What can we do? We wouldn't know a single member of the gang if we were
to meet him. We don't know where they hang out, and if we did we know
nothing about the Sweet Grass Mountains, and could not go to where they
are. All we can do is to watch the ranch house and the cattle as a cat
watches a mouse, and if anything more, such as the shooting of
Follansbee, occurs, we will have to go on the warpath ourselves. But I
don't want to do that. We are out here to winter feed our cattle, and
not to fight."

"Shore enuff, but yer kin bet yer breeches I'm not goin' ter let no cave
dweller or brush hider tromp onto my moccasins, an' turn ther other
cheek ter be tromped on. Ther first feller o' that outfit I cotch sashay
in' around me I'm goin' ter take a crack at him."

"Go as far as you like when it comes to an act of aggression on the part
of one of them, but don't start anything, Bud, unless you can positively
bring it to a successful end."

"I reckon I'm some of a fox myself. They ain't set no trap what I've put
my paw inter yet."

Ted and Stella rode on to Kit's camp to see how Follansbee was getting
on, and found him doing nicely, but Stella laughed at the bandages Bud
had put on the wounded cow-puncher, and insisted on redressing the
wound.

Stella was a master hand at bandaging, because she was deft of hand and
was naturally sympathetic.

When she had finished with Follansbee, and had sewed his bandages so
that he could not rub or drag them off, he said he felt a hundred per
cent better already.

Then they proceeded toward the mountains, where the third camp, under
the direction of Ben Tremont, was situated.

It was almost the dying of the day when they left Ben's camp. He had not
heard of the attack on Follansbee, and Ted made it an occasion to warn
Ben against the attacks of the Whipple gang, as he was in the most
exposed place, being so near the mountains.

When they turned their ponies' noses toward the south again it was to
ride through a part of the herd.

Ted noticed that the cattle were feeding well and that there was plenty
of good, rich, well-cured grass, and that it was free of snow in big
enough patches to give the cattle ample room to graze.

As they were riding along Stella drew rein.

"What's the matter with that steer over there, Ted?" she asked, pointing
to a steer that was dragging one of its hind legs.

Ted looked at the steer in question, which was moving slowly forward.

"See, there's another," cried Stella. "Why, I can see a dozen of them
all limping in the same manner."

"That's strange," said Ted. "I wouldn't think anything of it if only one
steer had gone lame, but I can't understand a dozen."

They rode slowly toward the lame steers.

"Great guns," exclaimed Ted, bending low in his saddle to examine the
steers closely.

"What is it?" asked Stella excitedly.

"This is terrible," said Ted. "If this keeps up we might as well shoot
all the cattle and let them lie out here on the prairie the prey to the
wolves. We will never get them back to Moon Valley."

Stella looked at him with an expression of consternation on her face.

"These cows and steers have been hamstrung," said Ted, with a tone of
suppressed rage in his voice. "Any man who would do a trick like that
ought to be shot down in his tracks like a mad dog."

"Hamstrung! I don't understand."

"Some inhuman brute has ridden up behind these crippled animals, and
with a sharp knife has cut the tendons or leaders behind the hoofs, or,
rather, in the ankles, laming them and preventing them from being able
to follow a drive. Where would we be in the spring if any large portion
of our beasts were so maimed?"

"What a brutal thing to do!" exclaimed Stella, in indignation.

"Hello, what's that?"

Ted rose in his stirrups, standing and shading his eyes with his hand
against the glare of the setting sun on the snow. With the other hand he
was pointing off toward the east, where the cattle were milling
uneasily.

"Something wrong over there," said Stella.

They rode slowly in that direction to see what was disturbing the
cattle.

As they went, Ted was looking for other hamstrung beasts.

"By Jove! this is getting worse and more of it," he exclaimed. "See
there! That steer has had the tendons of his leg cut to-day. The wound
is fresh. It has hardly stopped bleeding. I wonder----"

But before he had finished the sentence he applied the quirt to his pony
and was dashing through the herd, with Stella close behind.

He had seen something strange and out of the way in the milling herd,
and while he thought he knew what it was he could hardly believe that it
could be true.

As he rode he drew his revolver, and broke it to see that its chambers
were filled.

Ted's face was pale and stern, and Stella saw at a glance that he was
terribly angry, and had the look in it that she had observed there
several times when he had seen animals being used with cruelty.

As he dashed into the milling herd he gave a cry of rage.

At the same moment a man sprang to an upright position in the midst of
the cattle, and gave a cry of surprise.

Over his shoulders hung the fresh hide of a cow, with the skin of the
head and the horns protruding above his head.

He gave one swift glance at Ted, then threw the hide to the ground and
set out at a run through the plunging beasts.

Ted was hampered by the cattle getting in his way, and was not making
much progress, but he was beating the horned beasts aside with his
quirt.

It was possible even yet that the man who was running from him would
escape, and this was what Ted was trying with all his might to prevent.

Ted knew why the man was among the cattle protected from them by his
disguise of the cow's hide.

He had been hamstringing them by the wholesale.

In one day the inhuman brute could destroy for range use a whole herd.

In the meantime, the cattle were growing wilder and wilder from the pain
caused by the hamstringer's knife, the wild career of the unmounted man
among them, and Ted and Stella pressing through them from the rear with
shouts and cracking quirts.

"Great Scott! They'll get him!" shouted Ted, reining in his pony.

The furious steers had turned their attention to the man on foot, and
were surging about him with angry bellowings, charging upon him, and
crowding him.

He was in a very perilous position, and it was only that the cattle were
herded so close together that he had not gone down sooner.

But once the cattle got him down he would be gored and trampled to
death. Nothing could save him.

Ted and Stella were trying to force their way to his side, but were
unable to do so.

Notwithstanding the fact the fellow had been caught in the act of
mutilating his cattle, Ted could not see him die without trying to save
him.

Now they heard a cry of fear, and saw the man throw his arms up in the
air.

The cattle were surging about him with wild and angry bovine cries, and
with a great tossing of horns, and leaps into the air.

There were muffled yells of agony from beneath the tossing mass of
horns.

"They've got him," muttered Ted. "They are wreaking their own revenge."

"Are they killing him, Ted?" asked Stella.

"They have got him down. The fool he was to go among them on foot. He
should have known better."

Ted made another effort to get through the cattle, and at last succeeded
in making a lane for himself.

"Stella," he shouted over his shoulder, "you stay where you are! This is
nothing for you to see. Better let me attend to this."

Stella was aware that Ted always knew what he was talking about when he
warned her away from anything, and she made her way out of the herd.

When Ted got to the spot where he had last seen the man, the cattle were
still milling, but were getting calmer, and had no hesitancy in
scattering when he rode among them slashing right and left with his
quirt and firing his revolver over their heads.

When he had cleared an open space he rode back into it, and instantly
recoiled from the sight presented to him.

On the ground lay the hamstringer, a mass of bloody clothes in which
were torn flesh and broken bones. He was quite dead, and had been not
only gored but had been trampled hundreds of times.

The vengeance of the maimed animals was complete.




CHAPTER VII.

A NIGHT RAID.


Ted bent over the mangled body of the hamstringer and turned him over.
Then he leaped back with an exclamation of horror.

He had recognized the miscreant.

It was Sol Flatbush, the traitorous cow-puncher, member of the gang of
cattle rustlers and gamblers headed by Shan Rhue, who had run off about
five hundred head of cattle of the Circle S brand into the Wichita
Mountains in Indian Territory.

But how had Sol Flatbush got into this part of the country? And where
was he stopping? It was evident that the cow-puncher and desperado had
hamstrung the cattle out of revenge for having been discovered and
driven out of the broncho boys' camp.

Now that he was dead, however, Ted lost all his resentment, and was
genuinely sorry for the poor chap because of the horrible means of his
death.

Ted hardly knew what to do with him. It were better if his friends could
take charge of his body and bury it, but where were his friends?

Suddenly a thought occurred to Ted. Perhaps Sol Flatbush, following his
instincts and habits, had come north after he and Shan Rhue had been
outwitted by the boys at the Hole in the Wall in the Wichita Mountains,
and allied himself with the Whipple gang in the Sweet Grass Mountains.

If this were true, the simplest thing to do was to send the body of
Flatbush to the gang. It would serve, Ted hoped, as a terrible warning
to the other members of the gang not to meddle with the affairs of the
broncho boys.

Not far away Ted saw a pony, saddled and grazing quietly.

Mounting his pony, he rode up to it. Tied to the cantle of the saddle
was a pair of blankets.

This was the very thing! Ted carried the blankets to where the body of
Flatbush lay. Spreading them out, he rolled the remains of Flatbush into
them, and bound them securely with a rope.

With some difficulty he lifted the bundle to the back of the outlaw's
pony, and bound it securely with a lariat.

Then he tied the pony's reins to the horn of the saddle, gave the beast
a slash with his quirt, and it started, snorting and jumping, toward the
distant mountains.

Thus was the body of Sol Flatbush sent to his friends.

"What was it?" asked Stella, when Ted, having finished his gruesome
task, returned to her side.

"The chap who was mutilating the cattle is dead," he replied. "The bulls
turned upon him and gored and trampled him to death."

"Horrible! Do you know who he was?"

"Yes, I recognized him."

"Is that a fact! Who was he?"

"An old enemy of yours."

"An enemy of mine! I didn't know I had one."

"Not really of your own, for no one who knows you could feel any
animosity toward you, Stella. But you have enemies through me. Those who
would seek to hurt me do so by making trouble for you, knowing that they
can hurt me worse by injuring you than they could by torturing me
personally."

"That's why you have so often warned me to be careful where I go alone."

"That is why. It is not fair that you should be put to discomfort or in
danger of death merely because I make enemies by trying to force men to
obey the laws."

"I understand. But who was the man who was killed?"

"Sol Flatbush."

"Sol Flatbush! How does it happen that he is in this country?"

"I'm sure I don't know, unless he and Shan Rhue, after escaping from the
Wichita Mountains, came directly here, having previously been members of
the notorious Whipple gang."

"Then I suppose we shall see Shan Rhue one of these days. Ted, I'm
afraid of that fellow. When they had me in the Hole in the Wall I heard
him make the most horrible threats against you."

"Threats don't hurt, Stella. The threatened man lives long. You know the
old proverb: 'The man I most fear is he who says nothing, but smiles in
your face while he is planning to stab you in the back.'"

They were turned toward the ranch house, and as darkness was falling
swiftly, conversation was suspended as they put their ponies to their
highest speed, galloping across the snow-covered range toward where they
could see the lantern of the house shining like a beacon through the
gloom.

For the safety of the boys and the cow-punchers traveling toward the
ranch house in the dark, Ted had placed a large lantern on the top of
the flagstaff which stood in the front yard, so that it could be seen
for miles at night to guide wanderers.

This had been suggested by his experience the first night they had spent
at the house.

Those of the boys who were not riding line were stopping at the house,
and they were all in the big living room awaiting the coming of Ted and
Stella.

When Stella was late in arriving at the house, Mrs. Graham began to grow
anxious and worried, and this was communicated to the others.

But when they heard Ted's ringing yell outside, as he and Stella
galloped up, there were shouts of gladness inside, and the big door was
thrown open, allowing a broad path of light to fall across the prairie,
as two cow-punchers came bounding down the steps to take the ponies to
the corral.

After supper Ted told of the maiming of the cattle and the death of Sol
Flatbush.

It was part of the life at the ranch that bad news of any sort was never
told at the table during meals, and if any of the fellows had a
grievance or was in trouble he tried to keep that fact out of his face
and look as merry as he could while the others were eating. If he wanted
to tell his troubles later, and any one was willing to listen, all right
and good, but mealtime was glad time where the broncho boys and their
friends sat down together.

While they were sitting before the great fireplace after supper, Clay
Whipple was looking into the flames with a preoccupied air.

He had been silent all evening, an unusual thing for him, for usually he
injected humorously dry comments into general conversations.

"What's the trouble, Clay?" asked Stella, who was always the first to
notice when one of the boys was not his usual self.

"Oh, I don't know," said Clay uneasily.

"Reckon he's worryin' some on account o' this yere mountain bandit bein'
ther same name as him," laughed a cow-puncher named "Pike" Bander.

"I reckon you're only joshin', Pike," said Clay quietly, but growing a
shade paler.

"Why, shore, Clay. Yer didn't think I wuz in earnest?" Pike hastened to
say.

Clay's Kentucky blood would not permit him to receive without resentment
any reflections against the South or the people of his family, while he
could stand any amount of personal joshing without growing in the least
touchy or angry.

"Then what's the matter?" asked Ted, as Clay returned to his gloomy
contemplation of the fire.

"I'm worried some, that's all," was the reply.

"Tell your troubles to the policeman, that's us."

"Well, I might as well out with it. Only I don't want to appear as if I
was gettin' panicky over nothing."

"What is it, Clay? You are so provoking when I am just dying to hear
about it," cried Stella with a laugh. "Out with it."

"Injuns!" said Clay explosively.

"Indians!"

Every one around the fire sat up with a jump.

Clay nodded his head slowly without taking his eyes from the fire.

There was silence for a few minutes, for every one was turning this new
menace over in their minds.

The danger from Indians in this far-away Northern country was very real.
It was not that the Indians would make any open or daring attacks, but
that they were lawless and fearless of the authority of the United
States, and despised the "buffalo soldiers" at the near-by army posts.

"Buffalo soldiers" is a name of contempt given by the Indians to the
negro troops who had been stationed near the Blackfeet and Crow Indian
agencies, on account of their curly, woolly hair, which, in the
fantastic minds of the Indians, resembled the short, curly hair on the
shoulders of the buffalo.

The negro troops were too near their own color to demand much respect
from the Indians.

But the danger did not come so much from the reservation Indians, as
from the fugitive Indians who had left the reservations and had become
outlaws, allying themselves with the white bandits in the mountains, and
living by thievery from the ranchmen and sheep-herders.

Some of these Indians had rallied around Running Bear, a young
Blackfeet, son of a chief, a graduate of the Indian School at Carlisle,
in Pennsylvania.

Running Bear was a young fellow of magnificent physique, for he had been
a member of the famous Indian football team of Carlisle that had a year
or two previously cleared all white teams from the gridiron.

Running Bear was well educated also, and a man of fine address and
manners, when he wished to be so. But he was unprincipled, and when he
returned to the tribe lost no time in breaking all the laws imposed by
the United States for the government and welfare of the Indians.

This brought him into conflict with the Indian agent, and certain
penalties were imposed on him. This he would not stand, and soon
persuaded other of the young men of the tribe to mutiny against the
agent.

This led to further trouble, and after committing some unforgivable
offense against the United States, Running Bear rallied his young men,
and they fled the reservation and the ways and protection of the white
men, and took to the mountains, where they lived by raiding the ranches
in the neighborhood, and maintaining a sort of defensive partnership
with Whipple's band of white outlaws.

After a silence, during which every one was turning these facts over in
his mind, Ted turned to Clay, and said:

"What about the Indians, Clay?"

"I saw their tracks."

"Where?"

"In the coulee back of the house."

"Near the house!" exclaimed Ted. "That's getting pretty close to home.
Did they see you?"

"I reckon they did. I took a shot at one of them, an' he left a red
trail in the snow."

"That's bad, Clay. You shouldn't have shot at him."

"Shouldn't, eh? Well, you never saw a fellow from ole Kaintuck that
would stand up an' let a man shoot at him without sending his
compliments back--if he happened to be packin' his gun at the time."

"Did they shoot at you, then?"

"One of them did. It was like this: I was ridin' in from the west, where
I had seen a small bunch of strays which I turned back to the main herd.
As I was comin' up to the big coulee I saw something move against the
snow. At first I thought it was a grouse, and was just going to take a
shot at it when I looked again. Then, by jinks, I saw that it was the
head of an Indian shoved up over the edge of the coulee.

"His back was turned to me, and he was watching the house. I pulled in
my pony and kept my eye on him for several minutes.

"Then I saw Mrs. Graham come out of the house and stand for a moment on
the back porch.

"The Indian rose up and brought a rifle to his shoulder. At that I let
out a yell, and he turned to me like a flash, and pulled his trigger.
But he was in too much of a hurry, an' the ball whistled over my head.

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

"Was he the only one?" asked Ted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But what was that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ted went swiftly to his side.

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

Ted looked sharply.

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

Ted heard a rustling noise behind him and turned.

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

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

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

His voice rang out in the old Moon Valley yell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ted whistled, and Sultan trotted to his side.

The ponies had scattered, and the corral was empty.




CHAPTER VIII.

THE WAR PARTY.


The Indians had fled in every direction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a sign of the marauding Indians had they seen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it was up to him to mount.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ted had been riding an hour without crossing a track.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ted read the symptoms instantly.

"He smells Indians," he muttered to himself.

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

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

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

He heard a noise behind him, and wheeled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was fortunate for Ted also.

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

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

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

The Indians were in full pursuit, yelling like madmen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Halt!" Ted Strong had stopped his pony, and with his hand shading his
eyes, was looking steadily to the front.

"What is it?" asked Ben, riding to his side.

"Smoke over the top of that hill right in front of us."

Ted did not take his eyes from the spot.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "The bunch of Indians who chased me have taken
a short cut and beaten us in. I saw a band of Indians cross in front of
us, and one pony carried double."

"Then we have caught up with them."

"I think so. Hold the boys here, I'm going forward to scout. When I
signal, come forward as fast as you can ride."




CHAPTER IX.

A BATTLE OF QUIRTS.


Ted turned Bingo over to one of the boys to care for, and crept forward
stealthily toward the hill behind which he had seen a thin thread of
blue smoke rising in the still air.

No one but an Indian or a trained scout would build so small a fire. A
tenderfoot would have made one that roared and sent a vast cloud of
smoke toward the sky to attract any enemy that might be in the vicinity.

But an Indian builds his fire in a space not much larger than the hollow
of his two hands, and manages to send up smoke that only a trained eye
could detect, and at the same time have heat enough with which to warm
himself and cook his food, with as little fuel as possible.

As he went forward, Ted was surprised that he came upon no sign of a
camp guard.

The Indians evidently thought that the boys would not have the courage
to follow them into their own country, and had grown careless.

So much the better. It would give him a chance to learn how they were
situated before making an attack.

He crept on his hands and knees to the ridge of the hill, and, removing
his hat, peered over the edge.

Below in a small valley he saw about fifty Indians, who, from their
dress and their manner of painting their faces, he knew to be of various
tribes.

He easily recognized in the band several Blackfeet, six or seven Crows,
some Sioux, who had come far north, and to his astonishment a few
Southern Indians, such as Caddos, Cheyennes, and Comanches.

This alone was enough to convince him that the Indians were outlaws and
renegades, and that they were plunderers and thieves, as well; probably
murderers hiding out from the United States troops.

In the circle about the fire he soon discovered the young fellow whose
pony he had shot beside the frozen stream.

The young Indian, for he did not appear much older than Ted himself, was
holding forth to a number of other Indians.

Probably he was boasting of his pursuit of the white boy, and the
unfortunate mishap that brought down his pony and prevented him from
bringing a white captive into camp.

Not far away from this group Ted observed a man dressed in Indian garb,
who yet did not act like the other Indians. An Indian has a peculiar,
slouching walk, while this man strode about with the smarter, quicker,
springier tread of a white man.

Presently the supposed Indian drew from his belt a pouch of tobacco and
some cigarette papers, and proceeded to roll a cigarette.

Northern Indians do not roll cigarettes; they smoke pipes. It is only
the Indians of the Southwest who take their solace from tobacco through
the little homemade paper tubes.

"That's a fellow who has been a cow-puncher," said Ted. "He's a white
man disguised as an Indian. Probably one of the Whipple gang. I've got
my opinion of a white man who will play Indian, and live with the dirty
scoundrels," said Ted to himself, with disgust.

He had seen all that was necessary, and had laid his plan of attack in
his mind.

Creeping down the hill, he threw his hand in the air as a signal for the
boys to come to him, also signaling for silence.

In a few minutes they were by his side, and, while one of the fellows
held Bingo safely, Ted sprang into the saddle.

"Now, fellows, we're going to ride around the end of this hill and plump
into the Indian camp. The snow will deaden the hoofbeats of the ponies,
but keep as still as possible. We'll surprise them, and probably be able
to settle the whole thing without firing a shot. But don't bet on it,
and keep your hands on your guns, but don't fire until they make the
first crack, then rush them and drive them into the hills, and bring
down all you can."

With this advice they rode forward by twos, Ted and Ben in the lead.

It did not take long to round the hill, and then, as suddenly as if they
had opened a door and stepped into a room, they were in the midst of the
Indians.

No such surprising and sudden attack was ever made. The Indians stood as
if they were carved of wood as the boys rode up to them, staring
open-mouthed.

Only one of them made a break--the young Indian whom Ted had dismounted.

For several moments not a word was said.

Ted saw instantly that the broncho boys had all the best of it, and that
the Indians had been taken completely by surprise, for not one of them
was armed. Their rifles and guns were either still on their saddles, and
the ponies were standing some distance away, or they were stacked beside
a ledge of rock twenty or more feet from the fire, where most of them
were congregated.

The young fellow whom Ted had foiled stared for a moment with a look of
contempt and dislike.

Suddenly he made a rush to where the guns were standing.

"Stop!" Ted's voice rang out sharply. But the youth continued to run.

"Stop, or I'll kill you!" shouted Ted again.

Then an old Indian cried out something, in the tongue of the Blackfeet,
and the young fellow halted suddenly and came walking back with a sickly
look on his face.

The old Indian who had stopped the youth now stepped a little ways
forward, and, holding up his hands in a peace sign, began to talk.

"You are my brothers," he said, "and Flying Sun, the medicine man,
welcomes you to our camp."

Ted held up his hands in a sign of peace also, but said nothing.

"He's a darned old hypocrite," said Ben, in an aside to Ted. "He has
murder in those little red eyes of his, if ever a man had."

"I'm on to him," said Ted. "Keep your eyes on that bunch, and give it to
them if they start anything treacherous."

"My white brothers come with peace for their red brothers. Join us at
the fire. Warm yourselves; eat of our meat."

"We are willing to be brothers," said Ted. "But one brother does not
steal the ponies from the corral of the other."

"That was the work of the young men, and they are now sorry for it,"
said the medicine man.

Ted looked at the young fellow whom he had unhorsed, and saw that his
face was distended in a sarcastic smile.

"The young brave yonder is the one who led the raid on my corral. He
does not look sorry," said Ted, pointing to the offender.

Flying Sun threw a glance in the direction of the young man, and said a
few words sharply in the Blackfeet tongue.

"Crazy Cow is young and the son of a chief. His blood is hot within him,
and he does not know what he does," said Flying Sun.

Crazy Cow's face at once assumed a look of sadness.

"I have not come for war," said Ted gravely, "but I want to warn you and
your tribe that I will not stand for any raids on our ranch. You will
find that we are good fighters, and that we can kill just as well as the
soldiers. The ranch is ours, and the cattle and horses are ours, and do
not belong to the young men of your tribe. They must leave us alone, or
we will be compelled to deal out justice to them in our own way, which
is a hard one."

"Very well, my brother," said the wily old chief. "We desire to live in
peace with our white brothers. Your cattle and horses shall be sacred to
our young men."

"I mean this," said Ted, looking at the old man severely. "Keep your
young men away from our ranch, or they will be killed."

At this Crazy Cow drew himself up to his full height, and looked at Ted
with scorn.

"Two can make killing," he said, in perfectly plain English.

"Perhaps they can," said Ted quickly. "But I want to say to you
particularly, that if you are ever seen within the lines of the Long Tom
Ranch again you will be sorry that you ever were born. I have said
enough. Get on your horses and go. You are now on the ranch. Get beyond
it."

The young Indian gave a short, harsh laugh, and strode toward a pony,
decorated after the fashion of war ponies with feathers and bits of red
flannel woven into his mane and tail.

The other Indians were not slow to follow his example, and soon they
were all mounted.

"Now look out for treachery," said Ted in an aside to the boys.

"Keep your eyes peeled, fellows," said Ben, passing the word along back.

"Ride up in open order so that we can surround that bunch if they get
gay," said Ted, in a low voice, and the boys rode out and scattered
themselves in a long line.

The Indians were bunched pretty well together.

It was a critical moment.

The slightest suspicious move on the part of the boys might have alarmed
the Indians and started a fight.

While the boys kept their hands on their weapons not one was drawn.

The Indians rode off to a distance of a few hundred feet, then halted.
All had their rifles or guns in their hands, but not in a hostile way.

They were well aware that the white boys were much better armed than
they, and were not in a temper to stand any foolishness.

It seemed as if the Indians had stopped to say good-by before riding
away into the mountains.

But when they stopped, Crazy Cow rode out from them a short distance and
stopped.

"I am Crazy Cow," he said in a boastful way.

This was in the manner of a personal challenge, as if he had said: "Who
the deuce are you? Knock the chip off my shoulder if you dare."

Ted looked at him for a moment, for Crazy Cow was staring at him with an
impertinent look in his face.

"I don't care who you are," said Ted, who was disgusted with the
fellow's airs. "If you were the chief himself, I would tell you to keep
away from my cows and ponies. What is the son of a chief? Nothing!"

The tone in which Ted said this was such that the young Indian flushed a
deeper red, and grasped his rifle harder.

"I am an educated Indian," said Crazy Cow, "and as good as any white
man. This is my country, and I shall go wherever I please."

"Go where you will, except on my ranch. Keep off that."

The Indian shrugged his shoulders.

"I go where I please. You, whoever you are, have no right to prevent me
from going anywhere. Who are you to talk to me like that?"

"My name is Ted Strong. I am a deputy United States marshal. Do you know
what that is?"

"Yes. I spit on them."

"Well, here's one you won't spit on. That's a cinch. You ought to be
ashamed of yourself, a man who got his education free from the United
States, to talk that way."

"Bah! I hate the United States which robbed my people of their lands,
and then made treaties only to break them. Since they have driven me
into the mountains they owe me a living, and I'm going to collect it."

"Very well, only be careful how you do it. I have said enough."

"Ted Strong talks big and much, but does nothing. He is a coward who is
afraid of the Indian."

"I am not afraid of you. I think I have shown it."

"Yes, but you ran when I surprised you by the stream."

"My pony ran, and to keep from losing him I clung to him."

"It was a good thing for you that he did run. If he hadn't, you would
never have gone home again, and the buzzards and vultures, assisted by
the prairie wolves, would have you by now."

"Big talk means nothing. You are not a fighter, you are a squaw. You are
a fool and a boaster."

"No, I am a chief, and a warrior. I have seen the blood of the white man
flow, and I drank it. I am brave."

"You're full of hot air. Run along now; I'm disgusted with you."

"Hah! White squaw afraid to fight. Go back to your camp, and cook the
meals and wash the clothes in the tub."

Crazy Cow made motions, of scrubbing at a tub.

At this the other Indians burst into laughter.

"You are but an idle boaster, Crazy Cow. You make much noise like the
wind in the trees. That is all it amounts to. You do not make me feel
bad by what you say."

Crazy Cow, seeing that he could not get Ted angry with his banter, tried
a new tack.

"Hah, little bay pony," he cried, addressing Bingo. "Are you a squaw
pony?"

He paused in a listening attitude as if he was paying close attention to
what the pony was saying.

"Yes, you are ashamed to be ridden by a squaw who does not fight, but
only talks. Come over here, squaw pony, and be ridden by a man."

Again his speech was greeted by the laughter of the Indians, to whom it
was interpreted by the disguised white man.

"So you think I will not fight, eh? You think I am a squaw, do you?"
said Ted quietly.

The Indian only laughed.

"I will show you who is the squaw. I will thrash you with my quirt until
you cry out with pain. You may keep your gun. I am not afraid of it."

"Now you begin to talk a little like a man. But you won't fight. Little
pony, you are ridden by a squaw. Why don't you throw him off and come to
me, who is a fighter?"

"Fellows, stand fast," said Ted to the boys. "I'm going to give that
young buck such a licking as he never thought possible. If they don't
play fair, shoot."

Ted threw his rifle to Ben, so that he would not be burdened by it, and
rode toward the Indian, who also threw his weapon to one of his
followers. In his right hand he carried a long, braided Indian whip of
thongs. It was a cruel weapon, for the Indian is cruel to everything in
his power, from his squaw to his dog.

This he grasped firmly in his right hand, and awaited Ted's coming with
a satirical smile on his face.

Ted had been coming on quietly, but when he was a few feet from Crazy
Cow he suddenly gave Bingo the spur, and the astonished horse reached
the Indian's side in two jumps.

Without a moment's hesitation Ted reached forward and grasped the Indian
by a collar of leather which he wore laced around his throat, somewhat
after the fashion of the white linen chokers worn by young white men.

Furiously the young Indian lashed out with his quirt, which struck Ted
across the shoulders, and made him wince with the burning sharpness of
it.

But Ted was back at him like a flash, and his quirt sang through the air
and slapped upon the buckskin shirt worn by the Indian.

Crazy Cow, whom the lash had not hurt in the least, only laughed.

Ted saw that he might go on thrashing the Indian all day upon his shirt,
and that it would have no more effect than if he whipped a covering of
iron.

The other Indians also saw the humor of the situation, and joined in the
laughter.

Meantime, the Indian was plying his quirt with all his force, and every
time the lash struck Ted across the shoulders or neck it left a blue
welt.

Whipping fights are common among the Indian lads, and are merely tests
of courage, and the power to endure pain without crying out. The Indian
boy who cries out unexpectedly at some particularly stinging blow is
called a squaw, and sent into Coventry by the others for varying lengths
of time, during which none of them will speak to him.

Crazy Cow had often indulged in the whipping sport, and knew how to
wield the quirt most effectively.

So the battle of the quirts went on, the blows falling as fast as their
arms could fly, but Ted plainly was getting the worst of it on account
of the protection which the buckskin shirt gave the Indian.

Ted saw that this soon must change or he would be ignominiously beaten.
He had not shown that he suffered any pain from the blows he received,
although the Indians watched his face closely for any sign that he was
weakening.

At last Ted thought that he had discovered a vulnerable spot.

With a sudden wrench of his strong wrist upon the leather collar which
he grasped, he whipped Crazy Cow flat across his saddle and held him
there.

Then with all his strength he brought his quirt across the seat of Crazy
Cow's blue flannel trousers, which were drawn tight, and upon the tender
part of the back of his legs.

The Indian struggled furiously, but could not release himself, and all
the while the cruel blows were raining upon him.

A huge burst of laughter rose from the broncho boys, but the Indians
could not see the joke, and with angry exclamations started forward to
rescue their young chief.

But at this sign of hostility Ben Tremont let out a roar, and every
broncho boy threw his rifle to his shoulder, and the Indians shrank back
in silence.

Ted thrashed the Indian until his yells of agony and his struggles
ceased, then threw him aside.

"Go back to your people and tell them that you are no longer fit to be
chief. That you have been whipped with a quirt by a white boy until you
cried. It is you who are the squaw," said Ted, riding back to his party.




CHAPTER X.

SILVER FACE.


As Ted released the badly punished young Indian and rode back to where
the boys were waiting for him, Crazy Cow painfully raised himself to a
sitting position in his saddle. But the pain was too great, and he
slowly and painfully slid to the ground. But the backs of his legs were
so seamed with welts that he could not walk.

He was, indeed, an object for pity, but he had been defeated, and not
only that, but had been whipped on the most shameful spot, in Indian
fighting, and his friends would have none of him.

When he looked toward them for sympathy they only pointed the finger of
scorn at him, and laughed.

Now Ted rode out in front of the boys, and, raising his voice, said to
the Indians:

"Go back to your village. Do not come to my ranch again. Next time it
will be something worse than quirts with which we fight, and dead men,
instead of squaws with sore legs, will be the result. Go!"

The old medicine man turned his pony toward the mountains, and in a
guttural voice gave the command.

Without a word, and without looking back, the Indians started on their
way, Crazy Cow following dejectedly on foot, leading his pony.

He had been conquered and humiliated, but his heart burned with hatred
for the young white chief who had been the cause of it.

When the Indians were out of sight, Ted returned to the boys.

"Well, that's over for the present," he said.

"Yes, but we'll have trouble with those fellows later, you may be sure,"
said Ben. "Look out for a ball or a knife in the back from Crazy Cow."

"I don't fear him as much as I do the cunning and treachery of that old
villain, Flying Sun, who plans these raids and lets the young men
execute them while he stays back in a safe place."

"What interests me more than anything else just now is Stella and Bud. I
propose that we drop everything else and hunt for them. You know that
since the appearance of the man without a face, and now this encounter
with the Indians, to say nothing of sending Sol Flatbush's body home on
his horse, the members of the Whipple gang will be pretty keen after
every member of our party."

"True, Ben. We must be very careful of Stella from now on. I would not
have taken this ranch had I known that it was menaced by such a gang of
thieves as seems to be in the mountains."

"Where had we better scout?" asked Ben.

"Do you think Bud and Stella went farther west?"

"Yes. As we started away from the ranch house I heard Bud say to Stella,
'When the gang came out of the corral just before daylight I saw that
most of them headed into the west. If we go that way we're sure to beat
the others to the trail.' Then I saw them slip away quietly back of the
house, and later they disappeared over a rise due west."

"Then that's where we must look for them. Forward, fellows. We're going
to find Bud and Stella."

"Do you think it is necessary for all of us to go?" asked Kit.

"No, I don't. The ranch must have a guard of some sort. About half of
you turn back to the lines, and two of you ride to the ranch house to
see that all is well, and guard it."

Ben sorted out the fellows who were to go back to the ranch, keeping all
the broncho boys to start on the hunt for the missing ones.

No one felt exactly uneasy for the safety of Stella and Bud, but it was
proper, under the circumstances, to see that they were safe.

"As before, we will split up into couples to search for Bud and Stella,"
said Ted. "You better come with me this time, Ben."

To the west of the line of the Long Tom Ranch the land became more
broken. At first the hills ceased to be rolling and broke off into
cañons, more or less deep, with sometimes sides that assumed the dignity
of precipices.

The sides of the foothills were clothed in small tracts of scrubby pine
timber, and altogether it was not a pleasant country to travel over in
winter.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Bud and Stella left the ranch house, Stella was bubbling over with
joy at the prospect of being in the hunt for the Indians, and the
prospect of Bud teaching her the mysteries of the trail, particularly
the war trail.

"Don't say a word," said Bud, with a wink, "an' we'll fool 'em all. Them
Injuns never went nowhere except inter ther east. I throwed out a blast
o' hot atmosphere erbout them goin' west. That wuz ter fool ole nosey
Ben, who had his neck stretched out like a spring chicken's ter hear
what was bein' said, an' git ther advantage o' my sooperior knowledge.

"Well, when I see that I thort I'd give him somethin' ter chase, so I
hands out the west p'int, when I mean ter go ter ther east. When we
start out we'll ride ter ther west until we come ter ther first draw,
then foller it ter ther south until we come ter a break leadin' east,
then foller that, an' we'll be fust onter ther red man's tracks."

"All right," laughed Stella. "That will be a good joke on Ben. He didn't
like it because he couldn't go with us."

Now it will be seen that Bud's little fiction in the hearing of Ben was
not the proper thing, and, as it turned out, Bud was mighty sorry for
his apparently innocent fib before the end of the day, or the dawning of
the next.

They did as Bud planned, and when they were well out of sight and
hearing of the other boys they turned to the east, and, when well out on
the prairie, turned their ponies' heads to the north.

As they cantered across the prairie, on which the snow was like dry sand
and only about an inch deep, they could see bands of their cattle here
and there pawing the snow off the grass, or "rustling" for their fodder,
as the cowmen call it.

"I shore believe thar's somethin' wrong on this yere range," Bud
remarked, after they had gone a few miles.

"Why?" asked Stella.

"Somethin' wrong with ther cattle."

"In what way?"

"Thar ain't half enough o' them here."

"Do you mean that some of them are gone?"

"Yep. Thet's jest what I mean."

"Strayed, probably?"

"No. Stole."

"Nonsense. Who could have stolen them? The Indians?"

"No. I reckon not. The Injuns is keen after ponies. In the fust place
thar ain't nobody what kin wear out a pony as fast as an Injun. They
work their ponies ter death, starve 'em, beat ther hides off'n 'em,
neglect 'em, and when they're wore out turn 'em loose fer ther wolves.
Second, they kin run off a bunch o' ponies in a hurry, but they balk
some at rustlin' cattle because they move so slow. If we aire shy on
beeves ther white men has got 'em."

"When we get back we ought to round the cattle up and count."

"That's ther only way ter do it. I've got a pretty good eye fer a herd,
an' it's my idee thet we're losers here, an' that ther rustlers is
gittin' rich off'n us."

About noon Bud pulled in his horse, and examined the snowy ground
carefully.

He had struck a trail.

Winding across the prairie in a northeasterly direction was a broad
trail, the tracks of many cattle and horses.

"Here we are," said Bud. "Thar's whar some o' our cattle and several
ponies have passed."

He got down to the ground, and, stooping over the trail, regarded it
carefully.

Suddenly he straightened up.

"This is not an Injun trail," he said.

"It isn't?" asked Stella.

"No. Here are the tracks of cattle, an' on top of them those of horses
ridden by white men."

"How do you know they were not Indians?"

"Here's an impression o' a horseshoe, an' here's another o' a different
size. These were made by animiles ridden by white men."

"I can understand why you should know that they were white men's horses
because Indians do not shoe their ponies, but I'm blessed if I can see
how you know that white men were riding them."

"Easy enough. These horses were ridden straight. An Indian, in spite of
stories to the contrary, is not a good horseman. He rides all over the
ground instead of straight ahead when he is going anywhere, seemin' as
if he wanted to get his money's worth of the ride. If it had been
Indians who were driving off these cattle, you would see pony tracks all
over the prairie about here."

"Then we've struck the wrong trail."

"Well, we've missed the Indians, but we've struck another and a better
lead. Ther boys under Ted will most likely git in ther trail o' ther
pony snatchers, but we're on another lay--cattle thieves."

"This is something of a surprise, isn't it?"

"You bet. If we hadn't run ercross this yere trail we mightn't have got
on ter ther fact thet our steers wuz bein' lifted ontil so many o' them
wuz gone thet it would make a big hole in our herd."

"Have they much the start of us?"

"I reckon they have." Bud was down on his knees, looking closely at the
tracks.

"Yes," he continued, "they went by here shortly after midnight."

"How do you know?"

"Against ther east side o' each o' these leetle depressions made by a
hoof is some fresh snow."

"I don't see how that tells the time."

"I do. Along about midnight last night a wind come up an' blew from ther
west fer half an hour. It drifted a little snow before it, which settled
inter these depressions an' banked up against ther east side o' these
tracks."

"That seems reasonable. Bud, where did you learn all these things about
trailing?"

"Never learned them nowhar. It's jest thinkin' about what yer see what
makes a scout an' trailer. These cattle is somewhar up in them hills
yon. They probably drove until sunup, an' then stopped ter give ther
critters a rest before shovin' them inter ther mountings."

"Then I suppose we better hurry. We may be able to find out where they
are."

"Righto, we'll mosey. I reckon we've struck a good thing."

"How many beeves do you suppose there were in that steal?"

"Oh, I reckon fifty er sixty."

"Whew! That's worth going after."

Bud had mounted, and they galloped along the trail, which was broad and
deep. It led them through coulees and over hills and down into valleys,
and the sun was high and the trail apparently endless.

"Bud, let us stop and eat our lunch. I'm hungry," said Stella.

"All right. I'm a bit peckish myself," was the reply.

They were in a narrow valley which was strewn with great bowlders, and
on the sides of the hills grew a great many scrub pines. Through the
center of it ran the broad trail.

The lunch was tied to the cantle of Bud's saddle, while Stella carried a
canteen of coffee, for she was a great favorite of McCall, the cook, and
when she started out for the day he invariably put up the best lunch a
cow camp could afford.

Bud, in the meantime, had found a spring on the hillside and had watered
the horses, then made a fire of pine boughs over which they heated the
coffee and warmed themselves. Then they began their luncheon.

Bud was so busily appeasing his hunger that he did not say much, and did
not think it strange that Stella said nothing. They were seated on
opposite sides of the fire, and Bud, thinking that perhaps Stella might
need something, looked across at her.

What he saw caused him to stare.

Stella was looking over his head with an expression of horror on her
face. Her wide, staring eyes were filled with an unspeakable horror.

Her hand was poised in mid-air, just as if she had been going to put
something into her mouth, when the action was arrested by the sight of
something that froze her with terror.

"Stella, what's ther matter?" Bud managed to blurt out.

Stella's lips moved, but no sound came from them. She was too frightened
to speak.

Then Bud, observing the direction in which she was looking, turned his
head.

In an instant he was on his feet. He had become very pale, and his hand
shook as he reached slowly toward his holster.

Standing behind him was a creature such as he never had seen before.

It was a man of great stature, clad entirely in black, over which was
thrown a long, black cloak.

But the horror of the creature was the face. Out of an expressionless
mask of silver, without nose or mouth, gleamed a pair of fierce, black
eyes, that twinkled maliciously. Midway of the face were two holes,
nostrils through which he breathed.

It was the man at whom Carl had fired his six harmless bullets--the man
with the silver face.

Bud stood staring at him like one frozen, but Stella, when she saw that
Bud was as frightened as herself, was able to take her eyes away from
those terrible orbs that shone through the silver face, and regained her
composure, and now was able to look at him without terror and with
curiosity.

There was something fascinating in that blank, rounded, shining, white
face, lighted only by those remarkable eyes.

What was behind that mask? A face, or only a blank?

Bud had somewhat recovered from the ague of terror into which the sudden
appearance of the man with the silver face had thrown him, for he was a
brave fellow, and not easily shaken from his courage.

"What do you want?" he asked at last, but yet with a little tremor in
his voice.

There was no answer, but the eyes continued to burn in a very suggestive
way. It seemed as if the man behind the mask was trying to speak, but
could not.

Presently, however, he made a motion with his hand that told them to
follow him.

"I'll be derned if we do," said Bud stubbornly. "Who aire yer, anyway,
an' what business hey yer buttin' in on us this away?"

A strange, inarticulate, bubbling sound came from behind the silver
face, but Bud could not understand it.

Again came the signal to follow.

"Not on yer life," said Bud firmly. He drew his revolver, and a look of
decision came into his face. When Bud took on this look he meant
business.

"Oh, Bud, don't oppose the terrible creature," whispered Stella, to whom
fear had come again from looking on that blank but fascinating face.

"No, by jing, I ain't goin' erlong with thet freak. If I could see his
face an' knowed who he wuz I might talk business."

As he said this the eyes behind the silver mask fairly shot forth sparks
of anger, and again that horrible bubbling noise was heard.

The creature raised his arm. There was a sudden rush, and Bud felt his
arms grasped from behind.

But as this happened he had presence of mind enough to point his
revolver at the man in the silver mask and pull the trigger.

The weapon crashed, and, as the smoke cleared away, Bud saw the thing of
horror still standing unharmed where he had been, although the revolver
had been pointed directly at his heart, while from behind the mask came
again that sickening, bubbling laugh.

At another signal from the figure Bud was dragged a little way up the
hillside, and his wrists were securely tied, his arms embracing a tree.

While this was being done Stella, too frightened to make an outcry, was
led away, and, looking over his shoulder, Bud saw her mount Magpie and
ride away surrounded by four men, led by the man with the silver face,
who bestrode a splendid black charger.

Bud was left alone to survive, if he could, the perils of frost and
hungry wolves.




CHAPTER XI.

LOST IN THE WILDERNESS.


Stella could not keep her eyes from the silver mask of the man who rode
by her side. She was wondering continually at the mystery of him.

For an hour or more they rode up one valley, then across a hill or
stretch of prairie, and through valleys again, the black mountains
coming nearer all the time, until at last they entered a forest of
pines, which they traversed until night began to fall.

At a gesture from "Silver Face," as Stella had named the man who rode by
her side, the party came to a halt.

Stella now saw that it was the intention to camp, for, while some of the
men cared for the horses, others cut down several small pine trees and
built a shelter of pine boughs, into which she was ushered, and before
which a blazing fire had been lighted.

It had grown very cold, and Stella was grateful for the heat that filled
her shelter.

One of the men had brought food, and a pan and coffeepot from a pack on
one of the horses, and now began to cook supper.

Stella fully realized the peril of her situation, but particularly that
of Bud, who had been left alone, bound and helpless, in that wilderness.

If he had not given the impression to the boys that he was going west
instead of east, things might have been easier for them, but now Bud
might perish of cold or be the prey of wild animals before Ted could
come to their rescue, which she was sure he would do soon.

After she had eaten the supper which the man with the silver face
brought her with his own hands, she felt better and more cheered, and
began to take a brighter view of the situation.

The floor of her lean-to shelter had been thickly strewn with pine
boughs, which were soft and aromatic, and Stella reclined upon them, and
gazed into the fire, listening to the strange sounds that filled the
forest, for the camp was absolutely quiet.

After eating their supper the men had silently smoked their pipes and
then curled up on their blankets, which had been spread on mattresses of
pine boughs, and were asleep.

Only Silver Face was awake, and he sat wrapped in his cloak near the
fire, his eyes taking on a fiercer gleam as the flickering lights struck
them.

Stella wondered who he was. Evidently the mask concealed a horrible
mystery. Could he talk, and would not? Was that eerie, bubbling laugh of
his the only articulate sound he could make?

Stella wished she knew more about him, and that he would talk to her.

The night was growing on, but Stella did not feel like sleeping.

Occasionally Silver Face arose and replenished the fire with resinous
pine logs, and for a while the flames leaped high, filling the woods
with strange shadows and ghostly, wavering spots of light.

Then afar, it seemed, there sounded the night cries of wild animals,
timber wolves, those dreaded monsters of the lupus tribe, and
occasionally the scream of the cougar, like a woman in agony. Then,
close behind her shelter, there sounded a horrible, snarling shriek. It
was the night cry of a bobcat close at hand, attracted to the camp by
the scent of the meat which had been cooked for supper.

It was so near and clear that for a moment Stella's heart seemed to stop
beating altogether, and she felt as if she would suffocate, and buried
her face in her hands, expecting every moment to feel the claws of the
terrible animal sink into the flesh of her back.

But at the sound Silver Face leaped to his feet, and was coming swiftly
around the fire.

Through the silver mask his eyes were gleaming wickedly.

Stella heard him, and looked up. He was standing before her at the
corner of her shelter, his blank face turned toward the place from which
the cat's cry had come.

Suddenly a strange thing happened. From the breast of the black garment
worn by Silver Face leaped a flame, followed by the crash of a revolver.
This was succeeded by another, and a third.

The sleeping men had been aroused, and were sitting up in their
blankets, blinking stupidly.

Behind her shelter Stella heard a thrashing among the frozen underbrush,
while Silver Face stood immovable, the blazing eyes in the mask staring
in that direction.

Meanwhile, Stella was marveling at those shots which had seemed to
spring from his very body, and without the apparent use of his hands.

But soon the noise in the brush ceased, and Silver Face stepped out of
sight.

In a moment he was back, and threw into the circle of light about the
fire the body of an enormous mountain cat.

The men had fallen back into their blankets and were sleeping again,
while Silver Face resumed his place before the fire.

Soon Stella, began to yawn, and her eyes grew heavy with sleep.

But she did not want to sleep. She had a foreboding that if she slept
she would be in danger.

However, the dancing flames and the soft, comfortable heat which came
from the fire were too much for her resolution, and her head began to
droop, and presently her body sank gently down, and, as she pillowed her
head on her arm, she fell into a deep sleep.

How long she slept she did not know, but when she awoke it was light.

The fire had burned low, and she felt cold and numb.

Staggering to her feet, she looked around. The camp was deserted.

The men were gone, and so were the horses. Beside the fire was a
considerable pile of wood, and Stella hastily pulled the embers of the
fire together and threw several sticks upon it. As the fire blazed up
and she grew warmer, she tried to review the situation.

Why had the men who had captured and brought her thus far deserted her?
Had they been frightened away by the proximity of the boys? No, it could
not have been that, for the boys were far away.

Then a thought of horror flashed across her mind. She had been brought
here to perish in the wilderness. Probably Silver Face and his men,
desiring to wreak vengeance upon Ted, and feeling that keeping her a
prisoner would be too much of a burden, had brought her into this
dangerous place to leave her a prey to the wild animals that she knew
infested the forests.

If they had only left her Magpie, she might have stood some chance of
escaping.

But her fortitude soon returned to her. She was not dead yet, and, while
she had a fighting chance, she would not despair.

Something of pity must have moved the men, for she found that they had
left her revolver and her rifle beside her in the lean-to, and that in a
pile not far from the fire was food enough to last her for several
meals.

She set about cooking some breakfast, and caught herself singing as she
did so.

After she had eaten she sat down in her shelter to think a way out of
her predicament.

She was in the midst of a reverie when she was brought to her feet by
that most dreaded of sounds--the howl of the timber wolf.

For a moment she stood trembling, trying to think what her best course
would be.

The wolves had smelled the frying bacon from afar, and had been
attracted to it, for the scent had carried far in the clear air.

From another direction came another wolf cry, and presently they seemed
to come from every direction.

They were far away as yet, but the wolves were gathering.

Without trying to reason further, Stella gathered up what food she could
carry, and, grasping her rifle, struck out into the forest in the
direction away from that from which the howls of the wolves came to her.

Suddenly to one side appeared a slinking, gray form, which slunk along,
apparently dodging behind the trees, but following her.

As it came from behind a tree in fair sight, she swung her rifle to her
shoulder and fired.

It was a strike, for the wolf, with a howl of pain sprang in the air,
then rolled over on the snow and lay still.

As the report of the shot reverberated back from the mountains, it was
followed by a perfect crescendo of wolf howls.

They sounded louder and nearer now, and Stella's heart began to beat
rapidly with fear.

Too well she knew what would happen if they caught her.

But suddenly a thought came to her, and she stopped.

Surely Ted and the boys would come to find her. They might even now be
on the way, and who could say they were not far away?

If she could only send them a message to let them know that they were on
the right trail!

Her face lighted up with an inspiration. She had the means.

Breaking a stick from a low-growing tree, she began to write in the
snow:

"I am followed by a wolf pack. Hurry." "Stella"

These were the words she left behind her for Ted to read should he come
that way.

Then she hurried on with all speed.

Every few minutes the howls of the wolves assailed her ears as she
struggled on through the snow.

Her burden of food was becoming very heavy, and she cast away a part of
it.

Perhaps, she thought, it would serve to stop the wolves for a while when
they found it on her trail.

Every moment seemed to bring the cries of the wolves nearer.

They were following in her footsteps now, for the noise was all behind
her, not scattered over the forest, as it had been at first.

The brutes had gathered into a pack, and Stella shuddered as she
pictured in her mind the gray band coming upon her with long, loping,
tireless strides; with red, long, lolling tongues and slavering,
sharp-fanged jaws.

Presently she heard another noise behind her, and looked over her
shoulder.

The sight that met her eyes caused her to almost faint.

Not twenty yards behind her was an enormous gray wolf, loping along
easily but as swiftly as a horse.

His eyes were blazing like green lamps, and his great body was scarred
and torn. Evidently he was the king of the pack.

Stopping suddenly, she drew her revolver and fired two shots at him.

He came to a halt with a snarl of rage and began biting at his shoulder.

Then Stella turned and ran again, with the clamor of the pack close
behind her.

But she was failing, and her run had become a painful stagger, and her
breath came in gasps.

She was near the end, and she realized it. She fancied herself falling
into the midst of that ravenous crew and shuddered. What could she do to
save herself?

Not far ahead was a tree with a forked branch growing low enough for her
to reach it if she still had strength to get so far. With almost a
superhuman effort she continued her flight toward it.

As she reached it the great, gray king of the pack was only a few feet
behind her, so close that she could hear him pant from his long run.

She reached up to the branch and tried to pull herself up, but it was an
impossible task burdened with food and rifle and her coat, which she had
removed at a time when she had stopped long enough to write another
message in the snow for Ted.

She threw the rifle in the snow and tried it again, but she could not,
and then cast aside the food and the coat, and succeeded in clambering
into the sheltering nook just as the great wolf, leaping into the air,
swept past her, carrying in his teeth a shred of her skirt. She was
safe, but by a very narrow margin.

She looked up into the tree, for the branch upon which she was perched
was so near the ground that she was not safe from the leaps of the
savage and famished brutes.

But the next higher branch was far beyond her reach or her ability to
climb to.

She must defend herself as best she could.

Fortunately she had retained her revolver and had a good supply of
ammunition.

As the old wolf leaped again she fired, and knew that the ball had
entered his neck. If she could shoot him often enough, she ought to kill
him after a while.

But now the clamor was all about her. The pack had arrived, and was
leaping about the foot of the tree like waves upon a storm-tossed shore.

Her red coat had been torn to shreds, and, in the fight over the food
she had cast aside, more than one of the brutes had met his death by the
razorlike teeth of his comrades.

Suddenly, through the din about her, Stella lifted her head and
listened, while for a moment the wolves ceased leaping and howling and
stood listening also.

From afar off, and very faintly, there came to her a subdued cheer. Her
heart leaped with hope. Could it be the boys who were signaling to her?

But now the wolves, even more savage than before, were leaping at her,
their saber teeth snapping within an inch of her, as she fired into
their faces, and laughed as she saw them roll upon the snow in their
death agony.

Again she heard a faint cry in the forest. Oh, if she should be wrong,
and it was not the dear old Moon Valley yell, she would die.

Now the old king of the pack returned to the attack.

He was bigger and stronger than any of the others, and when he snapped
at them with his terrible teeth they made way for him.

He began a succession of leaps at her, and every time she planted a
bullet in his massive and seemingly invulnerable body.

But each leap brought him closer to her perch.

The next jump might be the one by which he would reach her, she thought,
and that surely would be the end, for, if he ever succeeded in getting
his hooked fangs fastened in her clothes, she would be pulled from the
tree in an eye twinkling, and she shuddered as she thought of the
sequel.

The end seemed very near, and she had about given up hope of holding out
until the boys could reach her, when a well-known yell was wafted to her
on the frozen air. The boys had come.

She felt the fangs of the king of the pack fasten in her skirt, and she
knew that she was being pulled out of her perch when, through the woods
came Ted and Bud and Ben, and the rest of her friends, yelling like mad
and amid a perfect fusillade of rifle shots.

Then she began to slide out of the tree. But she did not reach the
ground, for Ted was there, and she slipped naturally and without harm
into his arms, as the last of the pack that remained alive escaped into
the forest.




CHAPTER XII.

WHO WHIPPLE WAS.


There was great rejoicing when Stella so far recovered from the strain
which she had been undergoing, to learn that Bud was safe, although he
had passed a very uncomfortable as well as perilous night tied to a tree
with the cold numbing him, and wolves sniffing and snarling at him.

These he had been able to keep off for several hours by kicking them
whenever they got close enough.

But he was rapidly becoming exhausted when in the distance he heard
shouts.

Ted and the boys had ridden to the west until they realized that it was
useless to go any farther, for they had not come upon the trail of Bud
and Stella, and Ted came to the conclusion that they had gone in the
opposite direction.

But it was almost night when they turned their faces to the east, and
day was dawning when they heard Bud's cry for help, and rescued him by
driving the snarling pack from his heels.

When they had heard his story about the man with the silver face and his
crew, and the fact that they had taken Stella away with them, the boys
waited only long enough to make a fire to thaw out Bud, and to make some
coffee, and took up the broad trail.

When they came to the deserted camp they were almost sure that Stella
had gone on with her captors, and were about to follow the trail.

Had they done so, Stella would have perished in the woods. But Ted had
one of his "hunches" that Stella was not far away, and rode around the
camp in a wide circle.

He was soon rewarded by finding the prints of Stella's shoes in the
snow, and, concluding that she had in some manner escaped from her
captors, he called the boys together and started on her trail.

They had not gone far when they, too, heard the howls of the wolf pack,
and knew that Stella was in great danger.

Presently they came upon Stella's message in the snow and obeyed her
injunction to hurry.

They had been compelled to leave their horses at the camp, for the
forest was too dense to permit them to ride.

When Stella told them of her adventure and about Silver Face and the
stolen cattle, they decided to push forward on the trail, and, if
possible, regain their stolen property.

At the camp they remounted, and, having to ride double where Bud and
Stella were concerned, made but slow progress.

But the trail was broad and good, and they made good time as compared
with a slow cattle drive.

Early in the afternoon Ted became conscious, in that remarkable way of
his, that not far ahead some one was on the trail.

Stella was riding behind him, for the boys had taken turns in carrying
her so as not to burden any one horse too much, and he transferred her
to Kit's pony, and, telling the boys to move forward slowly, rode on
ahead to scout.

Ted wanted to see for himself this wonderful Silver Face, who was
impervious to bullets, and who could fire them from his chest with no
apparent effort on his own part.

Ted was also affected as the others had been who had seen him; that is,
by the mystery of the creature.

He had ridden quite a distance ahead of the party, and had just entered
into the pass of a cañon which seemed to broaden out into a respectable
valley farther on, when he was brought to a halt by the scream of a
rifle ball close to his head.

This was warning enough, and he scurried into the shelter of a huge rock
that jutted from the cañon wall.

In a few minutes he emerged from it and rode back over the trail.

When the party came up with him he told them of the shot.

"It's my opinion," he said, "that Silver Face and his men and our cattle
are in that cañon or valley, but how to reach them I don't know."

"S'pose we go scoutin' on ther hills above, an' take a look," said Bud.
"Stella an' ther boys can cache ther hosses an' hide, er come erlong
with us."

"Very well," said Ted. And so they did. Hiding their horses in a thick
glade of cedar trees, they climbed in single file up the side of the
mountain, and were soon in an advantageous position, from which they had
a good view up and down the valley.

A curious sight met their sight.

In the center of the valley they saw their bunch of steers close herded
by several cowboys, while not far away two men were butchering one of
the steers.

"They're going to have beef for dinner," said Ted, with a grin.

"I hope it chokes 'em," growled Bud.

"Or that they never get a chance to eat it at all," said Stella.

Lounging around the fire were a party of Indians, but, though Ted could
not see from that distance whether or not they were the followers of
Crazy Cow, he thought most likely they were.

The great figure of Silver Face could easily be picked out from among
his followers, even were it not from the reflected light from his silver
mask whenever the rays of the sun smote it.

Close to the west wall of the valley, and huddled under its shelter,
were a number of Indian tepees, while farther on were several white
canvas tents.

"Boys, we've stumbled upon the permanent camp or rendezvous of the
outlaw Indians, and the members of the Whipple gang," said Ted.

As they were looking they saw a young woman, dressed as cowgirl, and
with long, blond hair hanging down her back, come out of one of the
tents, and look over the scene.

Silver Face strode to her side, and then began a strange pantomime
between the pair with her hands. This convinced Stella that the man with
the silver mask was unable to talk.

"I don't see how we are going to get at those fellows," said Ted.

"They do seem to be pretty well fixed to defend themselves," said Ben,
who was lying flat on the rocky edge of the cañon wall, looking into the
scene below.

"Oh, Ted," cried Stella, grasping the arm of the leader of the broncho
boys. "Look there. It is Magpie, my pony. There isn't another like him
in the world. We must get him back, Ted. Think of letting a dirty Indian
outlaw ride and abuse the splendid fellow."

"All right, Stella," replied Ted. "Show us how to do it successfully,
and we'll go down and tackle the whole mess."

"See, there's an Indian throwing his filthy blanket on Magpie's back. I
can't stand that."

Stella put her rifle to her shoulder, and was about to pull the trigger
when Ted's hand closed down over the lock of the weapon.

"Not on your life," he said. "This is not the time for anything like
that. If we were to get them after us right now we'd last about as long
as a snowball on a hot stove. Wait a while."

While Stella said nothing she was angry clear through. It hurt her like
a blow to have her pony ridden by another.

The Indian, having fastened his blanket on the pony's back to his
satisfaction, sprang upon his back, and began to lash him with a quirt.

"Oh, the brute!" exclaimed Stella. "I hope Magpie throws and kills him
for his cruelty."

Magpie wheeled and bucked under the unusual punishment, and the Indian
continued to beat him.

"I can't stand it any longer," cried Stella, gnashing her pretty, small,
white teeth.

This time she got her rifle to her shoulder, and, before she could be
restrained, had fired a shot. Perhaps Ted knew that the provocation was
great, for he did not interfere this time.

At any rate, the ball flew close enough to knock the hat from the
Indian's head, and cause him to dismount and scurry to the shelter of
the rock wall.

But it caused the greatest excitement in the camp.

The man with the silver mask rushed forward, rapidly scanning the cliff
for whoever had fired the shot.

He did not have long to search, for the smoke hovering over the spot
where Stella was lying on the top of the cliff was advertisement enough.

A man by his side handed him a rifle, which he sighted, then took down
as a puff of smoke rose above him.

Then there followed the smash of a bullet on the rock, a foot below
where Stella was lying.

"Pretty close work," said Ted. "That fellow is a corking good shot.
Look, he's coming to shoot again. Duck! I'll bet he gets the range this
time."

Every head went out of sight. Then came the sharp report of the rifle,
and the ball from it shattered the edge of the rock not far from
Stella's head.

"That'll be about enough of that," said Ted, picking up his own
Winchester. "We'll have to stop that fellow's fun, or he'll end by
hurting some of us."

Ted poked the barrel of his Winchester over the edge of the rock,
adjusted the sights, took a short aim, and fired.

Then he looked to see the result of it, and saw the man with the silver
face drop his rifle, stagger to the side of the cañon, and sink down.

"By jove! I got him," exclaimed Ted. "I believe that from here we can
drive that whole bunch out of the valley and get back our cattle and
horses, if we dodge back and shoot straight. We'll try it. Every fellow
get ready to fire."

On seeing their leader fall, the men, both white and red, in the valley,
ran hither and yon in a state of great excitement.

But when the boys began to fire systematically at them, kicking up the
snow about them with every shot, it became a veritable panic.

Shouts of terror were heard, and, as the young woman raised the man with
the silver mask to his feet and helped him walk to the tent, the others
hastily saddled their ponies, and prepared to decamp.

All the while the boys were pumping Winchester balls into them, and
occasionally a horse dropped, or with a yell a man would grasp a leg or
an arm and fall to the ground.

"We've got them going," shouted Ted. "Keep it up until we get them on
the run."

The boys fired their rifles until they got hot, then waited for them to
cool, and resumed firing.

It was like bedlam in the valley, and not one of the men attempted to
retaliate by firing back. They were in a panic of fear.

As soon as one got his horse saddled he dashed away toward the head of
the valley out of the way of those spiteful bullets which sang about
them like enraged hornets.

Not one of them stopped to burden himself with his baggage, nor did they
pay any attention to the stolen cattle.

They were in too much of a hurry to get away safely themselves.

The Indians left their tepees standing, and ran for their lives.

Soon the valley was clear of men. All that remained in sight were the
bunch of cattle, a small band of ponies in a rope corral, and the tepees
and tents.

"I guess we're safe to go down now, and take possession of our own,"
said Ted.

"Don't forget that Silver Face and the young woman are in that tent,"
said Stella warningly. "Look out for treachery."

Without further delay the boys and Stella climbed down the mountain to
where their horses were, and, mounting, rode fearlessly into the valley.

As they approached the tents the flap of one of them was pushed back and
the young woman came out.

Her hand was raised for silence, and the tears were coursing down her
cheeks.

"Hush!" she said. "He is dead."

"Who is dead?" asked Ted, with the greatest respect.

"Silver Face," was the answer.

"Who was he?" asked Ted.

"I don't know. I found him lying in the mountains almost dead from an
accident a few months ago, and nursed him back to life, but he never
spoke again, and he has never been able to let me know who he was."

"Pardon me, but who are you?" asked Ted.

"I?" said the woman, drawing herself up proudly. "I am Whipple."

"What? Leader of the Whipple gang?" asked Ted, almost incredulously.

"The same," said she. "I have laughed many times at the fear I inspired
among you ranchmen in the valley, and the officers of the law, to say
nothing of the soldiers. But that was because they had never seen me,
and believed me to be a man."

They all looked their astonishment, for she was an exceedingly pretty
woman, and spoke in gentle tones.

"But it is all over now," she continued sadly. "If those steers and
ponies are yours, take them. I am going to leave the mountains, and my
men are scattered and will leave also. I told them to go. And now that
Silver Face is no more, there is no reason why I should stay here."

"You loved him?" asked Ted, nodding toward the tent.

"Yes," she answered quietly. "He was my husband. When I had nursed him
back to life I sent my boys out and kidnaped a preacher. I had him
brought here blindfolded, and made him marry us, then sent him back, not
knowing where he had been."

Ted and the boys looked their sympathy.

"Can I be of any assistance to you in caring for him?" asked Stella,
very sweetly.

A look of terror crossed the woman's face.

"No, no," she cried. "Leave me with my dead. Take what belongs to you
and go."

She retired into the tent, and they heard her weeping, and turned away.

The boys started immediately on the back trail to the ranch, where they
arrived with their cattle and ponies.

That was the last of the Whipple gang, for the members of it left the
country, and the outlaw Indians were gathered in by the troops and the
Indian police, and imprisoned on the reservations.

But on winter evenings, as he sat before the big fire in the Long Tom
ranch house, his big snow camp, Ted Strong often turned over in his mind
the facts about the death of Silver Face, the man of mystery.

Somehow, away down in his heart, he did not believe that the man with
the silver mask was dead, but that he would some day meet him again and
solve the mystery that surrounded him.

In the early part of December, however, the members of the Moon Valley
outfit left the Long Tom Ranch for Phoenix, Arizona.




CHAPTER XIII.

AN UNEXPECTED GUEST.


Although it was winter, the air was soft and pleasant, and at noon the
sun shone with some fervor.

It was Arizona, and as Ted Strong sat on Sultan and gazed across the
wide valley, over which the sun's warm rays shimmered above the sand and
cactus, greasewood and sage toward a low-lying ranch house in the far
distance, it did not seem at all like Christmas.

But it was Christmas Eve, in spite of the fact that there was no snow,
no sleigh bells, no apparent use for Santa Claus, and that roses were
blooming in yards where there was sufficient black earth for them to
thrive.

Behind his saddle Ted had a great bundle wrapped in burlap and securely
tied.

For many miles on the way Ted had cast anxious glances behind him, and
occasionally reached back to assure himself that he had not lost his
freight.

This argued that it was a very precious burden.

"I guess that must be the place," mused Ted, as he looked at the
apparently deserted house.

Not a live creature was to be seen about the place, neither man, woman,
nor beast.

"Cheerful-looking prospect for Christmas," Ted continued to soliloquize,
as those who travel or ride on mountain or plain in solitude often get
in the habit of doing.

"Wonder where the folks are?" he continued. "Hope they got here all
right. But, of course, they did. Bud is too good a leader to let them
get off the trail. Besides, they have been long enough on the way to
have got here and back again." Again he paused, musing.

"Well, Sultan, old chap, it has been a long, dry drive, hasn't it?"

Sultan, on hearing his name, gave a toss of his head and a soft snicker,
and Ted's hand passed gently over his beautiful, glossy mane with a
caressing gesture.

"Hello, here comes some one. Wonder who it is. That's the only sign of
life, except a few rattlesnakes and horned toads I've seen since I left
the railroad at San Carlos."

Shading his eyes from the sun, Ted looked for several minutes at the
dark speck bobbing along in the distance, a mere shadow against the
yellow surface of the earth.

"He's taking his time," muttered Ted. "Reckon he's wondering who I am,
and what I'm standing here for. It can't be one of our fellows. I guess
I'll just wait for him to come up and say howdy."

There was a faint trail, or road, which skirted Sombrero Peak, the mass
of multicolored rock at Ted's back, over which he had come on his way
from San Carlos to the Bubbly Well ranch house, which he was now facing
in the distance. But where he was now standing the road branched off to
the west, while a fainter trail lay straight before him to the ranch
house.

Bubbly Well was the ranch of Major Caruthers, an Englishman, and a
retired officer of the British army, who had come to America to pass his
remaining days in the open. He was a well-preserved man, tall, stalwart,
with white hair and a red, fresh-looking face, who could ride well and
was an excellent shot, but who knew nothing about the cattle business.

Ted had met him in Phoenix, at the hotel, and had dropped into "cow
talk." When the English major learned that Ted knew so much about the
cattle business, he told of his ranch at Bubbly Well, confessing that
his own knowledge of steers, cows, round-ups, and the like was so
limited that, instead of making the ranch pay, it had been steadily
losing money for him.

It was then that the major had invited Ted to visit him at the ranch,
look the situation over, and give expert advice how to better the
condition of things.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said the major; "let's make up a
Christmas party for Bubbly Well. The holidays are so beastly lonely out
here, don't you know, and Christmas knocks me all of a heap. Come out
and help me make things cheerful."

"I'd like to," Ted had said, "but I'm not a free agent. I am with a
party of friends, who are also my partners in the cattle business and
other enterprises. You see, my first duty is to them. I don't know what
their plans are."

At this the major looked considerably crestfallen. Then Ted, as briefly
as he could, told the Englishman all about the broncho boys and their
plans and principles.

As he talked, Major Caruthers occasionally interjected such exclamations
as "Extraordinary!" "Very remarkable!" "Fawncy!"

He was intensely interested in Ted's accounts of some of the adventures
which the members of the Moon Valley outfit had gone through, and when
Ted stopped, with an apology for having consumed so much time in talking
about himself and his friends, the major assured him that he could
listen with pleasure and profit all night if Ted could only go on
telling him such stories.

"My boy, I have the very thing," said the major, after a moment's
thought.

Ted looked at the Englishman inquiringly.

"Do you think your friends, not knowing me, would accept an invitation
to spend Christmas at Bubbly Well, and as long thereafter as they can
and will?"

"That's a very kind thought," said Ted. "You see, we generally contrive
to be at our Moon Valley Ranch at Christmas time, but this year we had
business in this part of the country, and could not finish it in time to
get back home, and were planning to get as much joy out of the day in
the hotel here as we could."

"Christmas in a hotel!" exclaimed the major. "I can't think of anything
more dismal. I'd spend Christmas in my own place even if there wasn't
another live thing there, and nothing to eat but cheese and crackers."

"I feel very much that way myself," laughed Ted.

"Then you'll come?" asked the Englishman eagerly.

"I think my friends will be very glad to accept the invitation,"
answered Ted. "I am sure I should like to, personally, and I thank you
for the privilege and the honor."

"Don't speak of it."

They talked of other things; about sport, and about the dangers of
ranching in that country.

Before they parted it was decided that the broncho boys should visit
Major Caruthers' ranch. They were to take their own mounts on the train
to the nearest railroad station to Bubbly Well, where they would be met
by one of the major's men as a guide.

It was three days before Christmas when all of them, except Ted, arrived
at the ranch and were given a hearty welcome by the Englishman. That is,
all arrived there except the leader of the broncho boys, who had
remained in Phoenix to attend to some business details and do some
shopping, agreeing to follow them later and arrive at the ranch
Christmas Eve.

At the opening of this chapter we find him within sight of Bubbly Well,
with a pack of Christmas presents for all hands on his back, waiting
patiently for the approaching rider.

In the course of a few minutes, the stranger rode up, and, with a cold
and quiet greeting, pulled in his mount, a beautiful chestnut mare, and
looked Ted over from top to toe in a cool manner.

He was a handsome young chap, dressed in such a manner that Ted could
not quite determine what he was. He had not the appearance of a
cow-puncher, nor was he a town man, for he was bronzed by the sun, and
he sat his mare like a born horseman.

His clothes were dark, save for a tan vest which buttoned close around
his throat; his boots were of the very best quality, and fitted the calf
of his leg snugly, and on his head was an expensive Stetson, with the
skin of a rattlesnake for a band.

But it was his face that affected Ted with a sort of dislike that yet
had something of fascination in it, while at the same time it puzzled
him, it was such a strange mixture of good and bad.

"Can you tell me what ranch house that is over there, and who owns it?"
said the stranger, in a well-bred manner that yet had the freedom of the
West in it.

"Yes," answered Ted. "That is the Bubbly Well Ranch, and it is owned by
Major Caruthers."

A strange expression passed over the young fellow's face.

"Jack Caruthers--do you happen to know?"

"I have never heard him called Jack," said Ted, smiling. "He signs
himself 'John Stairs Caruthers.'"

"It must be the same," said the young fellow musingly.

"Do you know him?" asked Ted.

"Well, no. That is, not exactly." The stranger thought a moment. "I
suppose I'll have to put up somewhere for the night; it's a dickens of a
way to anywhere out here. I started from Rodeo, across the mountain,
early this morning, thinking I could make it to San Carlos by night,
but----"

"You couldn't get there before morning if you rode at top speed," said
Ted, as the other hesitated.

"Are you going to the ranch house?" asked the stranger suddenly.

"Yes."

"Do you think your friend would put me up for the night?"

"I haven't a doubt of it. And to-morrow, too. You know this is Christmas
Eve."

"So it is. I hadn't thought of it. My name is Farnsworth--Hilary
Farnsworth."

The young fellow looked defiantly at Ted, who had started slightly at
the name.

"Do you want to take me to the house now?" asked Farnsworth, with a
slightly contemptuous smile.

So this was Farnsworth. "Fancy" Farnsworth, as he was called in the
Southwest. Ted looked at him with new interest, and the other stared
back with his gray eyes, which were as handsome as a woman's, and yet
had in their depths a wicked, cruel gleam.

"I don't see why not," said Ted.

"You know me?" asked Farnsworth, with a smile.

"By reputation."

"May I ask your name?"

"Certainly. I beg your pardon. I am Ted Strong."

At this Farnsworth suddenly pulled his horse to its haunches, at the
same time throwing his hand backward, and, with almost incredible
rapidity, whipping out a revolver.

His face was white, and had as suddenly assumed an expression in which
fear and determination were equally present.

"No, you don't!" he said slowly and coldly. "You don't get me that way.
I'm not as easy as that."

Ted had made no move to draw his revolver, and was smiling in an amused
sort of way.

"I'm sure I don't want you," he said.

"You're a deputy United States marshal, aren't you?"

"I am, but I'm not after you."

"Then you haven't heard?"

"Nothing about you recently. When I was in this part of the country
before I heard----"

"Oh, you can always hear a lot about a fellow in this rotten part of the
world--except the truth. Then you haven't heard the latest news from
Rodeo?"

"Not a word."

"And you don't want to arrest me?"

"Not now. I wouldn't know what to arrest you for, and I haven't seen a
United States warrant for months."

"I believe I can trust you. You seem to be a square chap, in spite of
what I've heard of you. But I want to tell you one thing: I've got eyes
in the back of my head, and there isn't a quicker man on the draw in
Arizona, so no monkey business. This is not a boast, but a warning."

"I have nothing against you now," said Ted quietly; "but if I ever have,
you'll know it, and have your chance. But I don't see any use in
standing here in the sun palavering. Let's hike to the house yonder.
I've been riding since daybreak without a drink, and I'd like to sample
the major's famous Bubbly Well."

Farnsworth looked sharply at Ted for a moment, then replaced his
revolver, and signaled to lead the way.

They rode in silence along the trail toward the ranch house for several
minutes.

"How shall I introduce you to the major--as Farnsworth?" asked Ted, at
last.

Farnsworth paused to think before replying.

"I think not," he said at last. "If I am to stay there for the night,
there may as well be no unpleasant feeling. Call me anything you like
but that, and I will fall in with it. They may know something about me,
and, while I would be safe while Major Caruthers considered me a guest,
still, it might cause some restraint."

"Probably you are right. How will Mr. Dickson do?"

"As good as any. Say, Strong, you're a brick! I won't forget this."

"This is a sort of truce. Anyway, it's Christmas, and a fellow should
put away malice at such a time."

"Have you malice toward me?"

"No, I can't say that I have. But I have heard things about you that
haven't prepossessed me in your favor."

"Have you ever thought that perhaps you have heard more than the truth?"

"Of course; I know that men are usually painted worse than they are."

"That's true. It's especially true with regard to myself."

For a moment Ted said nothing. He was running over in his mind several
of the stories he had heard about this handsome and daring young fellow.

"Well, I'll take your word for it because it's Christmas," he said at
last.

"I'll make you believe that I'm telling the truth before our
acquaintance ends," said Farnsworth. As Ted looked into his eyes he saw
that they had changed in expression. Now they were bold and brave and
truthful, where before Ted had seen only a cold, cruel, relentless look.

Ted threw back his head, and the Moon Valley yell issued from his mouth.

It instantly transformed the slumbering ranch house. Out of doors, from
around corners, and even as if they sprang out of the ground, appeared
the broncho boys, and the air fairly rang with their shouts of welcome.

"That's the way I'd like to be greeted," said Farnsworth, a little
bitterly.

"Then why don't you fix it so that you are?" asked Ted, smiling.




CHAPTER XIV.

CHRISTMAS AT BUBBLY WELL.


Ted introduced Farnsworth as Mr. Dickson, whom he had met on the road,
and the boys made the newcomer welcome in their usual characteristic
style.

In a few minutes Major Caruthers rode up to the house, and Ted brought
Farnsworth forward. From the question Farnsworth had put to him when he
had first mentioned the owner of the Bubbly Well Ranch, Ted was anxious
to see the meeting between the two men.

Major Caruthers received the young fellow cordially, and told him, with
true Western hospitality, that he was welcome to stay as long as he
wished.

But Ted was watching Farnsworth.

As he put out his hand to grasp the major's, a peculiar look crossed his
face. It was rather wistful, too, and it seemed as if he wanted to say
much more than the few formal words of thanks which he returned in
exchange for the major's greeting.

Ted looked curiously at the two men, and started with surprise at a
peculiar resemblance Farnsworth bore to the older man.

Ted had not particularly noticed the major's face and eyes before, but
now he noticed that his eyes bore a remarkable resemblance to those of
Farnsworth.

There was a resemblance, too, in the shape of the head and the turn of
the jaw, but there it ended; and Ted surmised that the major must be at
least fifteen or twenty years older than the stranger.

During the rest of the day there was much mystery about the house that
always precedes Christmas.

Stella was particularly busy, and flew here and there, whispering with
Bud, who seemed to be in some secret with her.

Behind the big ranch living room was a bedroom which had been used for
casual guests.

Stella had possession of it, and had taken the bed down and banished it
until after the holidays.

Within this room certain mysterious things were going on, and whenever
Stella or Bud left it, the door was always locked behind them.

Not all the teasing of Ben and Kit, nor their efforts to get past the
door, were successful in finding out what was going on.

Along toward evening, Bud, who had not met Farnsworth, or Dickson, as he
was known to Bubbly Well, came across that young man pacing up and down
the veranda alone.

When Bud saw him he stopped as if shot, took a long look, and then
passed on.

But he set out to find Ted, which he did at last at the corral.

"See here, Ted," said the golden-haired cow-puncher, "whar did yer pick
up ther maverick what's up at ther house? I hear he come with yer."

"I met him on the road, and he wanted to know if the major would put him
up for the night, and I told him I thought he would be welcome,"
answered Ted.

"Of course he'd be welcome. Ther major would welcome a yaller dog with
ther mange, out in this yere lonely place. But say, boy, does yer know
what yer brought?"

"Why? I don't understand you exactly, I'm afraid."

"Yes, yer do. Who is that feller? He's not Dickson. Who is he?"

"Search me."

"That's what I'm tryin' ter do, an' if yer don't give up peaceful, I'm
goin' through yer, minute."

"Do you know who he is?"

"I've got my suspicions. I see a feller up to Phoenix what's ther dead
ringer fer him, an' his name wasn't Dickson then."

"What was it?"

"It was Fancy Farnsworth."

"I guess you're on, Bud. But Mr. Farnsworth asked me to keep it dark,
and, as it is Christmas, I consented to do so. Remember, this is the
time for brotherly love and peace toward all men. It wasn't much to do,
and I invented the name of Dickson for him myself. What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothin', if yer like ter bring cattle like that ter our Chrismus
festivities. Fer me, I wouldn't."

"I guess he's not as bad as that."

"He's worse."

"Explain."

"Well, if yer don't know, I will, an' let yer chew on it, an' see if yer
want ter take any chances on him. Now, Farnsworth ain't his real name,
neither. D'y'ever hear tell o' ther Somber Pass massacree, where a
tenderfoot immigrant named Spooner an' his family was killed, an' their
wagons an' horses, an' a pile o' money what Spooner had brought with him
ter start a cattle ranch an' buy stock with, wuz taken? D'y'ever hear
tell o' that?"

"Sure. It's part of the history of the Territory."

"D'y'ever hear any suspicions cast upon nobody?"

"I never did. That is, I never heard any one specifically charged with
the crime. Did you?"

"I did, an' his other name was Farnsworth, only that wasn't ther name he
went by at that time. He's ther feller who was p'inted out ter me as
ther devil what led ther band o' cutthroats what killed ther Spooner
family fer a measly few thousands o' dollars. That's what I meant if yer
knew who yer was bringin' ter yer happy home."

"Why, that crime was committed five years ago, and Dickson or
Farnsworth, as he calls himself, was too young then to be engaged in
anything of that sort."

"He looks young, but he ain't. He's ther feller. Look out fer him, Ted."

"Don't you tip off who he is, Bud. I brought him here because it is
Christmas, and he's going to stay. He's going to get a square deal here
if I have to fight for him."

"Oh, I won't say nothin', but I'd like ter slip a pair o' handcuffs onto
them smooth, white wrists o' hisn, jest ther same. But why is he here?
What's he doin' in this part o' ther country?"

"I don't know, Bud. He asked me when he met me and knew who I was if I
had heard the news about him. I hadn't, and told him so, but he did not
volunteer any information on the subject."

"Whar did he come from? Did he tell you?"

"Yes, he said he had come from Rodeo; starting early this morning."

"Then look fer a big piece o' news from Rodeo right soon."

"How do you know?"

"I know this, if Farnsworth left Rodeo airly this mornin' thar was some
good reason fer it. I reckon it's a killin'. But he's a chump ter stop
off here. If anything has been pulled off at Rodeo, ther whole country
will be out after him, fer Fancy, so called fer his passion fer good
clothes an' high-colored poker chips, they don't like none too well,
he's too almighty quick an' slick with his six-shooter, hez got a list
o' killin's ter his credit as long as yer arm."

"Well, he's here; let's forget it until after breakfast. But as long as
he's here as a guest, he gets all the protection I can give him."

Supper that night was a very merry function in the Bubbly Well ranch
house, full of mysterious whisperings and jokes which were only
understood by two or three at a time.

Mr. Dickson, as the latest guest, occupied a seat at the left hand of
the host, and Ted again noticed the remarkable resemblance between the
two, although it did not seem to be apparent to the others; at least, no
one mentioned it.

After supper was over, and the Chinese cook and waiter had cleared the
room, the major brought out a violin, and asked if any one could play
it.

"Clay kin jest make a fiddle sing!" shouted Bud, dragging the modest
Kentuckian forward.

There was a piano in the living room, and Stella and Clay went to it,
and while Clay played the violin, Stella accompanied him.

Lively airs were demanded, and the ranch house fairly rang with the
clapping of feet as Bud and Carl and Kit danced reels and jigs and cake
walks, and the laughter of the boys at Bud's jokes and Carl's lingual
mistakes.

But at last they became tired of music. It was ten o'clock, and the
major disappeared for a few minutes, then entered, leading the way for
the two Chinamen, who bore between them baskets of rosy apples, dishes
of nuts and raisins and candies, and pitchers of cider.

Although the day had been warm enough in the sun, the night was cool,
and the fire that leaped high in the fireplace made the room cozy and
comfortable, and one could well imagine that outside was the snow
glistening under the stars, and hear the far-away jingle of the sleigh
bells.

They sat around the fireplace eating apples and cracking nuts, talking
nonsense and laughing at Bud's comic antics, until even Farnsworth
relaxed from the air of anxiety he had borne all evening, and once or
twice laughed.

But Bud kept his eye on him, for he was distrustful of him, and believed
that he was up to some trick.

At the end of the living room, between two massive deer heads, hung a
big clock, and, while they were still cracking nuts and jokes it began
to toll the hour of midnight.

Instantly every one was on his or her feet shouting "Merry Christmas!"
and shaking hands all around. Farnsworth was not neglected because he
was a stranger, and Stella was the very first to wish him happiness on
this Christmas Day.

Ted was the last to press forward and with all sincerity wished him
happiness, and, as he did so, he noticed that the young fellow was very
pale, and that his eyes were filled with unshed tears as he looked from
Ted to the major, who was fairly beaming with happiness and joy at the
great success of his Christmas Eve party, which, he said, was the finest
ever held in Arizona.

Then Clay sat down to the piano and began to play a march, and Bud, with
a great flourish, unlocked and threw open the door of the guest room.

Every one started back in surprise, while a shout went up that shook the
roof; but the old major hadn't a word to say. He simply stared, growing
pale and red by turns. He was deeply affected, and Farnsworth had
retired to a far corner, with his face buried in his hands. What
memories stirred him that this desperate young man should be so shaken?

Inside the room all was aglow with myriads of candles which sparkled
from a small pine tree, which was hung with numerous packages and
strings of popcorn. Now every one understood the mysterious movements of
Bud and Stella.

But the most marvelous thing of all was the enormous figure of Santa
Claus, dressed in a coat of red, liberally trimmed with fur, and a long
beard sweeping his breast, sitting on the back of a splendid little bay
pony that was none too quiet in the midst of the light and noise.

"Where did it all come from?" asked Ted of Stella, as they were standing
together admiring the tree.

"Oh, Bud and I thought it out for a surprise for you and the boys before
we left Phoenix, and one afternoon, when you were busy, we went shopping
and brought all these things. If we hadn't come here, we were going to
have the tree in the dining room of the hotel," she answered.

"It was a great idea, and just like you, Stella. It has made this like
Christmas, indeed. We couldn't have had a better one at Moon Valley."

"But look at Major Caruthers," said Stella, pulling Ted by the sleeve.

The old major was actually on the verge of tears.

"I have never been so near the dear home of my boyhood as this evening,
with all you happy, generous young people around me," he said.

"Who in the world is Santa Claus?" asked Ted.

"Why, just Santa Claus, you goose," said Stella, laughing.

But now Santa Claus got down from the pony's back and stepped to the
front of the tree. Every one gathered around and kept silent.

"Good evening, children," he said, in a gruff and husky voice.

"Ach, it iss Kris Krinkle!" shouted Carl Schwartz, in glee. "Py Chiminy,
ain't he noble? How you vas, Kris?"

"Children, I have a few seasonable gifts for you which I will give you
before I hurry away, for I have many more young friends whom I must
visit before the dawn. But first I will turn over to my young friend Ted
Strong this beautiful pony, which has been intrusted to me by Major
Caruthers." He led the pony forward and thrust the bridle into Ted's
hand.

Ted was so astonished that he did not know what to say, but managed at
last to mumble his thanks to his host.

For Stella there was a beautiful necklace of New Mexican turquoises from
the major, who also had not forgotten one of the boys.

Then mysterious packages, well wrapped, were handed off the tree, and as
they were opened, shouts of laughter greeted them, for nearly every one
of them contained something meant as a joke on the recipient.

Carl got a noble-looking parcel, and when he opened it, found a nice red
bologna sausage. Every one screamed with laughter, but Carl promptly
turned the joke by taking out his knife and cutting up and devouring the
sausage.

There was a lemon for Kit from Ben, and a Joe Miller joke book, full of
antiquated chestnuts, for Bud, who proceeded to get square by reading
all the most ancient ones, such as the chicken crossing the road, and
similar gems.

While the laughter and fun were at their height there was a sound on the
veranda, and they all stopped to listen.

Ted instinctively turned to where Farnsworth was sitting alone in the
corner, for there had been no presents for him, and saw him sitting up,
listening intently.

Being a guilty man, or, at least, aware that he was being pursued, he
was alert.

"What's the row out there?" asked the major, who was loath to have the
evening's fun disturbed by outsiders.

"Don't know," said Ted. "Sounded like some one walking on the veranda
and trying the door."

He had no sooner spoken when the door was thrust open and four men
sprang into the room and looked around.

At the same instant, Farnsworth leaped to his feet, drawing his revolver
and backing into the center of the room.

Farnsworth was as pale as paper, but his eyes flashed fire as he glanced
swiftly around.

Apparently there was no way of escape, for the intruders barred the only
outside door.

The sudden entrance into the brilliant light had temporarily blinded the
men, so that they stood uncertainly for a few moments, looking from one
to the other of the figures that almost filled the room.

Major Caruthers now stepped in front of them, his face red with anger.

"What do you mean by intruding on me like this?" he thundered.

For answer, one of the men threw back his coat and displayed the star of
a deputy United States marshal.

"We're officers," he said gruffly, "an' we want Fancy Farnsworth."

"You've come to the wrong place," said the major.

"Oh, no, we haven't. We traced him right here, an' he's in this house."

"What crime has he committed?"

"He killed a woman over at Rodeo last night."

An exclamation of horror arose from all parts of the room.

"There he is! Get him!" almost screamed one of the men, pointing to the
pale but resolute figure standing under the chandelier.

There was a rush, and confusion indescribable followed.

Crash went the chandelier, shattered into a thousand pieces by a dozen
bullets.

Rushing, struggling forms turned the smoke-filled room into a perfect
bedlam.

Two of the intruders went to the floor, sent there by swift and powerful
right-handers from Ted.

But they were up and rushing through the room in the direction of the
Christmas tree.

There Santa Claus met them, and again they were bowled over.

Ted saw the slender, black-clothed figure of Farnsworth slip past him in
the smoke.

Then followed the sharp hoofbeats of a pony on the wooden floor, a crash
of glass, and the swift patter on the earth outside, and all was still.

Farnsworth had leaped upon the back of Ted's Christmas-gift pony and
escaped.




CHAPTER XV.

THE THUGGEE CORD.


Several moments following the dramatic and sensational escape of the
Christmas guest passed in silence, to be broken at last by Kit.

"That was about the smoothest get-away I ever saw," he said, with a
grin, for he had assisted in it by deftly tripping the chief deputy
while he was on the way to intercept the pony.

"What in thunder did they want to stop my star performance for?" asked
Santa Claus, pulling off his beard and revealing the rubicund face of
Ben Tremont, who was slowly baking beneath the heavy robes and hairy
disguise.

"Well, he's gone, and only taken a pony and a window with him," said the
major, "and he's welcome to both. And now, you men, we'll try to
dispense with your company. You see, this is a private party, and had I
known that you were in this part of the country, I probably would have
invited you to be present. But I regret to say that the guest list is
full."

The leader of the posse of deputy marshals looked up with a scowl.
Apparently, he was mad clear through at the sudden and unexpected loss
of his prospective prisoner.

As he looked about his eye encountered that of Ted Strong, in which he
saw laughter, which did not tend to lessen his anger.

"I've a good mind to arrest the whole bunch of you for conspiring at the
escape of a United States prisoner," he growled.

"You'd stand a fine show to do that," said Ted quietly. "On the other
hand, I've a mind to arrest you for the forcible entry of this house."

"You have, have you?" sneered the other. "You make me laugh, young
feller. You couldn't arrest a fly!"

Ted threw open his coat and showed that he, too, wore a star.

The leader of the posse leaned forward to read the authority on it.

"Who are you?" he asked huskily.

"I am Ted Strong."

"Then why didn't you stop Fancy Farnsworth?"

"What for? I have no knowledge of his having committed a crime, and,
besides, I have no warrant for him. Have you?"

"No. Didn't have time to get one. But that makes no difference. He
killed a woman, and as soon as I heard of it I got my posse together an'
hit his trail. If it hadn't been for you fellows I'd have got him."

"I don't think you would."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because he'd have killed two or three of you first."

"What about this crime, and why are you so sure he committed it?" asked
Major Caruthers. "I thought him a fine, gentlemanly, quiet young fellow,
and I'm somewhat of a judge of men myself. I can hardly believe that a
man of that stamp could commit so terrible a crime as woman murder. That
is the lowest degree of killing."

"He done it, just the same," said the deputy marshal positively.

"Why are you so sure?" asked Ted, taking up the interrogation.

"Well, in the first place, he skipped the town just before the body of
the woman was found. He was seen to ride out of town along the road on
which her house stood."

"Is that all the evidence you have against him?"

"No; he was seen coming out of the house about three hours before he was
seen leaving town."

"H'm! Is that all?"

"It comes pretty near enough. But, besides that, it was known that the
woman, who was young and beautiful, had recently received a lot of money
as her share in a mine, and that the money had been taken to her that
morning by one of her partners."

"And it is believed that the young fellow you call Fancy Farnsworth
killed the woman for her money?"

"Sure."

"In what shape was the money? Currency, gold dust, ingots, or gold
coins?"

"It was in ingots."

"Anybody know how much of it there was?"

"Yes; her partner, Billy Slocum, was at the hotel, intendin' to go back
to the mine to-day, and I went to see him."

"And did he give you any idea of how much the gold weighed?"

"Yes, it weighed about thirty pounds. Billy brought it in on his saddle,
and he said it weighed quite considerable."

"But Farnsworth, as you call him, had nothing of the sort when he
arrived here."

"That may be. He'd be too foxy to do that. He's cached it somewhere in
the mountains, most likely."

"How was the woman killed?"

"She was strangled by a cord."

"What was her name?"

"Helen Mowbray."

"What sort of a woman was she?"

"She was a mystery to most the folks at Rodeo, an' all over the
mountains, for that matter. Nobody knew where she came from. She didn't
mix much with the folks, but lived in a swell house, what she had built
for herself, with only two servants, a Japanese man and woman."

"Was she rich?"

"Said to be. Had interests in a good many mines, an' owned the Cristobal
Turquoise Mine."

"Anybody ever learn where her mail came from?"

"Yes, she frequently got letters from England, and occasionally sent
large drafts to a bank in London to her credit."

"How do you know this?"

"Early this morning, when the crime was discovered, and every one was
talking about it, Mr. Rossington, the banker, told that much to a crowd
at the hotel."

"Had she any particular friend in Rodeo?"

"Only Farnsworth, who came to the town at intervals and put up at the
hotel. When he was in town he generally spent an hour or two at her
house in the afternoon or evening, and then faded away as mysteriously
as he came."

"Did he appear to be in love with her?"

"All I know about that is what I have heard since Miss Mowbray's death."

"There has been gossip, then?"

"Not what you would call gossip, exactly. Only folks who had seen them
riding and driving together a few times seemed to think that, while she
was very much in love with him, he never made any fuss over her."

"How long have you known Farnswort

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