The saddle boys on the plains

Buckskin had done it!

Some new and entirely unexpected trick had caught that clever and alarmed horse-thief napping. Torn from his hold, he found himself hurled over the head of the animal. Bob could hear the heavy thud as he struck the ground.

“Wow! that hurt some, I tell you, Frank?” he cried.

“Watch!” said the other, tersely.

There was about one chance in three that the man who had been so violently dislodged from his seat might have broken his neck. This fellow was either agile, or lucky enough to avoid such a happening. They saw him roll over several times, and then scramble to his knees.

The yellow pony gave a savage little squeal. Evidently Buckskin was not satisfied with having simply gotten rid of the unpleasant burden he had been carrying. The insult rankled deep, and hence he made for the spot where the now alarmed wretch was struggling to his feet, with the desire to escape holding chief place in his mind.

There arose a series of yells and angry squeals and snorts. Buckskin could be seen taking furious nips at the man, who was trying to beat him off as well as he was able, and all the while yelling lustily for help.

Teeth and hoofs were giving the rascal all he could manage; and unless something soon came to pass to change matters, there was no telling what would happen to one venturesome horse thief who, as Bob expressed it, had “bitten off more than he could chew.”

Frank was only waiting until he thought that the fellow had been sufficiently punished, when he expected to call the animal off. It was of course a question whether the enraged Buckskin would obey the call; and in case he refused, some other means must be taken to save the life of the fellow who was dodging, lighting, and howling with all his might.

“Frank, he’ll kill him!” exclaimed Bob, who could hardly move, so deeply interested had he been by this strange happening that had taken place before them, as though the performance had been especially arranged for their benefit.

Apparently the other must have just come to the same conclusion.

“Here, hold my gun, Bob!” he remarked; and when the transfer had been accomplished Frank put his fingers to his lips.

A shrill whistle pealed forth. Buckskin ceased his astonishing actions, and, with a whinny, started rapidly toward the spot where his master waited.

Once the yellow horse paused, and turned half around, as though strongly tempted to disobey, and go back for another dance with the horse thief; who, taking advantage of the opening, was limping away in a hurry.

Frank sent out another whistle; and this settled matters. Buckskin dared not disobey. Possibly he had in a measure satisfied his desire for revenge, and felt that he could afford to let the thief get away in a crippled condition.

“Good old chap!” said Frank, as he fondled the muzzle of the intelligent pony. “The rustler that gets you will have to be a better man than that one you just nibbled at!”

“Isn’t he a wonder, though!” declared the admiring Bob. “I never would have believed that a horse could be so smart. And if you hadn’t called him off, Frank, ten chances to one that fellow would have paid dearly for wanting to get our mounts.”

“I rather think he has paid dearly for it, right now,” laughed the other. “Just feel of these teeth, and tell me how you’d like to have them taking hold of your shoulder. And if the pony managed to strike him a few times with his forefeet, they’d leave black and blue marks.”

“Think they’ll come back to try it on again?” asked Bob, though he himself never had the slightest belief of that.

Frank laughed scornfully.

“Say,” he remarked. “I don’t believe you could hire either of those fellows to take a look in at our little camp again, for love or money. That last one knows when he’s got enough, anyhow. There he’s found his own horse, and is kicking his heels into his sides. All he wants is to put a few miles between his own back and the little buckskin pony.”

“What will we do now?” asked Bob.

“Oh! well, the first thing for me to do is to patch up my rope again, because, you see, that rustler sliced it off short. Then I’ll stake the pony out. After that, me to crawl under the tent once more. It’s a great thing to be able to sleep, while your horse keeps watch, Bob.”

“Wonder what Domino thought of it all; and if he’ll take pattern by it?” remarked the Kentucky boy. “You see, he’s got a heap to learn, just like his master; but I have hopes that both of us will climb up out of the tenderfoot class right soon now.”

“You’re both getting there,” laughed Frank, as he walked over to where he would find the main part of his lariat.

This he managed to fix in a temporary manner that would do until he could get at it by daylight. And Buckskin acted quite as though proud of what he had done. He started to nibble at the grass near by; but Bob noticed, with more or less amusement, that the pony kept raising his head, and looking eagerly around, every half minute or so.

“He’s hoping that another of the same kind will come, and try it on, Frank,” Bob declared, with a merry laugh.

“Well, then, he’s going to be badly disappointed,” the other replied; “because those fellows are miles away by now, and still going licketty-split to get out of this section. It’s some warm here for their breed. Even the horses are hungry to take a grab at ’em.”

Accordingly both boys crawled under the little shelter, which Frank called a “dog tent,” from having seen the regulars of the army fashion just such a rain-proof from a couple of rubber ponchos, under which two soldiers could keep the upper parts of their bodies from much of the moisture.

It took Bob a long time to get to sleep again. He was not used to such exciting sessions in the night; and, despite his determination to forget, he tossed and turned for almost an hour before slumbering.

Frank, on the other hand, seemed to be asleep inside of five minutes after his head rested on the pillow made of his saddlebags. Nor did either of them show signs of uneasiness after Bob finally managed to conquer his wakefulness, until the dawn came and aroused Frank.

“Hope we can make the mine by to-night,” remarked Bob, as they sat there a little later, enjoying their breakfast, which consisted of coffee and venison; and of course this fresh meat tasted all the sweeter to Bob because it had fallen to his gun.

“With anything like decent luck we ought to show up there,” Frank observed. “And the closer we get to the Cherry Blossom district the more I find myself wondering what sort of trouble we’re going to find ourselves up against.”

“You must remember that I’ve never visited the mine, Frank, even if my father does hold a lot of the stock, and in conjunction with your family controls the operation of the works. Who’s the foreman or superintendent in charge?”

“A man by the name of Gustave Riley is superintendent, and he’s been in charge for a long time now,” Frank replied.

“Your father trusts him, then?” pursued the other; for truth to tell, Bob expected some day to become a lawyer, and he often showed signs of the profession even now, by investigating, questioning, and figuring out results.

“Well, he has all this while, and so far as I know Riley has played a straight game,” Frank replied. “But dad told me to go slow, and be sure of my ground before I either trusted anyone, or suspected them of treachery. One thing seems sure, and that is the prospect of our finding that there’s been some sort of rascality going on at the Cherry Blossom.”

“The temptation is great, for one thing,” suggested Bob.

“Yes,” Frank went on, thoughtfully; “because of late the ore has been richer than ever, so we hear.”

“And about that letter of warning, does your father have any suspicion who wrote it?” Bob asked.

“He thought of a number of people who might have sent it, but in the end admitted that he was all up in the air. You see, Bob, while it didn’t go into details at all, it gave him to understand that the writer chanced to know there was some bad business on foot, which could only be nipped in the bud by prompt action. And it made dad so provoked, to think that his game leg must keep him at the ranch just when he was needed so badly in the other place.”

“I only hope we can fill the bill with credit,” sighed Bob.

“Well, we’re going to do our level best,” declared Frank, “and that’s about all anybody could do. When I size matters up, I expect to understand just who are loyal, and who have gone over to the other side. Then there are going to be some wholesale discharges. I’ve got all the authority needed, and I won’t be afraid to use it, either.”

“I like to hear you talk like that, Frank,” the other said.

“That’s the only way, Bob. We were given to understand by the writer of the letter that was not signed by any name, that the Cherry Blossom needed an overhauling, unless we were willing to let unscrupulous parties profit at our expense. Just think how that leaves me guessing, will you?”

“But Frank, we’ll know more in ten hours than we do now; and that’s a heap of comfort,” Bob managed to remark, confidently.

“It sure is,” agreed the other.

“I saw you looking at that little packet the wrecked balloonist handed over,” Bob went on to say. “Were you thinking of opening it ahead of time, Frank?”

“Oh, I guess not,” replied the other. “How anxious you are to know what’s in that envelope. Perhaps, after all, it doesn’t make a bit of difference to us. Mr. Jared Scott may only have been thinking about his own private affairs. How do we know but what he only wants us to communicate with some of his people, after a certain time has elapsed? Anyhow, it might as well lie there for six more days; but I see that you’re going to give me little peace till then.”

“Now you’re rubbing it in on me,” remonstrated Bob. “Fact is, I only feel curious because he looked so queerly at you when he heard your name. Strikes me that perhaps what’s in the envelope might give us a clue to what’s been going on over at the Cherry Blossom mine!”

Frank looked at him closely.

“That’s only a guess on your part, Bob; you don’t know anything to point that way, do you?” he demanded.

“No, can’t say that I do,” admitted the Kentucky lad.

“Then we’ll just try to forget about it all for a while,” was Frank’s concluding decision; and Bob urged him no more.

They got off to a flying start soon after, and left behind them the high ridge that had come so near ending the career of the balloonist, Mr. Scott. During the morning the two horses kept pretty steadily at their work of putting the miles behind them. By two in the afternoon they had reached the other chain of mountains, in the heart of which the famous gold mine lay.

Both boys began to show signs of anxiety, the nearer they drew to the scene of the trouble.

“We can make it all right, can’t we, Frank?” asked Bob, as they found themselves surrounded on all sides by the wildest kind of rocky scenery, through which the trail zigzagged, with gigantic walls towering above their heads.

“No trouble about it,” replied the other. “Fact is, Bob, right now I’m rather expecting to sight some of the boys above there. If the wind was right we could see the smoke from the stamp mill and the ore crusher. And that makes me remember how I heard the machinery working sooner than this the last time father brought me over to the Cherry Blossom.”

“But you don’t get the sound of the stamp mill or the crusher now?” asked Bob.

“It’s all as silent as the grave,” replied Frank, looking into the troubled eyes of his chum, with a set expression on his own face. “That would seem to mean the mine is shut down. But look up there; isn’t that a man waving his hat to us right now?”