CHAPTER XIX
STARTLING NEWS
“It promises to be a bully day for the round-up, Frank!” remarked Bob,just forty-eight hours after the morning that saw them near the foot ofthe Thunder Mountain Ridge, and driving the recovered herd homeward,after rescuing it from the cattle rustlers of the dreaded Mendoza.
“Just what it does,” replied his chum, who was sitting on his buckskinpony, and looking out to where a band of punchers were circling aroundthe first bunch of cattle that would require attention.
Colonel Haywood had been hearing from the neighboring ranches ever sincethey reached home. In a side corral he had all the cattle taken from therustlers, outside of those which he recognized as his own property. Herethe other stockmen tried to pick out certain steers and cows which hadbeen stolen from them recently.
The original brands had been destroyed, and a new one burned on theflanks of the animals. Evidently these steers had been intended forshipping at the first favorable opportunity for reaching the railroad,on the part of the rustlers.
By degrees two-thirds of the recovered stock had been claimed. Thebalance was likely to remain in the hands of the Circle Ranch people,since there was no means of identifying it.
Having made all his arrangements for the Fall round-up, Colonel Haywooddid not allow such a little matter as his encounter with the rustlerband to disturb his well laid plans.
So this fine morning every cowboy employed on the ranch, as well as someborrowed from friendly neighbors, such as the Arrowhead over on thecreek, were hard at work, bringing in cattle to be looked over, thebrands renewed in cases where they had become unsightly; and theyoungsters that had grown to a considerable size taken in hand for thefirst time, and marked with the big circle.
Since a full day had elapsed after their arrival in safety at the ranch,the two saddle boys had fully recovered from their fatigue. A couple ofgood nights’ sleep had also done much toward making them feel as“chipper as ever,” as Bob expressed it.
“Will they get it all through with in one day?” asked the Kentucky boy,laughing at the antics of some of the wild riders who were rushing backand forth on all sides of the herd, and showing their wonderful skill inthe saddle.
There were riders in the Circle outfit who had few equals, when it cameto carrying out the many difficult feats whereby cowboys delight toprove their claim to being better riders than even the famous RussianCossacks. They could do the most astonishing tricks while galloping atfull speed over the plain. And Bob, though brought up in an atmospherewhere fine horses were bred, the Blue Grass region of Kentucky,despaired of ever equalling the records of some of these expert andreckless punchers.
“Dad says it will take all of two, and maybe more,” replied Frank. “Yousee, some of the herds are a long ways off. And then you’d never imaginethe trouble an old steer gives, once in a while, when it’s necessary torenew his brand. I’ve seen half a dozen boys at their wits’ ends to downa tough old chap; though they always get him, sooner or later. But ittakes time.”
“Old Baldy is with that lot, Frank; I’m sure I can tell him from here,leading them all, like a proud general.”
“Yes, that’s Baldy, sure. And no need of him worrying about his feedafter this. Every cowboy on the range is proud of the way that oldrascal found his way out of the Lost Valley. Why, just think how much weowe him. Only for his leaving a marked trail up to the second gatewaywe’d still have part of our herd cooped up there, and a big job to dig apassage through those tumble-down rocks to get ’em out.”
“Say, Frank, what do you think? I dreamed last night that I found it!”
“I suppose now you’re talking of that wonderful hunting knife you lostnearly a week back?” remarked the other, smiling.
“Just that,” Bob went on.
“And where was it, in your dream?” continued Frank.
“Where do you suppose, Frank?”
“Well, if you’re going to get me guessing, the first place I’d thinkabout would be the spot where you cut up that deer, under the twincotton-woods. How is that for a starter, Bob?”
“You made a bulls-eye of it that time, because that’s just where Ithought I found the old blade!” Bob exclaimed.
“H’m, lying on the ground, and perhaps half hidden under the grass ortrash, eh?” his chum continued.
“That’s where you missed fire. Where else but sticking in the trunk ofthat tree, just where the first crotch lies. But Frank, try as I will, Ijust can’t remember ever putting it there.”
“Which doesn’t prove anything,” his chum went on to say with decision.“Sometimes, you know, we do things mechanically, and without thinking.”
“Yes, just as a fellow will work his pump-gun, after firing a round. Itmay be so, Frank. And if it wasn’t that I want to see everything thatgoes on at the grand round-up here, I’d ask you to ride with me over theplain to where we got that deer.”
“Well, I would have to decline, all the same, Bob; because I’m wantedhere, and so are you. Another time will have to do. If it’s true thatthe knife is there, I reckon it won’t run away inside of another coupleof days or so.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Bob, a little dejectedly it is true; for thelonger the missing article eluded his search the greater grew his desireto find it again.
They were soon in the thick of the work. Frank was given opportunitiesto show how he could throw the rope, and bring a steer down. Bob, too,took a chance; and as he had been practicing diligently since his lastpublic attempt, he “did himself proud,” as he expressed it; actuallyroping a big steer, and throwing the beast in a way that brought out around of cheers from Frank and the boys.
Then Bob also assisted with the branding. The afternoon found them stillat it. With hundreds of cattle to be looked over, considerable time wasrequired to accomplish a clean sweep.
Colonel Haywood found much cause for satisfaction. His herds hadincreased even more than his best record; and doubtless the next fewshipments would be banner ones for Circle Ranch.
Then again, the fact that he had not only recovered his missing herd,but driven the rustlers out of their long secret lair, was another causefor congratulation.
On the preceding day a couple of cowboys had been sent back over thetrail, with instructions to leave their horses at the foot of themountain ridge, and on foot follow the tracks left by the escaping herd,passing into the valley by way of the new gateway.
They were to look there for the horses of the rustlers, which it wasbelieved must have been abandoned at the time of their flight; andshould these be found they would become the property of Circle Ranch asspoils of war.
The afternoon was fairly well along when the two saddle boys, beingtired of the sights and sounds marking the grand round-up, decided togallop a few miles away over the plain.
“There’s a lone pilgrim heading this way, Frank; and he’s on foot too,which I take it is some queer out in this country,” Bob remarked,pointing as he spoke.
“Oh! I don’t know,” his comrade said, “because sometimes Indians don’tall happen to be riders like the Apaches and Comanches, you know.”
“Is that an Indian, then?” asked Bob.
“It sure is, or my eyes deceive me,” Frank went on; “and what’s more,perhaps we happen to know him, too.”
“Do you mean Havasupai, the old Moqui, Frank?”
“That man walks like him,” the prairie boy continued; “and see, he’smaking gestures to us right now. I guess he’s recognized us all right.Trust an Indian’s eyes for knowing a friend as far as he can see him.”
“But the last we saw of Havasupai was up there in the valley, when heshut the door of the rustlers’ bunk-house, just when he knew everyman-jack of ’em was asleep! To tell the honest truth, I had clean forgotall about the old fellow after that.”
“Well, I didn’t forget him,” Frank remarked; “but he never showed upagain, and I had to come away without seeing him. I reckoned he didn’twant Mendoza to know he had played him fals
e. You see, the old Moqui wasawfully anxious to learn where his daughter, the Antelope, was. It seemsthat the rustler married the Moqui girl, and has her hidden awaysomewhere.”
“Yes, I heard him say she was down in Mexico,” Bob declared. “It struckme that Havasupai must imagine the girl is being badly treated, and hewants to recover her again. Do you think I’m near the truth there,Frank?”
“I certainly do,” answered the other, as he swung around, and startedhis horse on an easy lope toward the on coming figure.
Already Bob saw that it was certainly the old Moqui. They had metHavasupai first of all up in the region of the Grand Canyon of theColorado, as has been mentioned in an earlier volume of this series. Andhis actions in the Lost Valley had proven beyond all question that theMoqui wished to retain their friendship.
“Dad will be glad to see him,” Frank remarked, as they drew rapidlynearer the figure of the weary walker. “He said he meant to help the oldman recover his child, if it was possible. And I heard him even askingseveral of those other stockmen if they knew anything about Antelope.”
“Oh! I hope he came across a clue, then,” Bob remarked; “because it mustbe hard on the old chap, being exiled from his village, and losing hisonly child.”
“Dad says that the old warrior can stay around Circle Ranch as long ashe wants,” Frank went on to say; “he will always have his three meals aday, and little to do. Perhaps he’s on his way there right now. He mighthappen to know something of what his son-in-law is meaning to do.”
Presently they drew up with a flourish alongside the old Moqui, whoallowed a faint smile of welcome to creep over his wrinkled and bronzedface at sight of the two lads he had come to care for more than alittle.
“How! Havasupai! what cheer?” cried Bob, reaching down to shake hands.
“We hope you’re on your way to the ranch, Chief,” Frank said, a littlemore seriously; “because my father, the Colonel, wants to see you, andtell you something about the one you are hunting. Will you take a seathere behind me, and ride?”
“It will be as well if Havasupai can meet the big chief soon,” repliedthe old Moqui, gravely, as he accepted Frank’s hand, and for a man ofhis years deftly climbed to the withers of the buckskin pony, thatpranced about, as though not satisfied at the prospect of carryingdouble.
“Have you any news to take him—word of the White Wolf?” asked Frank,referring to the rustler leader after the fashion in which the Moquihimself had addressed him.
“He has left the band, and turned back, filled with hatred for those whotook his cattle out of the valley. Even now he may be there at theranch, with a double face, meaning to have revenge by burning the teepeeof the white man or poisoning the spring where the long-horns drink.”
Frank and Bob stared at each other when the old Moqui said this.
“We must make for home on the jump, Bob!” exclaimed the stockman’s son,as he dug his heels into the sides of his pony, and headed along theback trail, followed by his alarmed chum.