“I’m glad to hear you say that, Uncle Fred,” Adrian told him, realizing what a struggle must be going on inside, when the other talked in this strain. “Things can’t be any worse for you than they seem right now; and who knows what might turn up to bring about a change. Anyhow, I believe in sticking it out. If it gets to the worst, why, between you and me there might be a chance for you to run down to Arizona, and be the overseer at the Mackay place; because I happen to know that his foreman, Si Ketcham, is going to marry a girl who owns a ranch, and that he expects to throw up his job with Donald’s dad pretty soon.”
“Oh! that would be just the thing, if only she didn’t know where I’d gone!” exclaimed the other, eagerly; “but let’s forget my troubles for a while, Adrian, and talk of other things. You’ll want to know all about matters here, how many cattle have been carried off the last year, and what’s left. Come with me into this bunk house, where we can sit down, and have it over with.”
As they turned the corner of the long, low building they came upon a crouching figure. It was Mr. Thomas, who started to limp away at their approach.
“Who’s this tramp?” asked Uncle Fred, quickly.
“He’s a poor fellow,” explained Adrian, “whose horse died under him while he was on the way to see if he could get a job with you, taking care of the ranch books. All he asks is his board in payment for his services. I took him back of me on my pony, thinking we might keep him, for a while anyhow, till he felt better. He’s sick now, and badly off, you see.”
“I should say I was in a tough corner all around,” mumbled the man; “and p’raps it’d be better for me to go as soon as I’m able. Don’t bother about me; I c’n hang out around the bunk house here, and get a bite now and then, till there’s a wagon going off, when mebbe you’ll let me ride. I’ve changed my mind about wantin’ to take up a job here; too much excitement to suit me. I’m all of a tremble right now with hearing what I did.”
“Oh! all right, Mr. Thomas, please yourself,” said Adrian, with a shrug of his shoulders; “you can stay around awhile, and the first chance that comes along make a shift of quarters. The boys’ll see that you get something to eat; or else ask the Chink cook.”
As he and the deposed manager entered the building, he went on to explain a little further, seeing that Uncle Fred looked curious.
“He’s pretty much of a harmless fellow, I take it. All the way here he kept telling of things he had done until you’d think he was a hero if ever there was one; but I reckon it’s all brag with him, and that he’s as timid as they make them. But let’s sit down here, and have a good chin, Uncle.”
They were alone in the bunk house, as far as Adrian could see, so he did not hesitate to speak freely concerning his plans, especially with regard to having sent for the sheriff and his posse, with the idea of opposing any hostile move the lawless Walkers might undertake, upon finding how conditions had changed with the coming of the real owner of Bar-S Ranch.
“It may pass off without open trouble,” Adrian concluded, “but if half I’ve been hearing about this Hatch Walker is true, I don’t think he’ll stand by and see his sway of power over the section knocked out, without making some sort of fight. He may not come into the open, but there are lots of ways of burning ranch buildings, or running off stock, that could be tried. One thing I’m determined on, and that is either I’m going to be boss of my own outfit, or else there won’t be any outfit left on Bar-S Ranch!”
“Good! I like to hear that sort of talk. It’s the stuff I used to put up before I was so unfortunate as to run across a woman who was bent on marrying me. There was where I made my one great mistake. The widow was too much for me, and almost before I knew it we were spliced. You can imagine how I felt later on when first I learned that Mrs. Smeed was really the sister of Hatch Walker. Oh! well, here I am talking about my personal affairs again, when I said I’d let them drop.”
“First of all,” said Adrian, “you must give me a list of the punchers who are employed on the range here, and put a cross in front of every name belonging to a man you have any reason to believe is connected with the Walkers.”
“Oh! I can do that easy, and right now,” replied the other quickly. “I know them all, for haven’t they laughed at my orders of late, after they learned how I was badgered by a woman, me who had always been a man before. Shall I write them out now for you, son?”
“Yes, because I will want to weed out the goats from the sheep pretty soon, and at that time a mistake might cost us dear. Only the faithful shall be put on guard. The ones you black-ball will get their month’s pay, and be made to walk the plank by night-time, if possible; because who knows what may happen once darkness comes along; and a traitor in the camp is worse than three open foes.”
“Right you are there, Adrian; and it tickles me to find you so clever at sizing things up.”
He busied himself with pencil and paper for several minutes; after which he handed over the list he had made out.
“You see,” Mr. Comstock presently said, as Adrian looked over the list, “we’ve got ten punchers here just now, though time was when we needed nearly twice that number; but then the herds ain’t what they used to be, what with two big hauls, and some hard luck last winter in a blizzard.”
“And you seem to have put a cross in front of just five out of the ten names; so it looks as though you couldn’t trust half your force,” the boy remarked.
“Just so, Adrian,” came the reply. “She let some of my best men go because they wouldn’t take orders from her. In time p’raps the rest of the decent ones’d have been weeded out too; they were always in hot water with the missus, and threatening to throw up their jobs, only I begged them to stand by me, or I’d quit too. You can depend on the five through thick and thin.”
“One of them is Frank Bowker, the man you sent to town, so that leaves just four on deck right now; with my three new hands that makes seven of the right sort; and then the three of us boys adds up ten, just enough to handle things if we have to.”
“And count me in with you, because I’m not too old to throw a rope or ride the wickedest cayuse in the bunch; fact is, there’s only one thing on the face of this earth I seem to be afraid of. I won’t mention names, son, because you know what that is without my saying it.”
“Supposing now that those four rustlers made a bee line for home as soon as the one we had with us part of the way here could get back to his mates, and set them free, what do you expect would happen?” Adrian inquired.
“Well,” said Mr. Comstock, “if Hatch Walker was home the chances are the first thing he’d do would be to knock those unlucky punchers sky-high. Depend on it the next time you come across any one of that bunch you’ll notice black eyes in plenty.”
“And then what else?” continued the boy.
“You see, Hatch, he’s run things so long around here now, at his sweet will, that like as not he’ll think of that bunch of cattle as belonging to him. And getting a lot of his boys together he’ll even come swinging along this way to try to run ’em off the second time, and in broad daylight, too.”
“Well, he certainly is a bold one for a fact, and it’s about time he had his wings clipped!” declared the boy, surprised at the condition of affairs in the region that had, during the lifetime of his father, been a peaceful community, stirred up only once in a while when some herder of sheep angered the cow-punchers, and a little shooting followed.
“I’m wondering if I could manage to get into my room through the window without Josie seeing me,” Uncle Fred continued.
Then seeing the boy’s look of astonishment he went on to explain.
“You see, I came running out so fast I hadn’t time to think of picking up my belt, and putting it on; so my gun is in there. And the worst of it is, I can’t enter my room without passing through the one she occupies. That’s how she manages all the time. Just now I wouldn’t like to let her get hold of me. I never yet struck a woman in all my life, and no matter what happens I’m getting too old now to begin on a new tack. So, there you see what a fix I’m in, son.”
“Oh!” laughed Adrian, “you could borrow a gun from one of the boys who might happen to own an extra one. Don’t have anything to do with Aunt Josie until we see how things turn out here. Perhaps there’ll be a big change come along, and the situation will take on a new phase. But suppose the Walkers do make a daylight raid, what about the other herds that are out on the range?”
Mr. Comstock jumped to his feet excitedly.
“There’s two big lots, and they’d get ’em as easy as falling off a log, that’s dead sure!” he exclaimed; “and to think of me sitting here taking things easy when I ought to be outside hustling every puncher off to drive the balance of our cattle into the corrals, where we could stand guard over them tonight, or till the sheriff comes, anyway.”
“But there must be some system about what you do, Uncle Fred,” interposed Adrian.
“Yes, sure there must, but what do you mean by that, son?”
“There are fourteen punchers all told, and five of them you can’t depend on to do the right thing; is that so?” continued the boy.
“Yes, and now I see what you mean, Adrian; we must fix it so that the greater part of each bunch of drivers will be our stand-by men,” the deposed manager said, hastily.
“Yes, if two gangs go out let three of the suspects accompany the one that has five of our fellows along, so that if they desert, or try any tricks, they’ll be at least outnumbered. Billie needn’t do any riding because I reckon he’s nearly played out. That would leave two others to go with me and a couple of the Walker sympathizers; and depend on it I’ll keep an eye on that pair good and hard. If they try any funny business they’ll be sorry, that’s all. So fix things that way, Uncle Fred; and chances are we’ll get all the cattle safely home before the Walkers come along.”
“You’re a great hand to plan things, son; and I’ll do that same; only I hope I can get the loan of a spare gun, if I’m to be left at home when the rest of you go off. I’d be afraid of my life otherwise, I give you my solemn word for it.”
They left the bunk house after that. As they did so a face showed up at one of the windows further on, proving that some one had taken the trouble to listen, in hopes of hearing what plans they made; and it was the face of one of the suspects, in the bargain.
Once outside again they found that the punchers still hung around as though understanding that their services would soon be needed in some way.
With something like his old decisive way of handling men, before his spirit had been almost broken through constant quarrels with his wife, Mr. Comstock picked out such men as he thought ought to be sent out in the two parties, with orders to drive all the stock into the corrals with all haste possible.
One of these was placed in charge of Donald. Besides himself it consisted of three of the suspects and four reliable punchers, eight in all; and they were to go after the larger herd known to be feeding on the hillsides some miles off.
Adrian himself had lanky George Hess, one of his new men, a puncher known as Monkey Jones on account of his agility on the back of a pony, but who was one of Mr. Comstock’s select list, and two of the suspects. They expected to round up a smaller bunch of long-horns, and get them home safely.
Billie watched all these proceedings as though wondering where he came in.
“Don’t I ride along with you, Adrian?” he asked, plaintively, when there was no mention of his name given, and the two parties prepared to sally forth.
“No, not this time, Billie,” replied the other, softly, for some of the men were close by, looking to their saddle-girths, and in other ways making sure things were all right before galloping forth; “Uncle Fred has to stay at home, and you had better keep him company. You see how things stand. We’ll have a warm ride of it; and you never did like driving cattle, you know. Besides, if you are sighing for excitement who knows what may happen here while the rest of us are gone; and you’d better make it a point not to get separated from your rifle, for even one minute!”
Billie’s eyes grew round with comprehension. He could not get the angry face of Mrs. Fred out of his mind; and he felt that Adrian must refer to her when he spoke of trouble springing up.
“Say, I reckon now that’s right,” he replied. “You never know what a woman’s agoin’ to do, any more’n you can tell which way she’s meaning to throw a ball by the way she aims. And poor old Uncle Fred looks like he needed a guardian some, too. So I’ll stick it out here at home; but get back as soon as you can, Adrian. Mebbe a bunch of them Walkers might run in on us here, and with only two men to hold ’em off, why, we’d need assistance, you see.”
Satisfied that Billie was contented to carry out the part of the plan assigned to him Adrian hurried over to where he had left his horse. One of the cowboys belonging to the ranch was standing close by, and when Adrian saw that he happened to be one of the untrustworthy ones who had been picked out to accompany him on the drive, he wondered whether the fellow might not have planned to do something to injure his precious mount.
At least Ten Spot was holding his ears far back, and acting in a vicious manner, as though determined not to allow the stranger to lay hands on him.
When Adrian gave the fellow a keen look he mumbled something about meaning to “fetch the boss’ horse to him, only the animal wouldn’t let him come near;” and then shuffled away to where his own pony was standing.
“I’ll look out for you, my hearty,” thought the boy, for if ever there had been such a thing as treachery on any face, he had seen it there in those shifting eyes and hangdog attitude.
Presently the two parties started off. Of course they would not be genuine cow-punchers if they had not shown more or less extravagance in their way of riding, every fellow seeming to have some favorite way of jumping into his saddle, and then dashing away at headlong speed, waving his hat or his hand, and perhaps giving vent to shrill yells.
Away they coursed over the prairie, one to the north, and the other heading further east. Of course both Adrian and Donald depended entirely on the local punchers to find the cattle; and were wide-awake and not to be deceived by anything that might be said by one of those under the ban, who would possibly want to lead them astray, so that precious time must be lost.
Billie stood and watched them depart with a feeling of despondency. He disliked seeing his two chums leave him, even if it was for only a short time. But then he remembered what Adrian had said about his being “on guard,” and that something was likely to happen there while the others were gone, that would call for valor on his part.
He meant to stand by Uncle Fred, though secretly Billie hoped deep down in his heart that this would not bring him into personal contact with that black-eyed woman who could cast a look on a fellow as though she might be tempted to eat him.
The riders galloped steadily on until they looked like specks in the distance. Of course their return would be considerably slower, because they would then be driving obstinate cattle; and no matter how dextrous the punchers might be, delays were sure to occur.
“I hope they don’t run upon any snag,” Billie was muttering to himself, as he noticed that the smaller party had already vanished from his view; “because, after all that’s been said and done, I think Adrian deserves to save what long-horns he’s got left here on his ranch. Now, who was that peeking at me around the corner of that bunk house? Somebody drawed back like a flash, and acted suspicious, seems like. Reckon it’s up to me to investigate the same. P’raps now this might turn out to be the trouble that Adrian hinted would as like as not crop up here, and which he said I would have to handle. Here goes, then!”
Saying this Billie cautiously handled his repeating rifle, so that it lay in the crotch of his left arm; while he touched the trigger with the forefinger of his right hand; and having so arranged matters he took several bold steps toward the spot where he had seen that head vanish.
His heart seemed to be in his mouth as he turned the corner of the building, for he did not know what sort of a reception might greet him.
No sooner had he done this than he gave a relieved gasp. There was indeed a cringing figure there, but he immediately recognized the fellow as Mr. Thomas, the pilgrim whom they had succored on the trail to Bar-S Ranch, and who hoped to get some sort of position there, at least with a chance of three square meals a day as payment for his clerical services.
“Oh! it’s only you, is it?” grunted Billie, lowering the rifle that was trembling in his nervous grip.
“Yes, that’s all,” whined the other. “Hope I didn’t alarm you any when I poked my head out to see if the coast was clear.”
“What, alarm me?” answered the fat boy, in a voice of lofty scorn; “well, let me tell you it’d take a whole lot more’n that to scare me. You saw how quick I stepped around here to find out what it meant, didn’t you? That don’t look like I could be so easy frightened, does it? Well, I should say not. But what’re you hanging out here for, when you might as well go to the house? Didn’t Adrian tell you to stay for a time anyhow; and he’s the boss here, you must know.”
“But I don’t want to go to the house at all,” remonstrated the man, as he heaved a long sigh, and looked nervously around. “Fact is, I’ve changed my mind about acceptin’ any work here. I might stay around till tomorrow, sleeping out in the bunk house with the boys; and then if there’s a wagon going to town I’ll go along. I’ve remembered a very important engagement that I ought to keep, you see. That’s why I couldn’t think of staying here.”
“Huh! seems to me it’s mighty funny you didn’t think of that same before you ever started out on the trail,” Billie grunted, eying the other half suspiciously; while to himself he was saying: “Wonder now what does ail the fellow? Ever since he set eyes on Mr. Comstock he acts different from what he did. Say, wonder if he could have done the gent an injury, and recognized him when he came here? I reckon I had ought to keep an eye on Mister Thomas; who knows what he might be up to? But I won’t let him know he’s under suspicion. I’ll just pretend to let it pass along, and watch him out of the corner of my left optic.”
Following out this policy Billie engaged the other in conversation. If he expected that the said Mr. Thomas would let fall any sort of hint that would tell him why he had really changed his mind so suddenly, Billie must have been disappointed, for the other made no mention of his own affairs, seeming to be more interested in the possibility of trouble, should the dreaded Walkers come down upon Bar-S Ranch, meaning to take by open force what they had failed to secure through the stampede.
“If they do tackle your crowd there’s apt to be a fight on, I take it,” he remarked, “and more’n likely now somebody might get hurt. Guess it was the worst thing I ever set out to do when that notion of getting a job at the Bar-S popped into my silly head. Jumpin’ right out of the frying-pan into the fire, so to speak. But how’d I ever dream I’d run acrost—but I was going to say that when it comes time to feed p’raps you’ll remember I’m out here in the bunk house, and fetch me just a few bites. I’m half sick, and my leg hurts like anything, which is why I hadn’t ought to go in, to eat with the rest. But I just know I’ll feed worse if I ain’t had a few bites. You won’t forget, will you, Mister Billie?”
Of course the fat boy promised to remember; but he thought it more than suspicious that Thomas made such a silly excuse for keeping away from the rest. He hugged the idea to his heart that the man had another reason, and a good one too, for avoiding Uncle Fred; because, you see Billie did not know that they had already met, and been “introduced” by Adrian, with no unpleasant discovery and explosion as a result.
Being very frank himself it was just like Billie to say something along these lines to the other, which he did in this way:
“Strikes me, Mr. Thomas, that you don’t hanker much about striking up an acquaintance with Adrian’s Uncle Fred. I only hope now that you haven’t done anything to injure him in the past.”
At that the man looked carefully about him, and then coming up to Billie laid a hand confidentially on his arm, as he went on to say softly:
“I understand what you’re thinking about, sir, and I hasten to assure you that your suspicions are all unfounded. I never injured Mr. Comstock, and I sure didn’t rob him of anything in all my life. Fact is, the boot is on the other leg, if you come right down to hard facts. But I’m not complaining, not one whit. He’s as welcome as the daylight. Let’s talk of other things, my young friend. And please turn that repeating gun the other way. It makes me nervous to see it pointing right at me. There, that’s better; but I think I’d better go in and lie down, I’m feeling that bad.”
“Now, I wonder what does ail that queer gent?” mused Billie, after the other had left him, to enter the bunk house, with the avowed intention of lying down. “He limps like all get-out, sure as anything, and I reckon he does look like he’s sick, or scared half to death about something or other. Whatever could it be that’s upset him so since he arrived here? Must be the chance of a scrap coming off; because even if he does boast so hard I’m believing Mr. Thomas is pretty much of a chicken-hearted fellow. My! how he does roll them white eyes of his around whenever he hears the least sound.”
He poked his head in through the open doorway, and saw that the pilgrim of the trail had indeed rolled into one of the bunks that did not seem to belong to any of the punchers; for there were twice as many sleeping places as hands on the place in these days of hard luck for Bar-S Ranch.
“Well, mebbe he is sick after all,” continued the tender-hearted Billie; “and if I get half a chance to sneak any grub, I’ll remember to fetch it to him; because it’s _aw_ful to have to go hungry. Guess I know. And right now I wish I could manage to pick up a few bites, just to keep away that gnawing feeling inside. But me go in that ranch house, and face that lady—well, not if Broncho Billie knows what’s good for him, and he generally does. There’s some things even worse than being hungry; and getting her hands in my hair’d be one of the same. No siree bob, excuse me. Let her practice on her lawful husband as much as she likes; I ain’t in that pulling game.”
He walked up and down outside as if he were a sentry on guard. And indeed, Billie rather felt as though such were his duties just then, for he could not get entirely over his suspicions with regard to that mysterious Mr. Thomas, and his way of dodging, as though he feared being seen by some one who would recognize him.
“Goodness knows what he may have done!” Billie went on to tell himself after a little more time had elapsed, and his thoughts persisted in returning to the subject of the man in the bunk house. “I wonder, now, if there’s anything inside that he could get away with? But then, cow-punchers never leave their savings around loose; fact is, few of ’em ever have a dollar three days after getting paid. Oh! well, I’ll let him alone for a while, and take a look around the corrals and the barns.”
After that he walked about “sizing up things” as he called it. As the sun was bright, though the afternoon had half gone, Billie suddenly remembered that he had a kodak in his pack; so opening this he secured the little snapshot camera, meaning to take his first view of the ranch buildings.
After securing one picture Billie became aware of the fact that Mr. Comstock was beckoning wildly to catch his attention.
“Now, what does he want, I wonder?” the fat boy asked himself; “there he goes at his wireless again, and seems like he was making motions for me to come over back of the house to where he is. Looks like he was ahiding behind that woodpile, too. What ails all the people here, to want to dodge around like they do? But then, there might be some excuse for Uncle Fred to keep mum; because if ever she gets them hands on him after this, there’s going to be some warm times, believe me. Shall I go over and join him, or make out I don’t understand, because I want to take another view of the house?”
Then Billie remembered his promise to Adrian.
“I did say I’d watch out for Uncle Fred, sure enough; and he acts like he needed a nurse, or something like that, right now. Guess I’ll wander around that way; I can make out to be looking for another view of the place, if anybody is ataking the trouble to watch me.”
This he did, and presently joined the late manager of the ranch. Mr. Comstock was still crouching behind that pile of wood. Every now and then he thrust out his head and seemed disposed to start toward the house; but something always caused him to weaken, for he would draw back, shaking his head as if to say: “I can’t seem to do it, and that’s flat!”
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Billie, when he had come up.
“Would you mind doing me a little favor, Billie?” asked the other, with a smile that was intended to be very winning.
“Of course I would, if it wasn’t beyond me,” replied the fat boy; “Adrian told me to help you if you needed anything done.”
“Why, you see, here’s the way things stand,” the late manager commenced to say. “When I heard all the racket, and somebody shouted that the stolen herd was coming back, I was that excited I ran out of the house without taking the trouble to pick up my belt, that carries my gun. It lies in there where you see that open window close to the ground. All you need do is to crawl through, reach it out to me, and then skip again. Get that straight, do you, Billie?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Billie said, slowly enough, for somehow he did not particularly fancy the adventure, since there was a pretty good chance that he would run across the good woman of the house while entering like a burglar; and he shivered when he had a mental picture of how she would pounce upon him.
“I’d go myself, you see, Billie, only that I’m afraid of that female dragon that the law calls Mrs. Comstock. What she’d do to me if she caught me in there would be a caution. And I want that gun the worst kind, because, if there’s going to be any sort of rumpus I’ll need it. Will you go, Billie?”
“I s’pose I’ll have to, sir; but I only hope that she don’t grab me; because I just know from her looks, not to mention her reputation as a scrapper, that I’ll be the worst clawed fellow in seven counties before she lets go. You must promise to stay by the window, and give me fair warning if she comes.”
This did not seem to make the other very happy; but evidently he realized that he could not very well expect Billy to take all the risk.
“Agreed, Billie,” he said, quickly. “Lead off, now; it’s that window closest to the corner, you understand. I’ll look in after you climb over, and take the belt from you. If I give tongue, you jump for all you’re worth out of the said window, because that’ll mean I’ve sighted her acoming.”
“All right; who’s afraid?” said Billie valiantly; he even thought of handing over his rifle to the other, with directions to cover his venturesome trip through that window; but on second thoughts decided, that it would not be the right thing to use such a weapon on one of the other sex, no matter what an Amazon she might be.
Mr. Comstock followed close behind as the boy advanced toward the open window; but it could be easily seen that he was ready to beat a rapid retreat should the enemy suddenly put in an appearance anywhere around.
“She ain’t there!” whispered Billie, after he had taken a cautious look inside the room which the former manager of the ranch had been wont to call his “office,” and which, as he had said, could only be entered ordinarily through another apartment.
But if Billie cherished any faint hope that the other, on learning that the coast was clear, would immediately offer to undertake the affair for himself, he found himself wofully mistaken.
“Do you need any help to climb over the window sill?” whispered Mr. Comstock, who did not forget that the boy was unusually heavy, and consequently far from being as agile as either of his two chums.
Billie shook his head, but he confessed to a grievous disappointment all the same. He was evidently in for it, no matter what might follow. On looking down at his feet he discovered a stone that he could mount, and after he had done this it was likely to be a much easier job clambering in through the low window than at first appearance he had expected.
“Who’s afraid?” he again muttered softly to himself; for that was one of his pet ways for bolstering up his courage when he began to feel his knees wobble under him, and knew that his heart was beating twice as fast as normal.
Accordingly he gave a heave, and in this way managed to get his right knee elevated upon the window ledge. After that it was easy enough; and presently Billie lowered himself into the room.
He felt very queer while doing this, just for all the world as though he might be a real burglar intending to steal valuables, and in momentary terror lest the angry man of the house dash in upon him.
All seemed quiet enough, though he could hear some one moving around in the adjoining room, and took for granted that this must be Mrs. Comstock. Billie sincerely hoped that whatever she was doing, whether packing up her clothes in expectation of an early flitting, or anything else, she would keep right along at it, and not bother taking a look through that open doorway.
He glanced cautiously around him, trying to get his bearings, and discover just where the coveted article lay.
“To your right—on the desk!” whispered the man outside.
Billie turned around to move in that direction. As he did so he managed to dislodge a small picture that had been pinned to the wall. It fell with a slight noise, and Billie’s heart seemed to stand still with sudden fear.
When nothing happened Billie took his courage in both hands, and started to move over to where the big rolltop desk stood, intending to pick up the belt and hasten to hand it to Mr. Comstock, after which he would get outside where he could breathe again naturally, and without such a dread specter hanging over his head.
Yes, there was the belt, just as the former manager had said, lying snugly on the desk; and the revolver seemed to be as usual in the leather holster which was heavily studded with buttons or round-headed colored nails, cowboy fashion.
Billie went forward another pace, and reaching out his hand picked the whole affair up. How glad he was now that he had leaned his rifle against the outside wall of the house before venturing in through the window.
He turned to retrace his steps. Just then he thought he heard a suspicious little sound like a gasp behind him; and it seemed as though a cold hand gripped his heart.
If he had any doubts concerning what it signified they were dissipated even before he could think to twist his head around; for Uncle Fred suddenly called out in a shrill voice that was full of anxiety and excitement:
“Run for it, Billie; she’s coming after you!”
Billie did not wait upon the order of his going. He seemed to be placed in connection with a galvanic battery, to judge by the way he sprang forward, thrust the belt into the outstretched hand of Mr. Comstock, and then took a header right through the open window.
With all his clumsiness Billie had always seemed to be a lucky fellow. In times gone by his chums had often informed him that he must bear a charmed life; because when so stubbornly trying to break in that wild broncho Jupiter, the fat boy had taken many a header that threatened to do him serious injury; but had always “come up smiling” after each experience, and ready to try it again.
And apparently his good fortune still held good, for when he took that flying leap through the open window of the ranch house, he did not have the remotest idea where he would land, and yet he managed to strike in a soft place.
It had been a very narrow escape, though; for hardly had the fat boy passed through the opening than it was occupied by the figure of Mrs. Comstock, with both her hands eagerly outstretched, showing that she had anticipated seizing hold of the intruder.
When he landed Billie purposely rolled over several times. He seemed to have a dreadful fear lest the Amazon follow him through the window; just as a pursuing boy might have done.
Having turned over completely several times he managed to sit up so as to take notice of the situation, and get his bearings.
The first thing he saw was the head of Mr. Thomas thrust around the end of the nearby bunk house; and it was strange that Billie just happened to notice how cautiously the pilgrim of the trail was peeping, as though he would not be seen for worlds; there was a look of intense interest on his thin face, too, as if he felt a personal interest in the wild flight of the lad.
Next Billie saw Uncle Fred. He was trying to buckle the recovered belt around his waist, and making a poor job of it, because his fingers were trembling with the excitement; and besides, he felt it necessary to keep one eye fastened on that window, in which the form of his muscular better-half could be seen outlined.
Billie also noted with solid satisfaction that the woman did not seem to be making any move in his direction. She must have recognized the fact that her expected prey had eluded her grasp, and was satisfied to let things go at that.
But she was waving her fist in his direction, Billie noted; and his heart beat with thanksgiving that he had been so fortunate as to avoid feeling the weight of that hand.
“What do you mean acrawling in through the back windows of this house, you fat cub?” she called out at him.
Perhaps Billie had long ago become so accustomed to having all manner of fun poked at him by his boy friends, on account of his ponderous size that he had ceased to get angry at any sort of nickname.
Still, that was “a new one on him,” he afterwards declared, and it rather rankled to be called a “fat cub.”
Billie was always polite, especially with the other sex; and so he managed to scramble to his feet, rather awkwardly to be sure, for he had skinned his left knee in landing after that wild plunge; and trying to make a sort of half-way sort of bow, he said:
“I beg your pardon ma’m, but I was acting under orders from the boss. He wanted his gun so’s to be ready to fight the rustlers if they came along, and asked me to get the same for him; so I clumb in through the window, because he said that was the shortest way around. And when you came so sudden-like on me, why, I just got rattled some, I s’pose, and took a jump through the window. But no damage was done ’cept that I knocked a piece of skin off my left knee ’bout as big as my hand, feels like. Sorry to have bothered you, ma’m, but I tried not to make any noise, sure I did.”
“Yes, you crept in just like a thief, and I reckon that’s what line you follow when you’re to home,” the angry woman flung at him, accompanying each word with a furious shake of her hand, which seemed disappointed not to have been able to bury itself among Billie’s hair.
“It was all my fault, Josie,” remarked Mr. Comstock just then, possibly ashamed to let the boy bear the brunt of her displeasure; “I wanted my belt very much; and you seemed to be having one of your headaches, so I thought I wouldn’t pass in through your room and disturb you. I asked him to just crawl through the window and reach my belt, which he succeeded in doing. It’s all right, Josie!”
“Oh! you think so, do you, Mr. Fred Comstock?” she cried shrilly, and with her blazing eyes turned toward her husband. “Shows what sort of a coward you are, sir, to employ a silly fool of a boy to pull your chestnuts out of the fire for you!”
“But sometimes the fire burns a fellow’s fingers, you know, Josie; and I’ve learned long ago not to worry you when—you’re not feeling well,” the deposed manager of Bar-S Ranch went on to say, perhaps a little more boldly than he might have dared had the distance separating him from the lady been less.
As if afraid that he had been too rash in saying so much Uncle Fred turned, and hurried away, calling out as he started:
“Better come along, Billie; plenty to look after for all of us who are left behind. You did your work well, and I want to tell you I’m glad you didn’t get—that is, your injuries are not worse than a skinned knee. There are more dreadful things that can happen, my boy, take it from me.”
This last he uttered in a low tone, and even at that something caused him to cast a glance of apprehension over his shoulder when speaking; but Mrs. Fred had vanished from the window.
As they turned the corner of the bunk-house they discovered the form of Thomas writhing on the ground.
“Here, what’s ailing you, my friend?” demanded the late manager; “if you’ve been suddenly taken sick I’m sorry that my medicine case is in my desk; and just at present it’s a physical impossibility for either Billie or myself to step in there to get it. Where do you feel bad?”
At that the pilgrim of the trail looked up, and they saw that he was grinning.
“’Tain’t that I’m taken with the gripe, sir; not in the least,” he explained. “I’m only tickled to death at the narrow escape our young friend had. I thought he was a goner when I heard you shout out that warning, and saw him still inside there; but he made a great plunge. My! but the lady was provoked because he slipped out like a greased pig. It was a lucky escape for Broncho Billie, now, wasn’t it, sir?”
He chuckled as he said this, and even winked at Uncle Fred in a queer way. The late manager of the ranch turned somewhat red in the face, and eyed the other a little suspiciously. Then he shook his head.
“Perhaps you know how peculiar some women are when they can’t have everything they want, my friend,” he remarked; “and how they’re apt to carry on. It may be now that you’ve had experience in the years that are past and gone? Well, in that case you’ll understand me when I remark that the least said the soonest mended. Forget what you chanced to see, and things will come easier for you here. Ladies have their peculiarities, and my wife never did like me tracking up her floors. That may be why I had Billie here make use of the window; because I’ve often used it myself rather than go all the way around.”
Mr. Thomas winked an eye again, and nodded his head in a knowing way, as if to admit that he might have passed through similar experiences at some time in his past life.
Billie could not help thinking that the wanderer seemed to have been hugging himself while he rolled there on the ground, just as though he felt a personal satisfaction in the escape of the boy who had been one of those befriending him on the trail.
If this were really the cause of his hilarity it showed that Mr. Thomas was not without at least some degree of gratitude because of the favors they had bestowed on him.
As the incident seemed closed now, and there were plenty of other things looming up in the near future that demanded attention, Billie cast it out of his mind. He only allowed it to crop up each time his wounded knee gave him a little twinge, as he limped around after Mr. Comstock.
The stockman was soon very busy. He seemed to act like a different man, now that he could feel the presence of his faithful gun at his side whenever he allowed his hand to drop that way.
Billie followed him to the corrals, which he inspected carefully, as though meaning to discover any weakness that might interfere with his plans. Every few minutes the ranchman would shade his eyes with his hand and look earnestly around in several directions. Billie understood that he was hoping to discover the first signs of the coming herds, which might be only in the shape of a cloud of dust along the horizon.
It was an anxious time, for a great deal depended on getting the stock in where the faithful drovers could guard it, until such time as the danger of a bold raid was past. Mr. Comstock had had so much trouble with the Walker crowd in the past that he would not put anything beyond them nowadays. Men become flushed with success, and even lose their accustomed shrewdness; and while it would seem to be a reckless thing for these rustlers to work in the open, still, acting under the belief that they had a friend at court in the shape of Comstock’s wife, who would restrain him from taking any radical measures looking to resistance; and also knowing that half the force of Bar-S Ranch was virtually ready to side with the raiders, there could be no telling what would happen.
Billie, too, began to cast frequent looks along the distant horizon, in the hope of discovering the first signs that would indicate the coming of his chums, along with the cattle, and the other cow-punchers.
It was almost an hour after his little adventure along the flying machine order that Billie suddenly discovered what he sought.
“They’re coming, Mr. Comstock!” he called, limping toward the ranchman, who was busily engaged doing some mending at a weak place in the corral, which was made partly of ropes, and the balance of heavy poles brought from the river bottom miles and miles away; “I can see dust in two places; yes, and when the wind picked up just now I believe I heard the bellowing of cows.”
So the ranchman clapped his glasses to his eyes, and immediately corroborated what the boy had so confidently declared.
“That’s right, Billie!” he remarked, in some excitement; “and as sure as you live I can see that the boys are shoving them along quite lively. I hope now they haven’t sighted the Walker clan coming with a rush; because, until we get those herds in the corrals with the rest here I’ll never feel satisfied,” and he fingered his gun, as though half tempted to jump on a horse, and gallop out to meet the drivers.
“Well, I feel some easier now that they’re getting in closer, and no signs of a pack of rough riders anywhere in sight beyond!” announced the rancher, after a little while had elapsed, which counted anxious minutes for both himself and Billie.
Even Mr. Thomas had deigned to limp out, and offer to assist in any sort of work he might be able to do; but the stockman, after taking one look at his shrinking figure, told him he need not bother, since everything had been done looking to the safety of the corrals.
And so the pilgrim of the trail hung around; but as before, he impressed Billie as a very timid sort of a fellow, and ready to run or dodge at the first sign of any trouble.
Now the first herd was well in, and the punchers could be seen waving their hats as they darted this way and that on their active ponies, cutting off the dash of an obstreperous cow that took a sudden notion she did not want to head for the corrals, when the grass was so sweet away out on the hills, and under the trees growing along the watercourse.
“I’m glad to see that all the boys are working with a vim,” Billie heard the late manager of the ranch say to himself, as he took note of the way the punchers carried on their business, every one seeming to be actively employed; and the boy could easily understand what he meant by those significant words.
In each party, it will be remembered that there were several of the men who secretly sided with the sister of Hatch Walker, the rustler, Uncle Fred’s wife; and apparently the stockman had been uneasy lest these fellows do everything in their power to create discord in the ranks, and delay the drive until their friends the rustlers came along.
It seemed however, that from some cause or other they could not have deemed it good policy to attempt this tricky play. Perhaps they saw from the way things were working that they were outnumbered in both bands; and the belief that this must have been done for a reason caused them to go slow about provoking trouble. Doubtless Fred Comstock may have given orders to the faithful few to keep their eyes on the alert and at the first sign of treachery to use their guns freely. That was the sort of reputation he used to have before the widow came into his life, and changed its current; and there were signs that Mr. Comstock might be getting near the point where he would assert his manhood once again, and break away from “petticoat rule.”
The two herds arriving at nearly the same time there was a scene of tremendous excitement around the ranch buildings, with cowboys dashing this way and that, whooping at the top of their voices, and shouting out orders to one another.
Billie wanted to be with them, but that injured knee gave him a nasty wrench now and then; so he concluded to forego that pleasure. He could see that both of his chums were doing as fine work as any one belonging to the Bar-S Ranch; and more than once a fellow whom Billie suspected might be under the ban would follow the flying form of Adrian with his eyes, as though trying to figure out what difference the coming of the real owner of the ranch might make in the final outcome.
By degrees the cattle were being separated as Mr. Comstock wished, and driven into the separate corrals. During this period of intense excitement those who were not engaged in the work watched operations with more or less interest. Even Charley Moo, the Chinese cook, could be seen leaning on the rail of a corral taking it all in; and there in the doorway of the ranch house stood Mrs. Comstock, apparently laughing scornfully to herself at all this confusion, just because a few of her relatives might be expected to make an evening call on her.
The day was not far from done when the last of the cattle had been chased through the jaws of the big corral, and the bars placed in position that made them prisoners, until such time as the stockman deemed it wise to let them out again. Meanwhile they would have to be fed from the store of hay that was kept on hand in big stacks, over in one of the fields away from the buildings, and intended for just such emergencies as this, or a bitter spell during a wintry blizzard, when forage could not be found by the herds in the sheltered places.
Once more Mr. Comstock was making use of his glasses to look anxiously toward a certain quarter. But now he was not anticipating the coming of the rustlers, who, upon finding that the stock had slipped through their hands, and were safe in the corrals, were likely to remain aloof until late in the night, when they might with impunity approach close to the ranch, and try some of their sly games looking to effecting a breach in the stockade, and the release of the herds.
“Will they come from that direction, Uncle Fred?” asked Adrian, halting beside the other, as he mopped his steaming face with his red bandana handkerchief, which of course he carried, cowboy fashion, knotted about his neck, with the loose folds hanging in front, so that while riding swiftly along they could be utilized to wipe his eyes free from dust, without releasing his bridle hand.
“Well, you see, son,” replied the other, as he lowered the glasses, and showed by his disappointed look that he had failed to glimpse some object he had been hoping to discover; “I’m not bothering about the rustler crowd just now. Since they didn’t get along in time to stop the drive, and run off the cattle, chances are they’ll hold off till midnight, or along about there. But I did hope to pick up a little dust over yonder. That’s about where the sheriff and his posse’d be apt to show up, when they do come along.”
“No signs of them yet, then, Uncle?”
“I’m sorry to say not, Adrian; but then, as the officer is a new hand he might find it a little difficult to gather a posse. You see, these Walkers have a lot of friends scattered around, and that’s going to make it hard to knock ’em out; but the new sheriff was elected for just that purpose, I was told, and they say he’s a nervy man. Reckon he’ll need all the grit he’s got to tide him over; but at last the stockmen around this county have made up their minds this wholesale robbery has got to stop, no matter what sort of war comes along. And I’m going to join hands with them, in spite of what the rest of the house says.”
He made this assertion boldly; but habit caused him to give a quick glance over his shoulder when speaking, just as though he half feared to discover Mrs. Comstock standing there, with upraised hand, and a bitter smile on her strong features.
But from the sigh of relief that broke involuntarily from the lips of Uncle Fred it was apparent that the coast was clear. Really, Adrian believed that if things kept going on in this way much longer, his relative would presently turn out to be as timid as some other men he had known, for instance that pilgrim of the trail, who gave his name as Mr. Thomas, and who acted as though he might be dodging a threatening hand most of the time.
Having completed their work the punchers were grouped together, exchanging many remarks after the manner of their kind; while the sweating ponies stood around, each with his bridle rein trailing on the ground.
As yet the loyal workers did not know the full extent of the opposition; they seemed to sense something unusual in the air, and as they already knew the sentiments of the men who were in touch with Mrs. Comstock and her relatives, perhaps they could give a good guess that mighty interesting developments were bound to come about in the near future, and that a change in the way things were run up in that section of country was imminent.
This was shown to Donald by the way the four loyal punchers kept in a bunch, and rubbed elbows with the three new hands, whom the young owner of the ranch had employed to help out.
The night was not far away, and from indications it promised to be one calculated to be marked with a red star in the history of the Bar-S Ranch.
Adrian wondered how his father would have handled such a situation. The thought caused him to grit his teeth, and determine that come what might he would never knuckle down to those greedy Walkers; if forced to the wall he would give up trying to run the ranch, and leave a barren desert behind him when he retired; but not one dollar of tribute would he ever knowingly pay in order to purchase immunity.
Presently he saw Donald beckoning to him, and went over to where the other chum was standing, leaning on the bars of the nearest corral.
Donald seemed to be amused over something, and of course Adrian was immediately curious to know what it meant.
“Tell me, so I can laugh with you, Donald,” he remarked; “things look so serious all about us that it’d do me a heap of good just to have one little chuckle, if only I knew of anything funny. What’s been happening around here?”
“Why, it’s this way,” replied the other, looking to right and left first, as though he did not want any one to overhear what he meant to say, for Donald never hurt anybody’s feelings if he could avoid it; “your Uncle Fred came along here, and chancing to see Charley Moo, he made all sorts of gestures until he caught his eye, and then beckoned him over.”
“Sure,” Adrian went on to say, “to give him orders for supper, I reckon; because there’s a raft of hungry punchers to feed tonight; and they tell me that Aunt Josie never bothers her head about what the boys get to eat, because her supper is cooked privately, and as a rule she eats it alone, uncle preferring to mess with his hands.”
“Well, I guess this night Uncle Fred’s a little mite afraid your aunt might take a notion to eat with the boys, like lots of women folks do on ranches down our way, so as to civilize the savages, they say. Anyhow, I heard him give the Chink his orders all right, and after he was through he called Charley Moo back; and what d’ye think he told him?”
“How do you expect me to guess?” demanded Adrian.
“Well,” continued the amused boy, “he explained that he wanted the cook to fetch some supper for him out to the corral, when all the rest were busy working their jaws—said that he felt that some one should be on guard all the time, and knowing how hungry the hard-working punchers were, he didn’t have the heart to keep any one of them away from his feed. What do you think of that; a poor excuse is better than none at all, ain’t it, Ad?”
“So they say,” chuckled the other, who of course knew full well just why Uncle Fred did not care to enter the long room where the men took their meals, lest he see the figure of his wife at the head of the table, and be made to appear small in the eyes of the punchers.
“There, look at Mr. Comstock now!” exclaimed Donald, suddenly; “he seems excited, and keeps looking through his glasses as though he had sighted something or other. I wonder whether it turns out to be the sheriff’s posse, or the rustlers?”
“I can see dust over there,” Adrian hastened to remark, after he had taken a good look; “and it doesn’t seem to be in the quarter where Uncle Fred told me he expected to see the sheriff’s posse show up, sooner or later.”
“Then that means it must be the rustlers coming!” ejaculated Billie, who had arrived in time to catch this last remark on the part of the other chum.
He handled his rifle nervously as he stared toward the point on the horizon, already growing dim as the day faded.
“Well, don’t worry, Billie,” Donald told him, “because they ain’t going to come down on us in the daytime. P’raps, after all, it’s only a few wanting to take a survey, so as to report what’s been done.”
“They’ll see all the cattle penned up in the corrals, then, won’t they?” asked the fat boy, anxiously.
“Easy enough,” replied Donald; “but much good that’ll do them. If they want to, let ’em go back and tell Hatch Walker what we’ve been doing.”
“I really believe you wouldn’t mind much if they just did take a notion to drop in on us tonight, and make a try to break away with all the long-horns?” Billie observed, as he saw the look on Donald’s dark sun-burned face.
“Oh! I’m not hankering after trouble,” replied the other lad, carelessly; “but if they want to hang around here trying to rob Adrian of his property, why, there’s going to be something doing, that’s right. Times have changed some since the real owner came to Bar-S Ranch. Uncle Fred may have been forced to knuckle down to his wife when some of her folks dropped in to pay a friendly visit, and a bunch of valuable steers followed them off; but we ain’t meaning to do the same. And if anybody thinks so they’re got another guess coming, that’s all.”
“Would you really and truly shoot, if they did try that same,” asked Billie.
Donald gave a little harsh laugh; he shut his jaws firmly together, and nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Wait and see, Billie,” was what he said; “and I’m just as dead sure too, that you’d puncture a rustler in the leg or the shoulder if you got the chance, as that I can eat my share of the grub when the call comes to get busy.”
“Whew! this sounds like real war, I think!” Billie ventured.
“It is war, and war to the knife, until the last rustler is chased out of this part of the country,” Adrian told him, sternly.
Billie looked out toward the spot where that little cloud of dust was seen.
“They’ve stopped now,” he observed; “and since the dust has cleared away you can see quite a bunch of riders sitting there in their saddles. Seems like they might be talking it over, and laying plans.”
“It promises to be a warm night, unless all signs fail,” remarked Donald, with a significant nod out in the direction where they could see the distant figures of a good many riders.
“Come along with me, fellows,” Adrian said just then.
“Where you agoing, Ad?” queried Billie, who seemed to be possessed of a sudden suspicion that the other might have some wild scheme in view such as riding out toward the rustlers, as if to brave them; “it’s nigh supper time, you must remember, and then besides, I’ve got a skinned knee, so that riding don’t appeal as much to me as it might.”
“Oh! I didn’t want you to jump on your cayuse, Billie,” laughed the other; “but as it promises to be a pretty lively night for us, I thought we’d only be wise if we walked around the corrals again, so’s to get the lay of the ground in our heads. A little knowledge like that comes in handy when you want to move around after dark sets in; and if you look above you’ll see the clouds are gathering, which I take it means we’re going to have little light to work by from up there.”
“Reckon now I might toddle along after you fellows,” Billie admitted; “leastways I’ll do the best I can. Didn’t tell you how I come by that same bruised knee, did I? Well, it’s a joke—that is, seems like one to me now, but at the time let me say I was the worst scared fellow you ever knew.”
“Suppose you tell us about it?” proposed Adrian.
“Yes, strike up right away,” added the other chum.
Of course after that Billie could have no excuse for holding back the harrowing details. To tell the truth he was just wild to relate the adventure; and as he chanced to be a pretty good talker, as has been said before, he made the most out of the material he had in hand.
Both the others laughed heartily when they heard how shrewd old Uncle Fred made a stalking horse out of their stout chum.
“It’s a lucky thing for you, I guess, Billie,” ventured Adrian, “that my aunt arrived just a second or so too late to get her hands in your hair. From what I’ve heard about her ways of doing things first, and then asking questions afterwards, you might have had less combing to do mornings. But I’m glad Uncle got his gun, because it looks like he might find a good use for the same soon, and perhaps try it out on some of his new brothers-in-law—or other relatives.”
“Between you and me,” added Donald, “I just think he’s itching for that time to happen along. You see, he’s borne so much this last year that the worm is ready to turn at last.”
They made a complete circuit of the cattle corrals, and saw that everything seemed secure.
“They don’t fancy being shut up one little bit,” remarked Donald, as some of the steers brushed up against the side of the pen, as though trying to test the stoutness of the enclosure.
“No,” added Adrian, “and if only one old fellow would make a dead set for the weakest place, and tear some sort of a gap, you’d soon see how fast the others’d pile after him; and before you knew it the whole herd’d be making for the pasture-land again. But we’re going to keep circling around all night, and have fires burning too, Uncle Fred says; because when the cattle see the light they’ll feel easier, thinking that we’re on deck.”
“How do you reckon your uncle means us to stand guard out here?” asked Donald, as he peered through at the dense mass of long-horns herded in the big corral.
“There’s only one way we could do it,” was the reply; “which is to keep moving around, so that there’d be no chance for the enemy to sneak up and stampede the cattle.”
Presently the call to supper came, and the three boys, being hungry, hastened to the mess room, where, at the long table, they found an abundance of “chuck,” as the punchers denominate their food.
Billie actually forgot to limp, in his hurry to keep up with his chums, so that he might not be left out when it came to securing a seat; because he was always ready to do justice to such a spread as Charley Moo placed before the crowd.
Fortunately Mrs. Fred did not see fit to make her appearance, so that the meal passed off without any unpleasantness. The five suspects seemed to be on their best behavior, as though they rather fancied they would get in trouble if they attempted to be in any way domineering in their manner toward the others.
By the time the supper was over night had fallen, and it was dark indeed when Adrian and Donald walked out to find Mr. Comstock, in order to learn whether anything new had taken place meanwhile.
They found him pacing up and down near the big corral, and acting as though he had a heavy weight on his shoulders; as indeed was the case, for as yet it was an open question whether those who intended to defend the stock would be able to prevent the bold rustlers from running away with a large portion of the cattle.
“No signs of Frank Bowker turning up yet, I suppose, Uncle Fred?” Adrian asked, as they joined the little man with the white head of hair and the soldierly ways.
“Sorry to say not, son,” came the answer; “but then I’m not so much surprised at that, because I told Frank to stand by, and give the new sheriff all the assistance in his power when he started to gathering his posse. So chances are, we wouldn’t be apt to see the boy till the whole bunch came along.”
“I wish they’d hurry, then,” Adrian continued.
“Same here,” added Donald; “because, the way things look we’ll prove too few to do the right thing about watching these corrals. If all the punchers could be depended on it’d be different, you see.”
“Yes, you’re right there, Donald,” Adrian said; “for it would give us five more men. As it is now we are not only short that number, but they are apt to try and join the rustler bunch when they come along.”
“Too bad,” the Arizona ranch boy remarked. “If you’d only known how things lay up here you could have picked up a dozen reliable punchers, and brought the same along with us. But let’s hope that before there’s any real damage done that sheriff’ll show up, and prove it to be of the right calibre to handle the situation.”
“Amen to that, son!” added Uncle Fred, heartily.
“I wonder where Billie can be?” Adrian remarked some time later, as he suddenly remembered that he had not seen anything of the stout chum since they left the mess hall, with Billie sending along his platter for a fourth helping of stew.
“Foundered, I reckon,” chuckled Donald; “after those three big helps, the nerve of him asking Charley Moo for more. But the Chink seemed to feel that it was a compliment on his cooking to have any one gobble that way; and he was grinning all over as he hurried off to get a fresh supply. I believe he’d even hand over his own ration, because he has taken such a great fancy for our chum.”
“Well, Billie is a great one for making friends wherever he goes!” remarked Adrian, warmly.
“Listen, what was that sound like a hiss just then? You don’t think for a minute it could be any sort of snake, do you, Ad?”
“There it goes again; and as sure as you live I believe some one’s trying to attract our attention back here in the gloom away from the fires. Looks like our chum Billie, too; yes, that’s who it is, Donald.”
“But whatever can he want with us; and why should he act in that queer way, as if he was afraid to come boldly up here, and talk with us?” the other said.
“Best way to find that out is for one or both of us to step out there, and interview him,” suggested Adrian; and acting on this hint both of them walked away from the glow of the fire near which they had been standing, heading toward the spot where the bulky figure of Billie could be dimly seen, making his mysterious motions.