CHAPTER V
AT THE QUICKSANDS
“Sounds like it’s coming from the east, which means that herd is safe!” remarked Bob, as he and his chum stood in the faint light of early morning, listening eagerly to the sounds of cattle moving—the clicking of long-horns striking, the peculiar snap of hoofs, and every now and then a low bellow from some steer that had been prodded to keep him in line with the course leading to the big corral.
“Listen again!” exclaimed Frank, with evident satisfaction in his voice.
“Did you think you caught sounds, too, from over in the other direction?” asked Bob, seeing his chum appeared to have his attention turned that way.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” came the reply.
“That would mean both herds are safe, then, Frank?”
“Glad to say it looks that way,” replied the other, whose keen hearing could often catch sounds that were unheard by the less keen ears of Bob.
Presently there could be no doubt about it. From two directions came great herds of prime cattle, steers, cows and calves partly grown, and many ready to be branded at the fall round-up so near at hand.
For a time there was more or less excitement, as the herds were driven through the gateway into the great corral, where they could find abundant pasturage for a day or two, while the main body of cowboys were away. Several men must be left behind to attend to the cattle, and these could during the day drive the big herd forth to the nearest grass and water.
After breakfast ponies were looked after, and a thousand and one preparations made that had an ominous significance. Had the rustler, Pedro Mendoza, only been able to look in on Circle Ranch just then, it must have flattered his pride to know what an upheaval his raid had created. And possibly it may have also rendered him a bit uneasy, because of the warlike signs which those determined cowboys manifested as they prepared to take to the trail.
Colonel Haywood would not hurry, however.
“We’ve got the whole day before us, boys,” he said, when some of the more impatient urged that they get away faster, “and others to follow, if need be. They can’t drive a big herd away faster than we can follow, if only we keep to the trail. We must watch out all the while for trickery. Mendoza has won out that way every time he ran off a bunch of cattle, deceiving those who tried to follow. And this time we mean to follow him to his secret cache, remember that, boys!”
“Hurrah! that’s the talk!” shouted several, their confidence in the wisdom of their employer returning.
In due time, then, a determined body of cowboys galloped away from the ranch buildings, heading for the range where Andy and Clem had been watching their herd at the time of the night raid.
Besides the Colonel, and the two saddle boys, there were ten well armed men in the group of riders that clattered away, with the customary vim of their class, waving their hats to those who could not take part in the ride, and apparently filled with the utmost enthusiasm.
Bart Heminway was there for his advice would prove valuable under certain conditions; because the foreman was a veteran in the cattle line. Besides, he had long been known as something of a fighter, and in case they came to a pitched battle with the rustlers, his experience would be worth considerable.
Bob was naturally deeply interested in everything he saw and heard. While he had now been in the Southwest more than a year, this was his first experience in a dangerous foray against those pests of the stockmen, the cattle rustlers. And Bob had heard so much about Mendoza and his night riders that, boylike, he was anxious to actually see the clever Mexican at close quarters.
“What do you think your father will do, Frank, if we manage to find where Mendoza hangs out?” he asked his chum as they galloped along, Domino and Buckskin having little trouble in keeping up with the balance of the horses.
“That depends a good deal on what Mendoza does himself,” replied Frank. “If he’s wise enough to vamoose at sight of us, perhaps we won’t get a crack at any of the bunch. But if he tries to stand by the herd, and fight for it, I reckon there’ll be some warm doings, Bob.”
“I hope we can follow the trail; and for the life of me I can’t see how they could hide the marks of fifty head of cattle. It must take pretty fine work, Frank, to do that, don’t you think?”
“Oh! they’re up to all that sort of thing,” Frank replied. “I’ve heard some of our boys say an Indian would be clumsy at hiding tracks alongside a few of Mendoza’s best hands. But wait and see what happens, Bob; perhaps we’ve got a few fellows along just as smart at finding a trail as they are at hiding one.”
“I hope so,” Bob rejoined. “I’d just hate to have to go home like a whipped dog, that carries his tail between his legs. And Frank, don’t you remember what your father said about Thunder Mountain, and how we saw a string of horses being led into the canyon that night?”
“Sure,” replied Frank, quickly and significantly; “that’s part of the game. We’re bound to scratch Thunder Mountain all over with a fine-tooth comb before we give up beat. If Mendoza does have a hidden cache in some little valley, where he keeps his stolen herds, and changes the brands before driving them to market, we expect to find it, and get back our property.”
“We must be getting near the place where Andy wrangled his herd last night,” Bob went on.
“Right ahead there,” replied Frank. “How are you feeling just now, Bob?”
“Fine and dandy; and just wild to know how we’re going to come out,” Bob answered. “Fact is, I wouldn’t have a single care or worry on my mind right now, if it wasn’t for that knife!”
“Oh! rats! will you never forget that, Bob? I was in hopes you’d dream where it was,” laughed Frank.
“Well, I didn’t, and that’s a fact,” the other went on, with a quick look at his chum’s face; “and I don’t suppose you did, either, Frank?”
“I should say not, Bob. I give you my word I’ve never set eyes on that blade since I saw you use it the day before yesterday.”
“Oh! where was that, Frank; perhaps you might give me a little clue, and there’s no telling what it might lead to,” demanded the Kentucky boy, eagerly.
“Why, don’t you remember about it?” asked Frank.
“No, I can’t just seem to get a line on it,” Bob answered, gloomily. “Seems to just come to me, and then it slips away. I used the knife, you say; was it when we were eating lunch on that little hunt we took, Frank?”
“No. Have you forgotten that you started in to show me how much you knew about cutting up a deer the right way?” Frank asked, still laughing at his chum.
“Well, I declare, that’s a fact, Frank; of course I had to use my knife when I carved that antelope you ‘tolled’ up with your red handkerchief, and knocked over before he was able to satisfy his curiosity. But, Frank, I’m nearly dead sure I can remember having the knife after that—while we were eating, for instance.”
“Perhaps you did, Bob, but honest, that’s the last time I can remember seeing you use it. Here we are at the place now. And watch how our trailers get busy.”
Two of the cow punchers, who were known to be superior hands at following an obscure trail, were thrown out ahead. The rest kept just a little to the rear, since they did not wish to interfere.
Even one who was known as a greenhorn could have followed the broad trail of fifty head of cattle, leaving that spot. These men were doing more. As they rode back and forth, their keen eyes on the constant watch for signs, they began to pick up facts that would presently tell them just how many of the rustlers there had been in the party.
“Eight all told,” one of the men reported presently; “an’ the pony with the cloven hoof is one Spanish Joe used to ride when he was on our range.”
Bob listened to this with growing wonder. He could not for the life of him see how the actual number of the thieves could be discovered so early in the pursuit.
“I’m sure to learn a heap before we get back to the ranch again,” he mentioned to his chum.
“I just reckon you will,” Frank replied, with a grim smile; for he knew better than the boy from Kentucky what difficulties would have to be surmounted, and what dangers encountered, ere they could wrest that stolen herd from the lawless men in whose possession it now remained.
An hour’s riding, and the party brought up beyond the Purple Sage mesa, where, on that former occasion, the dozen cattle that had vanished in company with Old Baldy had been traced, to have the trail end near the dreaded quicksands that had swallowed occasional stray mavericks for years.
Some of the cowboys looked serious, as though they feared that a wholesale sacrifice had been made to the deceptive sands, which never gave up anything upon which they had fastened their terrible grip.
“Don’t you believe anything of the sort for a minute, boys,” declared the stockman, positively, as they sat in the saddles looking at the deceptive hole which seemed to invite them on, as offering a short-cut across the nearby mountain passes. “Fifty head of fine cattle didn’t drop in there last night; and driven by expert cow punchers at that. Get busy now, and find out just where the trail turned to the right or left, no matter how it was covered up later. Here’s where we turn over a page, and expose Senor Mendoza’s fine hand. On the jump, everybody now!”