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CONTENTS
[Illustration: HE WHEELED AND RODE STRAIGHT AT THE ONCOMINGSTEERS]
“Hi! Yi! Yip!”
“Woo-o-o-o! Wah! Zut!”
“Here we come!”
What was coming seemed to be a thunderous cloud of dust, from themidst of which came strange, shrill sounds, punctuated with sharp cries,that did not appear to be altogether human.
The dust-cloud grew thicker, the thunder sounded louder, and the yellswere shriller.
From one of a group of dull, red buildings a sun-bronzed man steppedforth.
He shaded his eyes with a brown, powerful hand, gazed for an instanttoward the approaching cloud of animated and vociferous dust and, turningto a smiling Chinese who stood near, with a pot in his hand, remarked ina slow, musical drawl:
“Well Hop Loy, here they are, rip-roarin' an' snortin' from th'round-up!”
“Alle samee hungly, too,” observed the Celestial withunctious blandness.
“You can sure make a point of that Hop Loy,” went on theother. “Hungry is their middle name just now, and you'd betterbegin t' rustle th' grub, or I wouldn't give an empty forty-five for yourpig-tail.”
“Oi la!” fairly screamed the Chinese, as, with a quickgesture toward his long queue, he scuttled toward the cook house, whichstood in the midst of the other low ranch buildings. “Glub leadyalle samee light now!” Hop Loy cried over his shoulder.
“It better be!” ominously observed Pocus Pete, foreman ofthe Bar U ranch, one of the best-outfitted in the Rolling River section.“It better be! Those boys mean business, or I miss my guess,”the foreman went on. “Hard work a-plenty, I reckon. Wonder how theymade out?” he went on musingly as he started back toward the bunkhouse, whence he had come with a saddle strap to which he was attaching anew buckle. “If things don't take a turn for th' better soon, therewon't any of us make out,” and, with a gloomy shake of his head,Pocus Pete, to give him the name he commonly went by, tossed the strapinside the bunk house, and went on toward the main building, where, byvirtue of his position as head of the cowboys, he had his own cot.
Meanwhile the crowd of yelling, hard-riding sand dust-stirringpunchers, came on faster than ever.
“Hi! Yi! Yip!”
“Here we come!”
“Keep th' pot a-bilin'! We've got our appetites Withus!”
“That's what!”
Some one fired his big revolver in the air, and in another momentthere was an echo of many shots, the sharp crack of the forty-fivesmingling with the thunder of hoofs, the yells, and the clatter of stirrupleathers.
“The boys coming back, Pete?” asked an elderly man, whocame to the door of the main living room of the principal ranchhouse.
“Yes, Mr. Carson, they're comin' back, an' it don't need amovin' picture operator an' telegraphic despatch t' tell it,either.”
“No, Pete. They seem to be in good spirits, too.”
“Yes, they generally are when they get back from round-up. Iwant to hear how they made out, though, an' what th' prospectsare.”
“So do I, Pete,” and there was an anxious note in thevoice of Mr. Randolph Carson, owner of the Bar U ranch. Matters had notbeen going well with him, of late.
With final yells, and an increase in the quantity of dust tossed up asthe cowboys pulled their horses back on their haunches, the range-ridingoutfit of the ranch came to rest, not far away from the stable. Thehorses, with heaving sides and distended nostrils that showed a deep red,hung their heads from weariness. They had been ridden hard, but notunmercifully, and they would soon recover. The cowboys themselves tippedback their big hats from their foreheads, which showed curiously white incontrast to their bronzed faces, and beat the dust from their trousers. Afew of them wore sheepskin chaps.
One after another the punchers slung their legs across the saddlehorns, tossed the reins over the heads of their steeds, as an intimationthat the horses were not to stray, and then slid to the ground, walkingwith that peculiarly awkward gait that always marks one who has spentmuch of his life in the saddle.
“Grub ready, Hop Loy?” demanded one lanky specimen, as heused his blue neck kerchief to remove some of the dust and sweat from hisbrown face.
“It better be!” added another, significantly; while stillanother said, quietly:
“My gal has been askin' me for a long, long time to get her aChinaman's pig-tail, an' I'm shore goin' t'get one now if I don't have mygrub right plenty, an' soon!”
“Now you're talkin'!” cried a fourth, with emphasis.
There was no need of saying anything further. The Celestial had stuckhis head out of the cook house to hear these ominous words of warning,and now, with a howl of anguish, he drew it inside again, wrapping hisqueue around his neck. Then followed a frantic rattling of pots andpans.
“You shore did get him goin', Tubby!” exclaimed a tall,lanky cowboy, to a short and squatty member of the tribe.
“Well, I aimed to Skinny,” was the calm reply. “I amsome hungry.”
The last of the cowboys to alight was a manly youth, who might havebeen in the neighborhood of eighteen or nineteen years of age. He wastall and slight, with a frank and pleasing countenance, and his blue eyeslooked at you fearlessly from under dark brows, setting off in contrasthis sunburned face. Had any one observed him as he rode up with the othercowboys, it would have been noticed that, though he was the youngest, hewas one of the best riders.
He advanced from among the others, pausing to pet his horse whichstuck out a wet muzzle for what was evidently an expected caress. Thenthe young man walked forward, with more of an air of grace thancharacterized his companions. Evidently, though used to a horse, he wasnot so saddle-bound as were his mates.
As he walked up to the ranch house he was met by Mr. Carson and PocusPete, both of whom looked at him rather eagerly and anxiously.
“Well, son,” began the ranch owner, “how did youmake out?”
“Pretty fair, Dad,” was the answer. “There were morecattle than you led us to expect, and there were more strays than wecalculated on. In fact we didn't get near all of them.”
“Is that so, Dave?” asked Pocus Pete, quickly.“Whereabouts do you reckon them strays is hidin'?”
“The indications are they're up Forked Branch way. That's wherewe got some, and we saw more away up the valley, but we didn't have timeto go for them, as we had a little trouble; and Tubby and the othersthought we'd better come on, and go back for the straysto-morrow.”
“Trouble, Dave?” asked Mr. Carson, looking upsuddenly.
“Well, not much, though it might have been. We saw some men wetook to be rustlers heading for our bunch of cattle, but they rode offwhen we started for them. Some of the boys wanted to follow but it lookedas though it might storm, and Tubby said we'd better move the bunch whilewe could, and look after the rustlers and strays later.”
“Yes, I guess that was best,” the ranch owner agreed.“But where were these rustlers from, Dave?”
“Hard to say, Dad. Looked to be Mexicans.”
“I reckon that'd be about right,” came from Pocus Pete.“We'll have to be on th' watch, Mr. Carson.”
“I expect so, Pete. Things aren't going so well that I canafford to lose any cattle. But about these strays, Dave. Do you thinkwe'd better get right after them?”
“I should say so, Dad.”
“Think there are many of them?”
“Not more than two of us could drive in. I'll go to-morrow withone of the men. I know just about where to look for them.”
“All right, Dave. If you're not too much done out I'd like tohave you take a hand.”
“Done out, Dad! Don't you think I'm making a pretty goodcowpuncher?”
“That's what he is, Mr. Carson, for a fact!” broke inPete, with admiration. “I'd stake Cowboy Dave ag'in' any man you'vegot ridin' range to-day. That's what I would!”
“Thanks, Pete,” said the youth, with a warm smile.
“Well, that's the truth, Dave. You took to this business like aduck takes to water, though the land knows there ain't any too much waterin these parts for ducks.”
“Yes, we could use more, especially at this season,” Mr.Carson admitted. “Rolling River must be getting pretty dry; isn'tit, Dave?”
“I've seen it wetter, Dad. And there's hardly any water inForked Branch. I don't see how the stray cattle get enough todrink.”
“It is queer they'd be off up that way,” observed Pete.“But that might account for it,” he went on, as thoughcommuning with himself.
“Account for what?” asked Dave, as he sat down in a chairon the porch.
“Th' rustlers. If they were up Forked Branch way they'd standbetween th' strays and th' cattle comin' down where they could get plentyof water in Rolling River. That's worth lookin' into. I'll ride up thatway with you to-morrow, Dave, an' help drive in them cattle.”
“Will you, Pete? That will be fine!” the young cowboyexclaimed. Evidently there was a strong feeling of affection between thetwo. Dave looked to Mr. Carson for confirmation.
“Very well,” the ranch owner said, “you and Pete maygo, Dave. But don't take any chances with the rustlers if you encounterthem.”
“We're not likely to,” said Pocus Pete, significantly.
From the distant cook house came the appetizing odor of food and Davesniffed the air eagerly.
“Hungry?” asked Mr. Carson.
“That's what I am, Dad!”
“Well, eat heartily, get a good rest, and tomorrow you can tryyour hand at driving strays.”
Evening settled down over the Bar U ranch; a calm, quiet evening, inspite of the earlier signs of a storm. In the far west a faintintermittent light showed where the elements were raging, but it was sofar off that not even the faintest rumble of thunder came over RollingRiver, a stream about a mile distant, on the banks of which were nowquartered the cattle which the cowboys had recently rounded up forshipment.
The only sounds that came with distinctness were the occasionalbarking and baying of a dog, as he saw the rising moon, and the dullshuffle of the shifting cattle, which were being guarded by severalcowboys who were night-riding.
Very early the next morning Dave Carson and Pocus Pete, astride theirfavorite horses, and carrying with them a substantial lunch, set offafter the strays which had been dimly observed the day before up ForkedBranch way.
This was one of the tributaries of Rolling River, the valley of whichwas at one time one of the most fertile sections of the largest of ourWestern cattle states. The tributary divided into two parts, or branches,shortly above its junction with Rolling River. Hence its name. ForkedBranch came down from amid a series of low foot-hills, forming thenorthern boundary of Mr. Randolph Carson's ranch.
“We sure have one fine day for ridin',” observed PocusPete, as he urged his pony up alongside Dave's.
“That's right,” agreed the youth.
For several miles they rode on, speaking but seldom, for a cowboy soonlearns the trick of silence—it is so often forced on him.
As they turned aside to take a trail that led to Forked Branch, Dave,who was riding a little ahead, drew rein. Instinctively Pocus Pete didthe same, and then Dave, pointing to the front, asked:
“Is that a man or a cow?”
Pocus Pete shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed long and earnestlyin the direction indicated by Dave Carson. The two cow-ponies, evidentlyglad of the little rest, nosed about the sun-baked earth for some choicemorsel of grass.
“It might be either—or both,” Pete finally said.
“Either or both?” repeated Dave. “How can thatbe?”
“Don't you see two specks there, Dave? Look ag'in.”
Dave looked. His eyes were younger and perhaps, therefore, sharperthan were those of the foreman of Bar U ranch, but Dave lacked thetraining that long years on the range had given the other.
“Yes, I do see two,” the youth finally said, “But Ican't tell which is which.”
“I'm not altogether sure myself,” Pete said, quietly andmodestly. “We'll ride a little nearer,” he suggested,“an' then we can tell for sure. I guess we're on th' track of somestrays all right.”
“Some strays, Pete? You mean our strays; don't you?”questioned Dave.
“Well, some of 'em 'll be, probably,” was the quietanswer. “But you've got t' remember, Dave, that there's a point ofland belongin' t' Centre O ranch that comes up there along the ForkedBranch trail. It may be some of Molick's strays.”
“That's so. I didn't think of that, Pete. There's more to thisbusiness than appears at first sight.”
“Yes, Dave; but you're comin' on first-rate. I was a leetleopposed to th' Old Man sendin' you East to study, for fear it would knockout your natural instincts. But when you picked up that man as soon asyou did,” and he waved his hand toward the distant specks,“when you did that, I know you've not been spoiled, an' thatthere's hope for you.”
“That's good, Pete!” and Dave laughed.
“Yes, I didn't agree with th' Old Man at first,” theforeman went on, “but I see he didn't make any mistake.”
Mr. Carson was the “Old Man” referred to, but it was notat all a term of disrespect as applied to the ranch owner. It wasperfectly natural to Pete to use that term, and Dave did not resentit.
“Yes, I'm glad dad did send me East,” the young man wenton, as they continued on their way up the trail. “I was mightylonesome at first, and I felt—well, cramped, Pete. That's the onlyway to express it.”
“I know how you felt, Dave. There wasn't room to breathe in th'city.”
“That's the way I felt. Out here it—it'sdifferent.”
He straightened up in the saddle, and drew in deep breaths of the pureair of the plains; an air so pure and thin, so free from mists, that thevery distances were deceiving, and one would have been positive that thedistant foot-hills were but half an hour's ride away, whereas the betterpart of a day must be spent in reaching them.
“Yes, this is livin'—that's what it is,” agreedPocus Pete.” You can make them out a little better now,Dave,” and he nodded his head in the direction of the two distantspecks. They were much larger now.
“It's a chap on a horse, and he's going in the same direction weare,” Dave said, after a moment's observation.
“That's right. And it ain't every cowpuncher on Bar U who couldhave told that.”
“I can see two—three—why, there are half a dozencattle up there Pete.”
“Yes, an' probably more. I reckon some of th' Centre O outfithas strayed, same as ours. That's probably one of Molick's men after hisbrand,” Pete went on.
The Bar U ranch (so called because the cattle from it were brandedwith a large U with a straight mark across the middle) adjoined, on thenorth, the ranch of Jason Molick, whose cattle were marked with a large Oin the centre of which was a single dot, and his brand consequently, wasknown as Centre O.
“Maybe that's Len,” suggested Dave, naming the son of theadjoining ranch owner.
“It may be. I'd just as soon it wouldn't be, though. Len doesn'talways know how to keep a civil tongue in his head.”
“That's right, Pete. I haven't much use for Lenmyself.”
“You an' he had some little fracas; didn't you?”
“Oh, yes, more than once.”
“An' you tanned him good and proper, too; didn't youDave?” asked the foreman with a low chuckle.
“Yes, I did.” Dave did not seem at all proud of hisachievement.” But that was some time ago,” he added.” Ihaven't seen Len lately.”
“Well, you haven't missed an awful lot,” said Pete,dryly.
The two rode on in silence again, gradually coming nearer and nearerto the specks which had so enlarged themselves, by reason of the closingup of the intervening distance, until they could be easily distinguishedas a number of cattle and one lone rider. The latter seemed to be makinghis way toward the animals.
“Is he driving them ahead of him?” asked Dave, after along and silent observation.
“That's the way it looks,” said Pocus Pete. “It'sLen Molick all right,” he added, after another shading of his eyeswith his hand.
“Are you sure?” Dave asked.
“Positive. No one around here rides a horse in that sloppy waybut him.”
“Then he must have found some of his father's strays, and istaking them to the ranch.”
“I'm not so sure of that,” Pete said.
“Not so sure of what?”
“That the cattle are all his strays. I wouldn't be a bitsurprised but what some of ours had got mixed up with 'em. Things likethat have been known to happen you know.”
“Do you' think—-” began Dave.
“I'm not goin' to take any chances thinkin',” Pete saidsignificantly. “I'm going to make sure.”
“Look here, Dave,” he went on, spurring his pony upalongside of the young cowboy's. “My horse is good an fresh an'Len's doesn't seem to be in such good condition. Probably he's beenabusin' it as he's done before. Now I can take this side trail, sliparound through the bottom lands, an' get ahead of him.”
“But it's a hard climb up around the mesa, Pete.”
“I know it. But I can manage it. Then you come on up behind Len,casual like. If he has any of our cattle—by mistake,” saidPete, significantly, “we'll be in a position to correct his error.Nothin' like correctin' errors right off the reel, Dave. Well have himbetween two fires, so to speak.”
“All right, Pete. I'll ride up behind him, as I'm doing now, andyou'll head him off; is that it?”
“That's it. You guessed it first crack out of th' box. Ifnothin's wrong, why we're all right; we're up this way to look after ourstrays. And if somethin' is wrong, why we'll be in a position to correctit—that's all.”
“I see.” There was a smile on Dave's face as his cowboypartner, with a wave of his hand, turned his horse into a differenttrail, speeding the hardy little pony up so as to get ahead of LenMolick.
Dave rode slowly on, busy with many thoughts, some of which had to dowith the youth before him. Len Molick was about Dave's own age, that isapparently, for, strange as it may seem, Dave was not certain of theexact number of years that had passed over his head.
It was evident that he was about eighteen or nineteen. He had recentlyfelt a growing need of a razor, and the hair on his face was becomingwiry. But once, when he asked Randolph Carson, about a birthday, theranch owner had returned an evasive answer.
“I don't know exactly when your birthday does come, Dave,”he had said. “Your mother, before she—before she died, kepttrack of that. In fact I somtimes forget when my own is. I think yours isin May or June, but for the life of me I can't say just which month. Itdoesn't make a lot of difference, anyhow.”
“No, Dad, not especially. But just how old am I?”
“Well, Dave, there you've got me again. I think it's aroundeighteen. But your mother kept track of that, too. I never had the time.Put it down at eighteen, going on nineteen, and let it go at that. Nowsay, about that last bunch of cattle we shipped—”
Thus the ranchman would turn the subject. Not that Dave gave thematter much thought, only now, somehow or other, the question seemed torecur with increased force.
“Funny I don't know just when my birthday is,” he mused.“But then lots of the cowboys forget theirs.”
The trail was smooth at this point, and Dave soon found himself closeto Len, who was driving ahead of him a number of cattle. With a start ofsurprise Dave saw two which bore the Bar U brand.
“Hello, Len,” he called.
Len Molick turned with a start. Either he had not heard Dave approach,or he had pretended ignorance.
“Well, what do yon want?” demanded the surly bully.
“Oh, out after strays, as you are,” said Dave, coolly.“Guess your cattle and ours have struck up an acquaintance,”he added, with assumed cheerfulness.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they're traveling along together just as if theybelonged to the same outfit.”
“Huh! I can't help it, can I, if your cows tag along with ourstrays?” demanded Len with a sneer.
“That's what I'm here for—to help prevent it,” Davewent on, and his voice was a trifle sharp. “The Bar U ranch can'tafford to lose any strays these days,” he resumed. “TheCarson outfit needs all it can get, and, as representative of the Carsoninterests I'll just cut out those strays of ours, Len, and head them theother way.”
“Huh! What right have you got to do it?”
“What right? Why my father sent me to gather up our strays. Isaw some of them up here yesterday.”
“Your father?” The sneer in Len's voice wasunmistakable.
“Yes, of course,” said Dave, wondering what was the matterwith Len. “My father, Randolph Carson.”
“He isn't your father!” burst out Len in angry tones.“And you aren't his son! You're a nameless picked-up nobody, that'swhat you are! A nobody! You haven't even a name!”
And with this taunt on his lips Len spurred his horse away fromDave's.
Something seemed to strike Dave Carson a blow in the face. It was asthough he had suddenly plunged into cold water, and, for the moment, hecould not get his breath. The sneering words of Len Molick rang in hisears:
“You're a nameless, picked-up nobody!”
Having uttered those cruel words, Len was riding on, driving beforehim some of his father's stray cattle, as well as some belonging to theBar U ranch. The last act angered Dave, and anger, at that moment, wasjust what was needed to arouse him from the lethargy in which he foundhimself. It also served, in a measure, to clear away some of theunpleasant feeling caused by the taunt.
“Hold on there a minute, Len Molick!” called Dave,sharply.
Len never turned his head, and gave no sign of hearing.
A dull red spot glowed in each of Dave's tanned cheeks. With a quickintaking of his breath he lightly touched the spurs to hishorse—lightly, for that was all the intelligent beast needed. Davepassed his taunting enemy on the rush, and planting himself directly infront of him on the trail, drew rein so sharply that his steed reared.The cows, scattered by the sudden rush, ambled awkwardly on a littledistance, and then stopped to graze.
“What do you mean by getting in my way?” growled Len.
“I mean to have you stop and answer a few questions,” wasthe calm retort.
“If it's about these cattle I tell you I'm not trying to driveoff any of yours,” said Len, in whining tones. He knew the severepenalty attached to this in a cow country, and Dave was sufficientlyformidable, as he sat easily on his horse facing the bully, to make Len alittle more respectful.
“I'm not going to ask you about these cattle—at least notright away,” Dave went on. “This is about another matter. Yousaid something just now that needs explaining.”
“I say a good many things,” Len admitted, and again theresounded in his voice a sneer. “I don't have to explain to youeverything I say; do I?”
“You do when it concerns me,” and Dave put his horsedirectly across the trail, which, at this point narrowed and ran betweentwo low ranges of hills. “You said something about me justnow—you called me a nameless, picked-up nobody!”
Dave could not help wincing as he repeated the slur.
“Well, what if I did?” demanded the bully.
“I want to know what you mean. You insinuated that Mr. Carsonwas not my father.”
“He isn't!”
“Why do you say that, and how do you know?” Dave asked. Inspite of his dislike of Len, and the knowledge that the bully was notnoted for truth-telling, Dave could not repress a cold chill of fear thatseemed to clutch his heart.
“I say that because it's so, and how I know it is none of youraffair,” retorted Len.
“Oh yes, it is my affair, too!” Dave exclaimed. He wasfast regaining control of himself. “It is very much my affair. Idemand an explanation. How do you know Mr. Carson isn't myfather?”
“Well, I know all right. He picked you up somewhere. He doesn'tknow what your name is himself. He just let you use his, and he calledyou Dave. You're a nobody I tell you!”
Dave spurred his horse until it was close beside that of Len's. Thenleaning over in the saddle, until his face was very near to that of thebully's, and with blazing eyes looking directly into the shrinking onesof the other rancher's son, Dave said slowly, but with greatemphasis:
“Who—told—you?”
There was menace in his tone and attitude, and Len shrank back.
“Oh, don't be afraid!” Dave laughed mirthlessly.“I'm not going to strike you—not now.”
“You—you'd better not,” Len muttered.
“I want you first to answer my questions,” Dave went on.“After that I'll see what happens. It's according to how much truththere is in what you have said.”
“Oh, it's true all right,” sneered the bully.
“Then I demand to know who told you!”
Dave's hand shot out and grasped the bridle of the other's horse, andLen's plan of flight was frustrated.
“Let me go!” he whiningly demanded.
“Not until you tell me who said I am a nobody—that Mr.Carson is not my father,” Dave said, firmly.
“I—I——” began the shrinking Len, whenthe sound of another horseman approaching caused both lads to turnslightly in their saddles. Dave half expected to see Pocus Pete, but hebeheld the not very edifying countenance of Whitey Wasson, a tow-headedcowpuncher belonging to the Centre O outfit. Whitey and Len were reportedto be cronies, and companions in more than one not altogether pleasantincident.
“Oh, here you are; eh; Len?” began Whitey. “And Isee you've got the strays.”
“Yes, I've got 'em,” said Len, shortly.
“Any trouble?” went on Whitey, with a quick glance atDave. The position of the two lads—Dave with his hand graspingLen's bridle—was too significant to be overlooked.
“Trouble?” began Len. “Well,he—he—”
“He made a certain statement concerning me,” Dave said,quietly, looking from Len to Whitey, “and I asked him the source ofhis information. That is all.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I was a nameless, picked-up nobody, and that Mr. Carsonwas not my father. I asked him how he knew, and he said some one told himthat.”
“So he did!” exclaimed Len.
“Then I demand to know who it was!” cried Dave.
For a moment there was silence, and then Whitey Wasson, with a chucklesaid:
“I told Len myself!”
“You did?” cried Dave.
“Yes, he did! Now maybe you won't be so smart!” sneeredLen. “Let go my horse!” he cried, roughly, as he swung theanimal to one side. But no force was needed; as Dave's nerveless handfell away from the bridle. He seemed shocked—stunned again.
“You—you—how do you know?” he demandedfiercely, raising his sinking head, and looking straight at Whitey.
“Oh, I know well enough. Lots of the cowboys do. It isn't somuch of a secret as you think. If you don't believe me ask yourfather—no, he ain't your father—but ask the Old Man himself.Just ask him what your name is, and where you came from, and see what hesays.”
Whitey was sneering now, and he chuckled as he looked at Len. Dave'sface paled beneath his tan, and he did not answer.
A nameless, picked-up nobody! How the words stung! And he hadconsidered himself, proudly considered himself, the son of one of thebest-liked, best-known and most upright cattle raisers of the RollingRiver country. Now who was he?
“Come on, Len,” said Whitey. “If you've got thestrays we'll drive them back. Been out long enough as 'tis.”
He wheeled his horse, Len doing the same, and they started after thestraying cattle.
“Hold on there, if you please,” came in a drawling voice.“Jest cut out them Bar U steers before you mosey off any farther,Whitey,” and riding around a little hillock came Pocus Pete.
“Um!” grunted Whitey.
“Guess you'll be needin' a pair of specks, won't you,Whitey?” went on the Bar U foreman, without a glance at Len orDave. “A Centre O brand an' a Bar U looks mighty alike to a fellerwith poor eyes I reckon,” and he smiled meaningly.
“Oh, we can't help it, if some of the Randolph cattle get mixedup with our strays,” said Len.
“Who's talkin' to you?” demanded Pocus Pete, with suchfierceness that the bully shrank back.
“Now you cut out what strays belong to you, an' let ours alone,Mr. Wasson,” went on Pocus Pete with exaggerated politeness.“Dave an' I can take care of our own I reckon. An' move quick,too!” he added menacingly.
Whitey did not answer, but he and Len busied themselves in gettingtogether their own strays. Pocus Pete and Dave, with a little effort,managed to collect their own bunch, and soon the two parties were movingoff in opposite directions. Dave sat silent on his horse. Pete glanced athim from time to time, but said nothing. Finally, however, as theydismounted to eat their lunch, Pete could not help asking:
“Have any trouble with them, Dave?”
“Trouble? Oh no.”
Dave relapsed into silence, and Pete shook his head in puzzledfashion. Something had happened, but what, he could not guess.
In unwonted silence Dave and Pete rode back to the Bar U ranch,reaching it at dusk with the bunch of strays. They were turned in withthe other cattle and then Dave, turning his horse into the corral, walkedheavily to the ranch house. All the life seemed to have gone fromhim.
“Well, son, did you get the bunch?” asked Mr. Carson as hegreeted the youth.
“Yes—I did,” was the low answer. Mr. Carson glancedkeenly at the lad, and something he saw in his face caused the ranchowner to start.
“Was there any trouble?” he asked. It was the samequestion Pocus Pete had propounded.
“Well, Len Molick and Whitey Wasson had some of our cattle inwith theirs.”
“They did?”
“Yes, but Pete and I easily cut 'em out. But—Oh,Dad!” The words burst from Dave's lips before he thought. “AmI your son?” he blurted out. “Len and Whitey said I was apicked-up nobody! Am I? Am I not your son?”
He held out his hands appealingly.
A great and sudden change came over Mr. Carson. He seemed to growolder and more sorrowful. A sigh came from him.
Gently he placed one arm over the youth's drooping shoulders.
“Dave,” he said gently. “I hoped this secret wouldnever come out—that you would never know. But, since it has, I musttell you the truth. I love you as if you were my own son, but you are nota relative of mine.”
The words seemed to cut Dave like a knife.
“Then if I am not your son, who am I?” Dave asked in ahusky voice.
The ticking of the clock on the mantle could be plainly, yes, loudlyheard, as Mr. Carson slowly answered in a low voice:
“Dave, I don't know!”
Dave Carson—to use the name by which we must continue to callhim, at least for a time—may have hoped for a different answer fromthe ranchman. Doubtless he did so hope, but now he was doomed todisappointment, for the words of Mr. Carson seemed final.
“Dave, I don't know,” he repeated. “I don't know whoyou are, who your parents are, or even what your name is. I wish Idid!”
Dave sank down in a chair. He seemed crushed. Mr. Carson, too, wassomewhat overcome.
“There—there must be some explanation,” said the ladat length, slowly.
“There is,” was the reply. “I'll tell you all Iknow. I suppose I should have done it before, but I have been putting itoff, I hoped there would be no need.
“I don't know just how Len and Whitey found it out,” wenton Mr. Carson. “If they had only kept still a little longer youmight never have known, for I intended to go away from heresoon.”
“Go away from here, Dad?”
The endearing name slipped out before Dave was aware of it. A surge ofred sprang up into his cheeks, under their tan.
“Don't stop calling me that, Dave,” begged Mr. Carson in alow voice. I have been a father to you—at least I've tried tobe.”
“And you've succeeded,” Dave said, affectionately.
“And I want to keep on in the same way,” said the man,softly. “So don't stop calling me dad, Dave. I—I couldn'tbear that, even though I have no right to it. But you asked me a questionjust now. I'll answer that before I go on with the story.
“I did plan to leave here. I'm not making this ranch go, Dave,as I'd like to see it. I have been thinking of giving it up. But that wasbefore I knew that my secret about you was known.”
“Then you're not going now,—Dad?”
Dave hesitated just a moment over the name.
“No. It would look like desertion—cowardice—as if Iwent because this matter became known. It will get out soon enough now,since the Molick outfit knows it. But that's just the reason I'm going tostick. I won't fly in the face of the enemy. I won't desert!
“The real reason why I intended to go, though, Dave, is becausethe ranch isn't making money enough. It is holding its own, but that isnot enough. As you know, I was, up to a year or so ago, pretty well off.But those unfortunate cattle speculations pulled me down, so now I amreally, what would be called poor, as ranchmen go.
“But I'll make good!” declared the cattle owner.“I'm going to stick now, until something happens. It may be for thebest, or it may be for the worst. But I'll stick until I'm fairlybeaten!
“The ranch needs more water, that's the main trouble. I haven'tcontrol of the water rights I need. I can't go into the cattle businesson a large enough scale because of the lack of water. Rolling River andForked Branch, while well enough in their way, aren't big enough to standthe dry years.
“That was the reason I was going to sell out, Dave, but I'm notnow. I'm going to stick. And now I'll tell you the secret concerningyou—that is as much of it as I know. It isn't much, for I know solittle myself, so you will not be much wiser than you are now.”
“Won't I know who I am?” Dave asked in a low voice.
“No, Dave, for I can't tell you myself. I wish I could. I wish Icould either really find your parents, or know that I had a good legalclaim on you. But that is impossible.
“Some years ago, Dave, I was in business in Missouri. I wasdoing fairly well, but I always had a hankering to get out West and raisecattle. I had lived on a ranch when I was a small lad—in fact allmy people were ranchers—and I longed for the life of which I hadhad only a little taste.
“So I planned to sell out, raise all the money I could, and buya ranch. I had my plans all made when one spring there came a big floodthat practically wiped out the town where I was then living, as well as anumber of others along that part of the Missouri River. There was rescuework to be done, and I did my share, I guess.
“Among the others whom I saved from the wreckage of houses,barns and other debris that rushed down the river was a little babyboy.”
Dave caught his breath sharply.
“You were that little chap, Dave,” went on the ranchman,after a pause. “As cute a little chap as I ever saw. I fell in lovewith you right away, and so did a number of women folks who were helpingin the rescue work. They all wanted you, but I said if no one who had alegal claim on you came for you, that I would keep you.
“And that's what happened. I could not find out where you camefrom, nor who your folks were, though I made many inquiries. I had beenabout to start for the West when the flood came, but I delayed a bit,wanting to give your parents, if they were alive, a fair show. But no oneclaimed you, so I brought you out West with me, and here we've been eversince, living just like father and son.”
“And do you think my parents are—are dead?” Davefaltered.
“I am afraid so,” was the low answer. “There weremany grown folk and children who perished in the flood. At any rate,Dave, I have kept you ever since.
“How this Whitey Wasson learned the secret I can not say. I didhope it would never be brought to your knowledge, though I made noeffort, at the time I rescued you, to conceal the fact that I had, in ameasure, adopted you. I suppose Whitey must have heard the story fromsome one who was in the flooded Missouri district at the time and who hassince come West.
“But that is how the matter stands. You are not really my son,though you are as dear to me as though you were. I hope this will make nodifference to you—knowing this secret. I want you to continueliving here just as you always have. In fact it would break my heart ifyou were to leave me after all these years. You will stay; won'tyou?” and he held out his hands appealingly.
“Why—yes,” said Dave, after a moment. “I haveno other place to go. And I certainly owe you a deep debt of gratitudefor your care of a nameless orphan for so many years.”
“Don't say that, Dave! Don't call yourself nameless. You canhave my name, and welcome! You know that. I want you to have it. I willlegally adopt you if necessary. And as for owing me—don't name it!You were welcome to all I could do, and more. Why, you have been like ason to me. I wouldn't know how to get along without you at the ranchhere. You must stay!”
“Oh, yes, I'll stay,” said Dave. And then he added, with,perhaps, the least tinge of bitterness in his voice: “I have nowhere else to go.”
“Then stay!” was the eager invitation. “I need you,Dave! And if those skunks bother you any more—”
“Oh, I'm not worrying about them,” Dave said, quickly.“I don't mind their taunts. After all, it is no disgrace not toknow who I am under the circumstances. Perhaps, some day, I may findout.”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Carson, softly, but he did not reallybelieve that such an event would happen.
“Is that all you can tell about me—Dad?” askedDave.
“That's right! Don't forget to call me dad!” exclaimed theranchman, and his tone showed more delight than at any time since thetalk. “For I am just the same as your father. But, Dave, I'm afraidI can't give you any clews. You were only a baby at the time, and I don'teven remember just now, much as to how you were dressed. You came downthe flood in part of a wrecked house. You were in a cradle in the exposedupper story when I got you out. I was going around in a boat doing whatrescue work I could. I turned you over to some women, temporarily, andclaimed you later. That's about all there is to it. I came out West withyou and—here we are now. And now, since the secret is out, I'mgoing to make it known to all who care to listen. There is no use tryingto keep it under cover any more.”
“What do you mean, Dad?”
“I mean I'll tell every one connected with Bar U ranch. We'lltake the wind out of the sails of Molick, Wasson and their like. We won'thave them sneering at us. I'll tell the men here.”
“I fancy Pocus Pete knows something about it,” Dave said.“He must have heard what Whitey and Len said to me.”
“Well, we'll tell him the whole story. It's nodisgrace.”
And this was done. Soon all the cowboys on Bar U ranch knew the story,and talk buzzed around concerning it. But no one thought the less ofDave. In fact his friends and those of Mr. Carson were warmer thanbefore. Then the matter was tacitly dropped, and was never mentionedamong the cowboys of Bar U ranch.
For a time the knowledge hurt Dave cruelly. Then he grew moreaccustomed to it. But though he called Mr. Carson “Dad” therewas more or less of reserve. And Dave found himself many times, wonderingwho his real parents could be.
“Some day I may find out,” he said.
There was much to do at the ranch, from rounding up cattle, lookingafter strays and branding, to making shipments. Dave found his time fullyoccupied, and he saw little of Len and his crony. But one day Len andDave had a “run-in.” Dave, who was riding range, came uponLen in the act of beating his horse. It seems the animal had stepped intoa hole and thrown the bully, who, in retaliation, mistreated the animalshamefully.
“Here! You quit that!” ordered Dave, riding up.
“What for?” sneered Len.
“Because I say so!”
“He isn't your horse.”
“That may be, but I'm not going to see you abuse him that way.You quit, or I'll give you the worst licking you ever had.”
“You will; eh? Mr. Nobody!” sneered Len. “Youwill?”
“Yes, I will!” and Dave strode forward with such a fiercelook on his face that Len hastily left off beating his poor steed andfled.
“Oh5 I'll fix you yet!” Len cried, when, at a safedistance, he paused to turn and shake his fist at Dave.
“The mean hound!” muttered Dave.
It was about a week after this that Dave rode over to a small corralwhere some choice cattle were quartered. These had been cut out andherded by themselves, to get ready for a special shipment. Dave wanted tosee if the fence and gate were sufficiently strong.
He rode around the corral, and was soon satisfied that all was right.He was riding away over the plain, glad to be able to report to Mr.Carson that the cattle were in fine shape for shipment, when a suddennoise caused him to turn around.
To Dave's surprise he saw the cattle, in a small stampede, rushingfrom the corral, straight toward him in an overwhelming mass.
Dave hesitated but a moment, and then clapping spurs to his horse hewheeled and rode straight at the oncoming steers, shouting and waving hishat in one hand, while with the other he fired shot after shot from hisbig revolver.
“Don't fall now, Crow! Don't you dare to stumble!”breathed Dave, leaning over to speak into the very ear of his coal-blacksteed. “Don't step in any holes and throw me. For if you do, it'sall up with both of us!”
Yet, knowing that danger as he did, Dave never for an instantfaltered. He was going to stop that stampede and drive back the valuablecattle before they could stray and get far out on the range or among thewild hills where they would lose much of their prime condition that wouldinsure a good price. Dave was going to stop that stampede though he tookhis life in his hands to do it.
And for what? he might have reflected. To save the property of a manwho was no relation to him.
Yet never for an instant did Dave ask this question of himself. Itnever entered his mind. For the time being he had forgotten that Mr.Carson was not his father.
“I'm going to save those cattle!” Dave murmured over andover again, as he neared the frightened, tumultous mass of steers.“But don't you stumble with me, Crow!”
For to stumble meant, very likely, the death of horse and rider.Cattle on the range are used to seeing mounted men—in fact theyseldom see them otherwise, and for a mounted cowpuncher it is perfectlysafe to ride in front of even a wildly running mass of steers.
But once let a man be on foot, while the cattle do not actually attackhim, they seem to lose all fear of him, and may trample ruthlessly overhim. Then is when a cowpuncher's life depends on his steed. The cattleseem to regard horse and man as one and as a superior being to whom theymust give place. That is why Dave did not want his horse to stumble andthrow him. For his life, and that of his fine steed, Crow, would not havelasted a minute under the pounding rush of those sharp hoofs.
While thus riding wildly at the rushing steers Dave had many thoughtsin his mind.
“How did they get out?” he mused. “The gate andfastenings were all right five minutes ago. And I wonder if I can turnthem and drive them back alone? I've got to, that's all, for I don't seeany help coming.”
Dave rose in his stirrups and gave a quick frightened, tumultuous massof steers. “But don't glance ahead of him and over the backs of thesteers. He saw no one in sight, and settling in the saddle again,prepared for the work ahead of him.
“Got to have some more shots, anyhow,” Dave reasoned. Hisrevolver was empty.
Fortunately Dave had trained Crow so that he could ride him withoutthe use of the reins—merely by the pressure of the knees on eitherside of his neck. Dropping the leather, Dave broke his gun, scattered theempty shells out on the ground, and filled the chamber with freshcartridges.
He depended upon the thundering reports of his forty-five, as much ason his voice and his fearless riding straight at the oncoming steers, todrive them back. Now again he was ready for his task, and it was hightime, for he was almost at the front line of advancing cattle.
Shouting, waving his big hat with one hand, and with the other workingthe trigger of his gun, Dave sought to drive back the maddened animals.He put into his action all the energy of which he was capable, rising inhis stirrups as though he would hurl himself over the head of his horseat the beasts.
“Steady now, Crow!” he called into the ear of his faithfulpony, leaning over far on its neck. The front line of cattle began todivide to let Dave through, or, rather, to pass around him. But he didnot want that. He wanted to turn the animals back.
“Oh, if I only had some one to help me!” he criedaloud.
Once more his gaze swept over the backs of the cattle. Yes, there wasa figure on horseback, but it was riding away, straight toward thefoot-hills.
“Here!” cried Dave. “Come back! Give me a hand here,whoever you are! Come back!”
But the figure did not turn, and then Dave, with anger and disgustshowing in his face, thought he recognized in the peculiar style of therider something familiar.
“Len Molick!” he exclaimed, as he wheeled his horse toride out of the press of cattle and once more to get ahead of them.
“If that wasn't Len Molick I'll eat my hat!” hesoliloquized. “But what is he doing here, and why is he riding awayinstead of helping me out? I'd help him out if he was in thispickle!”
It was queer to see Len riding away at top speed, providing that itwas Len, and Dave felt pretty sure it was. Scarcely a cowpuncher butwould render even his enemy help in an emergency of this kind. He mightbe on just as unfriendly terms as before, after the work was done, but hewould give help.
“But that isn't Len's way, evidently,” mused Dave,bitterly.
However he had his own work marked out for him, and no time for idlespeculation. Somehow or other he must get ahead of the freed cattle anddrive them back.
Whooping, yelling, waving his hat and shooting, Dave took after theescaping steers.
“Oh for one man to help,” he cried aloud, and it seemed asif his cry was answered. For, riding toward him, and toward the bunch ofstampeded cattle, he descried a figure that made his heart leap withjoy.
“Pocus Pete!” he cried. “Now we'll get you beastsback!”
And indeed it was the efficient foreman of Bar U ranch who rode up attop speed, his hat off, his revolver spitting fire, and his horse lendingitself to the game with all its energies.
“Off to the left, Dave! Bear off to the left!” yelledPete, indicating that his friend was to head in that direction. Petehimself took the right, and a moment later the two were riding along thefront of the steers who were not running so fast now, being somewhatexhausted.
The object of Pete, seconded by Dave, was to turn the stream ofcattle—to swing around the front ranks, and so bring those in therear to a halt.
Often in a cattle stampede the front rank becomes exhausted, and theanimals in it would willingly give up and cease running, but there is anirresistible pressure from those in the rear. And if those in front stopthey know they will be trampled under foot. So they must keep on or bekilled.
This bunch, however, was comparatively small, and easy to handle.Soon, with the help of Pete, Dave had brought the animals down to a walk,and then it was an easy matter to turn them and drive them back towardthe corral.
“Whew!” cried Dave, when he had a chance to get hisbreath. “That was some job, Pete!”
“Yes, all alone, I reckon it was.”
“How'd you happen to know about it?”
“I didn't. I just come over here on an errand. Yourdad—”
He stopped in some confusion.
“That's all right, Pete,” Dave said. “I'm going tocall Mr. Carson dad until I find my real one—if I ever do. Nomatter what happens, even if I do find my real folks, I can't forget thathe has been as good as a father to me.”
“That's what he has, Dave,” said the foreman, solemnly.“An' I hope you don't ever forget that. There's not manyfolks—not even a fellow's real ones—who can beat th' Old Man.He's th' real stuff an' twenty-four carats fine every time.”
Together they urged the now quieted cattle toward the corral.
“As I was sayin',” resumed Focus Pete, “I come overhere on a little errand for th' Old Man, an' I thought I'd take a run outhere an' see about the prize bunch. It's good I did.”
“I should say so!” Dave exclaimed, fervently.
“Wasn't there any one to help you?” asked Pocus Pete.
“Not a soul. I did see Len Molick riding off—sneakingaway. I called to him, but he didn't answer.”
“How did they break out?” Pete asked next.
“That's what's puzzling me,” replied the youngercowboy.
“Say! Look there!” suddenly called Pete, pointing.“That's how they got out. A section of th' corral fence isdown.”
“The gate didn't come open at all,” said Dave. “Thesteers pushed down the fence.”
“Drive 'em through the opening,” directed Pete, and thiswas done. As the last of the cattle passed in, Pete and Dave stood onguard astride their ponies to prevent the animals stampeding out again,and Dave looked at the broken fence. What he saw caused him to cryout:
“Look here, Pete! Some of those posts have been sawed almostthrough!”
“By the great side saddle!” exclaimed the foreman.“You're right, Dave! There's been treachery here!”
Together, Dave and Pocus Pete examined the posts of the corral fence.There was no doubt but that some of them had been partly sawed through,in order to weaken them so that only a moderate pressure was required tobreak them off short, close to the ground.
“So that was his game; eh?” exclaimed Dave in ajustifiably angry voice.
“Whose game?” asked Pocus Pete.
“Len's! That's why he wouldn't stop to help me. He had been heresawing through the posts so our best bunch of cattle would get out and bespoiled. The hound! Wait until I get hold of him!”
“Better go a bit slow,” advised Pocus Pete, in hisdrawling tones.
“Slow! What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean it isn't a good thing t' go around makin'accusations like that, without somethin' t' back 'em up. In this countryyou've got t' back up what you say, Dave.”
“I know that, but—”
“An' what evidence have you got that Len did this mean trick?For mean trick it is, as shore as guns is guns. What evidence haveyou?”
“Why, didn't I see him riding away as fast as his horse couldgallop just a little while ago?”
“Well, s'posin' you did. That's no evidence in a court of law.You didn't see him saw the posts; did you?”
“No, of course not. But look! Here's some fresh sawdust on theground! The posts have been sawed within a few hours—perhaps eveninside an hour. Maybe just before I came.” Dave pointed to themoist earth under some of the splintered posts and boards. There was thefine sawdust where it had been preserved from the trampling hoofs of thesteers.
“Yes, th' job's been done recent,” admitted Pocus Pete,“but that doesn't prove anythin'. Now if we could find a saw withLen's name on it, that might be some law-evidence. But I don't see any;do you?”
There was no saw in sight. The cattle had retreated to the far side ofthe corral, leaving the part next the broken fence free for examination.But as Pete had said, there was no saw lying about.
“He could easily have carried it away with him when he rodeoff,” Dave said, following up his suspicion.
“Yes, he could, an' he'd be foolish if he didn't—providedit was him as did this,” agreed Pete.
“Well, I'm sure he did,” Dave insisted. “And I'lltake it out of him for trying to spoil dad's best bunch ofcattle.”
The word slipped from Dave almost before he knew it. But he did notcare. As he had told Pocus Pete he was going to regard Mr. Carson as hisfather —he had thought of him so many years in that relationshipthat it was difficult to think otherwise.
“Well, you be careful of what you do, Dave; that's my advice t'you,” said Pete.
“Why so? I'm not afraid of Len Molick,” was Dave's quickresponse.
“No, maybe not. Yet Len trails in with a middlin' mean crowd,an' though you are pretty good, you're no match for Whitey Wasson an' hisbunch of cowpunchers.”
“But my quarrel is with Len, for I'm sure he didthis.”
“That's all right. I have a sneakin' suspicion that way myself,but Len is a coward, as well as a bully, an' he'd howl for help if youwent at him. An' Whitey is just th' kind t' pitch in on you if he saw yougivin' Len a drubbin'. So you take my advice, an' go a bitslow.”
“I will. I won't have it out with Len until I can get him alonesomewhere, and then I'll put it up to him.”
“Well, maybe that's a good way, though I don't approve offightin' as a rule.”
“Oh, no! You don't!” laughed Dave, for it was a well knownfact that Pocus Pete was considered the best man with his fists in thatsection of the country.
“Oh, of course I'll fight when I have to. But I'm not goin' outof my way t' look for trouble.”
This was strictly true, and Dave knew it. Pocus Pete would neverneedlessly quarrel with any one, but once he had started on what heregarded as a right course, nothing would turn him aside until he hadeither vanquished or been beaten. And the latter was seldom theoutcome.
“Well, that's my case,” said Dave. “I'm not going toput this on Len until I give him a chance to defend himself. But now,Pete, what are we going to do? We can't leave these choice cattle here ina broken corral. They'll stray all over the range.”
“That's right. We've got to fix that fence, and we'll need help.Some new posts will have to be set, and it's got to be done before dark.Tell you what to do. You ride back to the ranch, and get some of theboys.”
“What will you do?”
“I'll stay here and guard the cattle. It won't take long, andyour horse is faster than mine.”
“All right, I'll go. But first let's make what repairs we can.That will make it easier for you to hold in the cattle.”
There was some wire at the corral, and with this, and by using some ofthe broken posts and boards, the gap in the fence was made smaller so thecattle would not be so likely to try to rush through it.
This done, Pete prepared to mount guard while Dave leaped to the backof Crow and started for the ranch on the gallop, to bring help and totell the story of the broken corral.
“I wonder if I'd better mention Len?” thought Dave, as herode on. “I'm pretty sure he did the trick, but I don't want toaccuse any one unjustly, even him.”
After thinking it over Dave decided that it would be better not to sayanything about Len just yet. He would let matters take their owncourse.
“But I'll be on the watch for him,” he made up hismind.
Dave's mind was busy with many thoughts, and his body was weary withthe exertions through which he had just passed. But there was a certainsense of exhilaration after all. He had done a good piece of work, and herealized it. Of course Pocus Pete had helped, but Dave was in a fair wayto stop the stampede when the old foreman came along.
“I'll get to be a regular cowboy after a while,” thoughtDave, not without a little smile of gratification.
To get to the ranch more quickly the young cowpuncher took a trailthat led through a patch of rocky woodland. It was a curious formation inthe midst of the flat cattle country, being a patch several miles square,consisting of some rocky hills, well wooded, with a number of deepgullies in them. More than once cattle had wandered in among them andbeen lost. And it was said that at one time a noted band of cattlerustlers, or thieves, had made their headquarters in this wood, and hadheld out a long time against the attacks of the cattlemen.
Dave rode through this not very cheerful place. He had been keepinghis eyes open for a sight of Len Molick, but had caught no furtherglimpse of the bully whom he suspected.
“Hit it up, Crow! Hit it up!” Dave called to his blackhorse, who was going along a not very safe trail amid the rocks andstones.
Dave was about half way through the place when the silence,undisturbed save by the rattle of Crow's hoofs, was suddenly broken by acry.
“Help! Help!” Dave heard uttered in somewhat weak accents.“Help!”
The young cowboy was startled for a moment. He reined in his horsesharply, and looked about. He could see nothing, and the silence seemedmore pronounced after the echo of the appeal for aid had died away.
“Hello!” Dave called. “Who are you, and what do youwant? Where are you?” he asked, for he could see no one.
“Over here. To your right. I can see you, but you can't see me.I'm down behind a rock. I'm caught, and hanging over a gully. Wait, I'lltoss up my handkerchief. Watch for it!”
Dave looked as nearly as he could tell in the direction of the voice.An instant later something white flashed up in the air, and fell downsoftly. Crow started violently.
“Whoa there, old boy! Steady!” Dave spoke to his horse,and the animal, that had been frightened by the sudden throwing into theair of the handkerchief, stood still.
“I see where you are!” Dave called to the unknown andunseen one—a man, evidently, by the tones of his voice. “I'llbe with you in a minute!”
“Be careful of yourself,” was the caution. “I had abad fall in here, and I don't want to see any one else get into trouble.Go a bit slow.”
“Thanks, I will,” Dave said “But I know this groundpretty well. Stand still now, old fellow,” he went on to his horse.“I don't want you falling, and breaking your leg orneck.”
Crow whinnied as though he understood, and Dave, slipping the reinsover the neck of the intelligent animal as a further intimation that hewas to stay where he was without wandering, climbed from the saddle, abit wearily it must be confessed, and started for the rock, behind whichlay the injured man, and from which point the young cattleman hadobserved the white handkerchief.
“Careful now.” cautioned the voice again.
“All right, don't worry about me,” said Dave, easily.
A moment later he had turned around the intervening rock, and saw,stretched out on the ground, hanging half way over a deep and rock-filledgully, a man about twenty-seven years of age. Dave guessed this muchthough he could see only a part of the man's body, for his head andshoulders were hanging down over the ledge,
“What are you doing there?” was Dave's first question.“Why don't you get up?”
For it was exactly as if the man were lying face downward on top of acliff, looking down.
“I can't get up,” the man answered, his voice being a bitmuffled because his head was hanging over the cliff. “My foot iscaught in a cleft in the rocks, and I'm afraid to move for fear it willpull loose. If it does I'll lose my balance and topple, for I'm hangingmore than half-way over this cliff now. And it doesn't look like a goodplace into which to fall.”
This was true enough, as Dave knew, for the bottom of the gully wascovered with jagged rocks. More than one straying steer had fallen overthere and had been dashed to pieces.
“Steady!” called Dave. “I see how it is. I'll soonhave you out of that. I'm going back for my rope.”
“Are you a puncher?” asked the man.
“Yes,” answered Dave, briefly. “But don't talk. Saveyour strength. I'll have you out in a jiffy.”
He hurried back to where he had left his horse, and took from the hornof the saddle the rope which no cowboy is ever without. With this Davetook a turn about the man's waist, passing the rope under him. He thencarried an end back to a stout tree and tied it there, working, thewhile, deftly and swiftly.
“That will hold you in case you slip when I loosen the rocks andfree your foot,” Dave explained. “You are pretty welloverbalanced. But I'll get you up, all right.”
The man was in a peculiar and perilous position, but Dave thought thathe could cope with the situation. His life on the plains, and amid theperils of the range had made him resourceful, and quick to take advantageof all the chances for safety.
Dave looked at the man's foot. It was firmly wedged in between tworocks that came together in the form of a large V. Considerable pressuremust have forced the man's foot there, for Dave could see that the stoutleather of his riding boot was cut and scraped. The foot was twisted, andDave remarked, in a low voice:
“If you haven't a badly sprained ankle I'll miss myguess!”
“Watch yourself now,” David cautioned the man. “Youcan't fall, even if you slip over, for the rope's strong enough to holdyou; but you may get a bad jerk when you bring up suddenly if you fallafter I release your foot.”
“I'm ready,” said the man.
Dave looked at the two stones between which the man's foot was wedged.Then with a heavy tree branch, inserted in such a way as not to bring anycrushing force on the stranger's leg, Dave used the branch as a lever andpressed down with all his might.
“It's giving!” the man cried. “I can feel itgiving!”
“Look out for yourself!” Dave shouted.
Once more he pressed down hard on the tree lever.
The rocks were pried apart. The man's foot slipped free. Dave, seeingthis, dropped the branch, made a grab for the leg, for the man's body wasgoing over the cliff. Of course he could not fallfar , as therope would hold him, but Dave wanted to save him this jerk ifpossible.
The young cowboy caught the stranger's boot. Dave was aware of a cryof pain from the man, and realized that the ankle must be severelyinjured.
“I can't help it,” thought Dave, grimly. “I've gotto hurt him some to save him more,” and he held on desperately.
Dave was strong, and the man, now that his foot was free, was able touse his hands to push himself back, up over the edge of the cliff. Aftera few seconds of rather strenuous struggle Dave, with the help of the manhimself, was able to get him to a sitting position on the edge of thecliff that overhung the gully.
The man was pale, and his face was scratched and bleeding. Hisclothing was disheveled, and he showed many signs of the struggle throughwhich he had gone.
“Thank—thanks,” he gasped, weakly.
“Now don't try to talk until you get your breath,” Daveadvised him. “Here, drink some of this. It's warm, but it'swet.”
Dave carried with him a water canteen, and this he now put to the lipsof the man. The latter drank greedily.
“That's good,” he whispered. He lay back weakly, Davesupporting him in his arms. The man's eyes closed, and Dave feared he wasabout to faint. Quickly the young cowboy whipped off his coat, andfolding it in pillow shape, put it on the rocks, and laid the man's headdown on it.
The stranger opened his eyes.
“Don't be alarmed,” he said. “I'm not going to die.I'm just getting my breath back. I was hanging there a good while Iguess.”
He closed his eyes again, and moved his foot—the one that hadbeen caught between the rocks.
A groan came through his clenched teeth and tightly pressed lips, and,accompanied by a sudden wave of whiteness that made his face paler thanbefore, a shudder passed over him.
“He's fainted this time, for keeps,” decided Dave,grimly.
Dave Carson had some knowledge of rough and ready first-aid work.There was often occasion for it on the ranch, and though fainting menwere not common sights, still, now and again, such a contingency wouldarise. Cowboys often get severely hurt, and it is not always within thenerve power of a man to hold back when a deathly faintness overcomeshim.
“I've got to get help to tote you back to the ranch,” Davesaid, as he sprinkled some water from his canteen in the face of thestranger.
“You've got to be looked after. Maybe the ankle'sbroken.”
He glanced at the injured foot, but did not offer to touch it, for heknew how sensitive it must be, when even a slight movement sent the manoff in a faint.
The water had the desired effect, or perhaps the faint was only aslight one, for presently the man opened his eyes, looked about him insome wonder, and murmured:
“Oh, I remember now. Was it last year I tried to fall over thecliff?” He smiled wanly.
“No, it was only a little while ago-or at least it was only alittle while ago that I pulled you back,” Dave said. “I don'tknow how long you had been hanging there, though.”
“It seemed ten years,” was the answer given with anotherwan smile. “Well, what's the next move? I hope it isn't mine, for Idon't know how I can manage it. My ankle is either broken, or badlysprained.”
“I'm afraid so,” Dave answered. “Now I don't knowwhere you came from, or where you're going, but our ranch—BarU—is the nearest place you can get help. I can put you on myhorse—I guess I can manage that—and walk with you, but itwill take a long time. Crow won't carry double, I'm afraid. Certainly notwith the way I'd have to put you on.”
“I had a horse,” said the stranger. “He can't havegone very far. I left him beside the trail while I came in here to lookabout. He must have wandered off a way.”
“A horse!” cried Dave, eagerly. “That's good, if Ican find him. We'll not have any trouble getting you to the ranch in thatcase, Mr.—er—”
Dave paused significantly, adding, after a moment's thought:
“My names is Dave—Dave Carson.” He had hesitated,and then quickly reflected that this was no time to enter intoexplanations about his lack of parentage. “My father, RandolphCarson, owns Bar U ranch.”
“Yes, I have heard of him,” the man said. “In fact Iwas going to call on him within a few days in regard to a certain matter.I am afraid I can't reach my card case, but my name isBellmore—Benjamin Bellmore. I'm from Chicago, but I'm out hererepresenting the Rolling Valley Water Company.”
“Never heard of them,” Dave said. “They don't dealin cattle; do they?”
“No, they hope to deal in water; that is later on. But I'll gointo details after a bit.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Bellmore!” burst out Dave. “Here Iam keeping you talking, when I ought to be looking for your animal, andhelping you to our ranch. I don't know what's got into me. But I just hadsome trouble with a bunch of our cattle, and I guess I'm thinking of thatyet.
“I was on my way to the ranch to get help, when I took thisshort cut and heard you call. I'll go and see if I can find your horse.If I can't we'll use mine, and I can walk. It won't be the first time,though we cowpunchers are more used to a saddle than we are to our ownlegs.”
He gave Mr. Bellmore another drink from the canteen, and then seeingthat the man was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, wentback to the trail to look for the missing horse. Dave saw his own steedcontentedly munching some of the scanty herbage, speaking to him, passedon.
Reaching a point where he could look down into the valley below, Davepeered long and earnestly for a sight of a riderless horse. To hisdelight he saw the animal almost at once.
“Well, you didn't run far,” he murmured, “and if youdon't get a tantrum, and gallop off when I come up, I'll soon haveyou.”
Going back to where he had left Mr. Bellmore, Dave reported:
“Your horse is down in the valley. I'll jump on mine and try tocatch him for you. If I can, we'll not have any trouble, and I'll soonhave you at our ranch.”
“Thanks,” murmured the representative of the watercompany. “His name is Kurd,” he added. “My horse's, Imean,” he explained, with a smile. “He generally comes when Icall him, but here are some lumps of sugar I give him. He'll be sure tocome if you hold these out to him.”
Dave took the sweets, which Mr. Bellmore extracted from his pocket,and hurried back to where he had left Crow. A moment later Dave wasmoving off down the trail toward the valley.
“Careful, old boy,” he cautioned his steed, for the goingwas anything but good. “It won't do for you to slip and stumblenow.”
But Crow had no intention of doing anything of the sort, and a littlelater Dave was galloping rapidly—across the grassy plain toward thelone horse.
“I hope he doesn't bolt and give me a chase,” reflectedthe young cowboy. “I haven't much time,” and he looked at thedeclining sun, and thought of Pocus Pete on guard at the corral, waitingfor help to mend the broken fence.
“It's all Len's fault, too—the mean skunk!” saidDave. “If it hadn't been for him the cattle wouldn't have gottenloose. Though I suppose if they hadn't I wouldn't have ridden home thisway, and I wouldn't have discovered that man. Maybe it'll be a goodthing, in the end.”
Just how “good” this chance was to prove to Dave, theyoung cowboy little dreamed.
“Here Kurd! Kurd!” he called, as he approached the horse.Dave wondered how Mr. Bellmore had hit on that odd name. “Here,Kurd!” the youth called.
The horse, a beautiful and intelligent beast, raised his head, andlooked at Dave approaching on Crow.
“Here you are, old boy. Kurd!” called the young ranchmanagain.
The other pony, who had been cropping the grass, moved off a shortdistance.
“That won't do!” Dave murmured. “If he once startshe'll keep going. Looks as if he had speed, too, but I think you can beathim, Crow, old boy,” and he patted the neck of his faithfulbeast.
Kurd continued to amble slowly away. Then Dave thought of the sugar.He took the lumps out of his pocket and held them in the palm of hishand, at the same time bringing Crow to a stop.
Kurd raised his head, whinnied once or twice, stretched out his velvetmuzzle, as though to smell what Dave held out, and then came slowlytoward the youth.
“That's more like it,” Dave murmured. “Now if youdon't take a sudden notion, and bolt off just as I reach for your reins,I'll be all right. Steady boy! Come on Kurd!”
The strange horse seemed to have cast his suspicions to the wind, andcame fearlessly. A moment later he and Crow were sniffing at each other,and then Kurd took the sugar from Dave's palm. Then the lad grasped thereins, and, turning about, riding his own horse and leading Kurd, madefor the place where he had left Mr. Bellmore.
“Good luck!” Dave called as he came in sight of theprostrate man. “I've got your horse, and now we'll soon be at theranch.”
“Fine! Now I'm going to ask you to do something else for me.This foot of mine is paining worse every minute, but I think if I couldget my boot off, to allow room for that swelling to expand, it would easeme.”
“I'll try,” Dave said.
However, it was found impossible to pull off the footgear without soyanking on the injured foot that Mr. Bellmore nearly fainted again.
“Guess I'll have to cut it,” Dave said, dubiously.
“Do then.”
“It's a pity to spoil a good boot.”
“Well, the chances are I won't be able to wear one again for afew weeks, and I simply can't stand this pain.”
“Here goes,” Dave said. With his keen knife he slit theleather. A sigh of relief came from the man.
“That's better-a whole lot better,” he murmured.
It was no easy matter to get him astride his horse, but Dave finallymanaged it, and wrapped the swollen ankle in his own coat to prevent itsstriking against the side of Kurd as they rode off.
“How did you come to fall?” asked Dave, as he got into hisown saddle, ready for the trip to the ranch.
“I'll explain later. I can't talk very well now. But I wasprospecting around, looking at the rock formation, when I slipped. Ithought it was all up with me, but my foot caught, and I was heldsuspended over the gully.”
“I see,” Dave replied. “Well, we'll doctor youup.”
Carefully they made their way out of the rocky woodland, and startedacross the plain, toward Bar U ranch. As Dave took the lead, making asmuch speed as was possible under the circumstances, he saw, some distancein advance, a solitary horseman.
Again something in the peculiar saddle position of the rider attractedhis attention.
“There's Len Molick again!” he exclaimed aloud. “Isuppose he's hanging around to see how his trick worked!”
“Len Molick!” exclaimed Mr. Bellmore. “Why I want tosee him. I have been looking for him!”
Dave looked curiously at the man he had rescued. From him he glancedtoward the figure of the young bullying cowboy whom he suspected ofhaving been instrumental in causing the stampede.
“Do you know Len Molick?” asked Dave slowly, as he guidedhis horse along the trail.
“No, but I want to know him,” was the answer. “Ihave a letter to him, and I understand that he is one of the influentialcattle raisers in this vicinity.”
Dave breathed easier. It was evident a mistake had been made.
“I guess it's Len's father, Mr. Jason Molick you want tomeet,” Dave said.
“That's right. Jason is the name!” admitted Mr. Bellmore.“I heard you mention the name Molick and I didn't pay muchattention to the first part. So there are two of them?”
“Yes, Len and his father,”
“Do you know them?”
“Oh, yes, every one around here knows them.”
“You don't speak very enthusiastically,” said Mr.Bellmore, with a strange look at the boy. “Is it possible that someerror has been made on the part of those who gave me letters ofintroduction? Is not Mr. Molick influential in these parts?”
“Oh, yes, that's all right,” assented Dave, and still hisvoice had no ring to it. “Mr. Molick is influential allright—too much so, at times.”
“You don't seem to like him,” said Mr. Bellmore. “Iwish you would be frank with me. I am a stranger in these parts, and Ihave to depend on residents here for my information, and, in a largepart, for my success. I know nothing about the Molicks.”
“Well, since you asked me to be frank,” went on Dave,“I will be, and I'll say you haven't missed much by not knowing theMolicks—especially Len. I'm after him now, for I suspect him ofhaving tried to do us a serious injury.”
“Is that so! That's too bad. If I had knownthat—”
“Oh, don't let me prejudice you against them,” Dave wenton.” Mr. Molick may be able to do business with you in the way youwant. I am not speaking from the business end of it. Personally I don'tlike the Molicks,” and Dave mentioned the cattle stampede.
“Well, if he did that I should say he wasn't a person to betrusted,” said the Chicago man. “But still—”
“Of course. I'm not certain of it,” Dave continued.“I'm going to find out about the sawed posts, though. But see Mr.Molick yourself, and make up your own mind about him”
“I will, but I shall be on my guard on account of what you havesaid. It is well to know the character of the man one is dealing with.I'm afraid though,” he added as a spasm of pain crossed hisface,” that I sha'n't be able to do any active business for awhile,” and he glanced down at his injured foot.
“We'll soon be at the ranch,” Dave remarked. “Therest of the trail is easy.”
Dave was thinking of many things as his pony ambled on, followed byMr. Bellmore's horse. It was strange, the manner in which he had come tohelp the injured man, and it was stranger still that the latter should beseeking to do business with the Molicks of whom the members of the Bar Uranch had no very high opinion.
“I was on my way to Mr. Molick's place, when I got off the trailto look after that rock formation resumed Mr. Bellmore after apause.” Rocks always interest me, for I am always looking to seewhat the possibilities are for striking a supply of water.”
“Why water?” asked Dave.
“Because I am an irrigation engineer,” was the reply.“That is my business. I have been sent out here by a concern,recently formed, called the Rolling Valley Water Company. Our concern hasacquired rights in the valley of the Rolling River, and I have been sentout to see what the chances are for getting the ranchmen and otherland-owners interested.”
“I thought irrigation schemes had only to do withfarming,” said Dave.
“No, irrigation takes in much more than that. Of course farmersneed water, and we hope to develop some big farms out here. But ranchmenalso need water for their cattle.”
“Yes, that's true,” said Dave. “; My—my fatherwas saying only the other day, that he could do a lot more if we had abetter water supply.”
“Then he's one of the men I need to see!” exclaimed Mr.Bellmore. “Perhaps he already has some rights in the water supplyof this valley that we could negotiate for.
“You see our idea is,” he continued, “to get thewhole water supply under one head in a big company, of course givingthose who sell us their rights, a certain control. Then we intend tobuild a big dam to conserve the water supply. As it is here now Iimagine, from what I know of other places, at one time you have too muchwater, and at another you don't have enough.”
“That's just it,” Dave admitted. “It isn'teven.”
“Well, that's what we irrigation engineers are aiming todo—make the water supply even the year around. I certainly musttalk with your father. Maybe, after all, it's a good thing I sprained myankle, though it certainly does hurt!” he exclaimed, with a sharpindrawing of his breath.
“Well, of course I'll be glad to have you see Mr.Carson—my father,” and again Dave rather hesitated andstumbled over the word. “But, as a matter of fact, some of therights he has in Rolling River are subject to some agreement with Mr.Molick. I know my father doesn't like it, for it makes him too dependenton this man, but he could do nothing else. He had to have water for hisstock.”
“Of course,” agreed Mr. Bellmore. “Well, perhaps wecan get together and form a company so he can have more water and willnot have to worry about it.”
“I hope so,” Dave said.
A little later they came within sight of the ranch buildings, whichwere glowing in the rays of the setting sun.
“What a fine place!” exclaimed Mr. Bellmore.
“Yes, I like it,” Dave made answer. Then a pang seemed toshoot through him. What if he had to leave the place? He could not counton always staying there, as he might have done had he been Mr. Carson'sson. Even though the ranchman might love Dave as one of his own blood,when Mr. Carson died there would be other heirs very likely, who wouldstep in and claim the place. Dave was not legally adopted. He mightinherit nothing.
He had always counted on taking up as his life work, the cattlebusiness. But now, since the disclosure had been made, this was, perhaps,impossible. And He sighed again as he looked at the group of buildingsset down in a little valley, with Rolling River in the distanceglistening in the slanting rays of the setting sun. On all sidesstretched the vast prairies on which grazed the hundreds ofcattle—not only from the Bar U ranch, but from the Centre O, andothers.
“Yes, that's our place,” said Dave. For the present, atleast, this man need not know his secret, though he might find it outsoon enough. “And I guess you'll be glad of a chance to lie down;won't you?”
“Indeed I will,” was the answer.
A moment later the two rode up toward the main ranch buildings. Thecowboys had come in from their day's labors, and were washing themselvesat their bunk houses, in readiness for supper. From the quarters of HopLoy, the Chinese cook, came a grateful odor.
“That certainly smells good!” exclaimed Mr. Bellmore.
The cowpunchers looked curiously at the drooping figure on the horsethat followed Dave. It needed but a glance from their sharp eyes to tellthat the man was hurt. Mr. Carson came out.
“Well, Dave,” he began, “I was just wondering whereyou were. Are the cattle all right?”
“They are now, Dad, but they weren't for a time. They got out ofthe corral, but Pocus Pete and I got them back again. I'll tell you aboutthat later.
“Here's a gentleman who needs help. He's a Mr. Bellmore fromChicago interested in irrigation. He was in the rock-grove, caught by thefoot. I got him out. You look after him, Dad. I've got to get some of theboys, with fence material, and go back to relieve Pete. He's on guardthere.”
“Say! It takes you to tell it!” exclaimed Mr. Carson witha smile. “Welcome to Bar U, Mr. Bellmore. I don't exactlyunderstand all that boy of mine has gotten off, but it's all right. Wewill look after you. Sprained ankle; eh? Well, I know something aboutthem. Come boys, one of you help Mr. Bellmore down, and make himcomfortable.
“You'll stop and get something to eat, Dave, won't you, beforeyou go back?”
“Yes, just a bite, Dad. We haven't much time.”
A little later Mr. Bellmore was comfortably installed in the ranchhouse, while Dave and two other cowboys, after a hasty meal, were ontheir way back to relieve Pocus Pete, and repair the broken fence.
This work was soon under way. While Pocus Pete had been on guard acattleman, passing, had given him an important message for Mr.Carson.
“So you'd better ride back and tell him, Dave,” Pete said,as he and the other punchers began to work on the fence, a snack havingbeen brought for Pete's supper.
“But I want to stay and help you,” objected Dave.
“You'll do better work by getting back with that message,”the foreman said, and once more Dave turned his horse's head toward Bar Uranch.
It was getting dusk now, but it was not so dark but that Dave couldmake out, after he had ridden some distance, the figure of a horsemanjust ahead of him.
“Len again!” he murmured. “I'm going to see what hehas to say, and why he's hanging around here. We may have to guard thosecattle all night.”
At a word Crow leaped forward in a gallop, and in another moment,though Len made an effort to spur on ahead, Dave had ridden alongside ofhim.
“Trying to see how your trick worked?” asked Dave, with asharp look at his enemy.”
“Are you speaking to me?” demanded Len.
“I certainly am.”
“Well, I don't want to talk to a nobody!” was theretort.
Giving utterance to this sneering remark Len Molick began to urge hishorse forward, but, though his face flushed, and a sense of anger chokedhim, Dave remained cool as he put out a hand and caught the bridle of theother's steed.
“Not so fast, Len Molick!” Dave exclaimed.
“You may not want to talk to a nobody—that's yourbusiness—but you're going to talk to a somebody right now, and thatsomebody is I!”
“Huh! you don't even know your name!” Len sneered, but hedid not try to break away.
“Names don't matter,” said Dave, trying to retain hiscalmness. “You can call me Injun Jack if you like, but I want toask you a few questions.”
“Well, I'm not going to answer them,” snapped Len,“and I want you to let me go! If you don't—”
He raised a riding quire he carried, and seemed about to lash it intoDave's face.
“Look here!” Dave cried. “If you try to strike mewith that I'll pull you off your pony and give you the best drubbing youever had.” He snatched the quirt from Len's wrist, breaking thethong, and flung the little whip far out on the prairie.
“Oh!” mumbled Len, and he shrunk away in fear.
“I won't touch you—at least not now—if you don't tryany more of your underhand work,” promised Dave. “But I'mgoing to converse with you right here and now. Why did you cut the postsof our special corral? Answer me that!”
“I didn't cut any posts!” was the sullen answer.
“You didn't; eh? Well, I think you did, and I'll prove it too,sooner or later. What are you hanging around here for now?”
“Isn't this a free range? Haven't I a right to ride it if I wantto?”
“Yes, you have, but you must have some object in it, and Ibelieve you want to see our cattle stampede. But I fooled you that time,Len Molick, and I'll fool you again. Now I want to know something else.Is Whitey Wasson the only one who told you I—that I wasn't Mr.Carson's son?”
For the life of him Dave could not help the falter that crept into hisvoice.
“Yes; he's the only one who told me,” was Len's sullenanswer.
“How did he find out about it?”
“Huh! How should I know? Ask him!”
“I intend to after I get through with you.”
Len winced again.
“Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to thrash you—at least notnow” said Dave, grimly. He was willing that Len should get whatsatisfaction he could out of that promise.
“Well, if you're through with me, you let me go!” thebully demanded. “You haven't any right to hold me up thisway.”
“I've just as much right as you have to take a saw and cutthrough our fence posts, so that the least pressure by the cattle wouldcrack 'em off short,” retorted Dave.
“I didn't saw any of your posts, I tell you!” insistedLen.
Dave was working his horse around to get closer to Len. Before thebully suspected it Dave had suddenly slipped his hand in under Len'scoat, and had pulled out a short saw.
For a moment Len was too surprised to utter a word. Then he cried:
“Here! Give me that!”
“No, I don't think I will,” Dave said, coolly. “Imay need it as evidence. I thought you said you didn't saw anyposts.”
“I—I didn't!”
“Then Whitey Wasson, or some of your crowd, did. I suppose theypassed the saw to you to get rid of, which you would have done if youwere wise.”
“I—I found that saw on the plains,” stammeredLen.
“Probably where Whitey dropped it,” Dave retorted.“Now look here Len Molick,” he went on. “You say youdidn't saw those posts, but I think you did, and I'm going to try toprove it. This saw is part of the proof. I guess I'll just keep it.
“And one thing more. If I catch you hanging around our specialcorral, even if you are on free range land, I'll tackle you. Don't forgetthat!”
“If you dare to touch me!” fairly screamed Len, for he wasvery angry now, “if you dare to touch me I'll have you arrested! Myfather knows the sheriff—”
“You can't scare me by any talk like that,” Dave said,coolly. “You know I'm a nobody, and I can't be disgraced like anyone who bears the name of Molick!” and he laughed mockingly, thoughthere was a sore spot in his heart.
After all it is small satisfaction to be a “nobody.”
Dave released his hold on the bridle of Len's horse, and urged his ownsteed back toward Bar U ranch.
“You just wait! I'll fix you for this” Len threatened.
“I'm a good waiter,” Dave told him. Then, speaking toCrow, he galloped off through the gathering darkness.
On reaching the ranch Dave found that Mr. Bellmore was verycomfortable. Mr. Carson had applied rough and ready, but effectivetreatment to the injured ankle, and the two men were deep in a talk ofirrigation matters when Dave entered the room.
“Back again, son?” remarked Mr. Carson, and there was nohesitancy in his endearing tone. For of course he had known, all along,that Dave was not his son, though, as he had said, he so loved and soregarded him.
“Yes—Dad, back. Perkins sent word about that bunch he wasspeaking of,” and he delivered the message left with PocusPete.
“Well, Dave, you have done a good day's work sincemorning,” commented Mr. Carson.
“You saved that valuable bunch of special cattle, and you bringme as a guest a man, who, I think, can do me a lot of good.”
“I'm glad to hear it, Dad!”
“Yes, your father and I have been talking irrigation,Dave,” said Mr. Bellmore, who had taken a sudden liking to theyoung cowboy. And to himself Dave could not but admit that the more hesaw of Mr. Bellmore the better he liked him. “We think we can gettogether on this irrigation project,” the Chicago man went on.
“Of course that is if we can deal with Molick,” suggestedthe ranchman.
“Oh, yes, it depends a great deal on Molick,” Mr. Bellmoreadmitted.
“I wish it didn't,” Dave said.
“Why, son?” asked Mr. Carson.
Then Dave told his story, which was received with rather ominousshakes of the head on the part of Mr. Carson.
“Well,” said the owner of Bar U ranch, when Dave hadfinished, “there's no two ways about it! I wish it hadn't happened,and I think as you do, Dave, that Molick, or some of his friends, had ahand in it. However, that isn't proof, and we can't move until we getbetter evidence than just a saw.
“Another thing I'm sorry for—this may make more badfeeling between Mr. Molick and myself. There's not much love lost betweenus as it is,” he went on, “and this will only add to hisfeeling.”
“I'm sorry, Dad,” Dave began.
“Oh, it isn't your fault,” said Mr. Carson, quickly.“You acted as you thought best, and I haven't a word of fault tofind. It just had to be so, I reckon. But I'll know how toact—that's one thing sure. I'll be on my guard from nowon.”
“It will be best so,” said Mr. Bellmore.
A little later Pocus Pete and one of the cowboys returned, to reportthat the fence had been repaired.
“Where's Gimp?” asked Dave, referring to the othercowpuncher who had ridden with him.
“Oh, he stayed there on guard. Thought it best t' leave himthere—to-night anyhow,” the foreman said to Mr. Carson.
“I understand,” was the answer. “We can't afford tolose any of those steers.”
They were all up late at Bar U ranch that night, for the day had beena momentous one. Then, too, the visit of Mr. Bellmore had created alittle diversion. He and Mr. Carson sat up for some time after the othershad retired, talking irrigation matters,
“I wonder if I'll ever have a part in them?” reflectedDave, as he went to his room. “How long can I stay here, now that Iknow I am not Dave Carson —but somebody else? And who amI?”
Dave's wonderings were not of the most cheerful sort as he fell intoan uneasy slumber.
Cowboys rushing here and there. Dust arising in clouds, settling intoa hazy mist, only to be shattered again, as some rushing rider roderecklessly through it. Yells, shouts, the snapping of whips, the barkingof heavy calibred revolvers, now and then the shrill neigh of acow-pony.
Above all a deep resonant note—a sort of distant thunder—apounding of the earth as thousands of hoofs smote it at once.
That was the scene on which Dave Carson gazed, as he rose in hissaddle, his breath coming in quicker measures, while a fierce light shonein his eyes, for he was having a part in it all.
It was one of the many round-ups on the Bar U range, and there waswork for all, more than enough.
“Hi there, Gimp! Watch where yo-all are a-ridin'!”
“Swing him over there! I'll handle that critter!”
“What's the matter with your fire? Can't git no kind of animpression with irons as cold as a chunk of ice!”
“Look out for that cayuse! He's shore a bad 'un!”
“Over this way now!”
“That's talkin'!”
This was only some of the talk, part of the shouts, a few of the yellsthat were bandied back and forth, as the cowboys rounded up the herd, cutout the designated steers or cows, branded the new ones that had neveryet felt the touch of the hot iron, and generally did the work that fallsto every ranch at certain times of the year.
Dave had been among the busiest, now roping some refractory steer, nowhelping a cowboy heat the big irons, with their mark “BarU.”, now scudding out of the way on the back of his fleet pony,Crow. Now finding a moment of respite, he galloped up to where Mr.Bellmore was sitting in the shade of the chuck wagon, as the cookingoutfit is known.
“Well, what do you think of it?” asked the young cowboy,as he pulled his horse back sharply, so that Crow reared. But he was usedto that, and Dave was exceptionally gentle with him.
“It's just great!” exclaimed the man who had been asemi-invalid since coming to Bar U ranch. “I never imagined therewas so much work attached to a round-up.”
“Oh, there's work all right,” said Dave, removing his bighat and wiping the sweat from his brow with a big handkerchief. “Itisn't much like locating a water trail, I expect?”
“Not much,” assented the visitor, who had now been at theranch about a week, and who was progressing favorably. His ankle wouldnot yet permit him to step on it, but he managed to get about with thehelp of his horse. To-day he had ridden out in the chuck wagon to witnessthe round-up.
“Locating a good place to plant an irrigation scheme is child'splay compared to this cattle business” went on Mr. Bellmore.“Still I suppose you get more or less used to it.”
“In a way, yes,” said Pocus Pete, who rode up just then.“But there are always some things you never can count on. Gimp'shorse just broke his leg,” he added, more to Dave than to thevisitor.
“You don't say!” exclaimed the lad. “That will makeGimp feel bad.”
“Well, it's all in the game,” added the foreman with ashrug of his shoulders. “That's the end of him,” he went onas a shot rang out. There had been little firing of late, for the work ofbranding the strays and other cattle was almost over.
“Did he shoot him?” asked Mr. Bellmore.
“Th' horse? yes!” said Pete sententiously.
“That's all we can do for a horse when he breaks a leg. He ain'tno good to anybody. That's the law of th' range. Yo've got t' make goodor quit!”
“Poor Star,” murmured Dave. “He was a goodhorse.”
“While he lasted,” added Pete. “But Gimp pulled himaround too sudden like, I'm thinkin', t' get out of the way of an onerysteer. Well, that's th' way it goes!”
And Dave, as he thought of his own new and peculiar position, wonderedif that was to be his way. He was really no one now. Would he be thrustaside, and not counted as one of the family?
And yet, as he reflected on the fact that Mr. Carson had always knownof their relation—or, rather their lack of relation—he wouldnot be likely to change.
“I wonder if I'll ever find out who my parents are?“thought Dave. “I must have some folks, somewhere.”
But as he recalled what had been told him—how he had been sweptdown the river in a great flood—the chances that he had any kinliving seemed more and more remote.
But the boy was awakened out of his momentary brown study.
“Hi there!”
“Look out for that critter!”
“He's a bad one!”
“Rope him!”
Such were the wild cries that greeted Dave as he spurred away from thechuck wagon toward what seemed more than the usual commotion. A steerthat had been roped and thrown that a new brand might be put over thealmost obliterated one, had broken away and regained its feet and waswildly rushing here and there.
A lasso had been thrown over his head, and this now trailed in thedust Several of the cowboys, clapping spurs to their ponies, set offeither to throw more ropes about the escaping beast, or else to grasp thetrailing lariat.
“Take him, Dave!” cried Pocus Pete, who wanted the lad toget as much practical experience as possible,
“I'll get him” was the instant call in response.
“Look at him go!” murmured Mr. Bellmore, who half rosefrom a pile of blankets to watch the antics of the steer.
“Yes, that boy of mine can ride!” said Mr. Carson, who waslooking on. A tender look came into his eyes.
No one looking at him would have suspected that, only a comparativelyshort time before, he had confessed to this same lad that there was noreal relationship between them. That they were actually, strangers, savethat there was a love between them that could only come of longassociation.
“Yes. He surely can ride,” murmured the ranch owner.“If he lives I hope he'll succeed me as operator here. And if I canput through your irrigation scheme it will make Bar U one of the bestranches in this part of the country.”
“Oh, we'll put it through all right,” said the Chicagoman. “Don't worry about that. We'll put it through”
“If Molick doesn't kick up a row,” observed Mr.Carson.
“Yes, of course we've got to look out for him. But Ithink—”
Mr. Bellmore never finished his sentence.
“Look out, Dave!” he yelled, as if he could warn the ladwho was riding toward the rushing steer.
“Oh! Oh!” gasped Mr. Carson.
The next instant they both saw the trailing rope on the steer's headtangle around the legs of Dave's pony. The plucky Crow made a braveeffort to keep his feet. But a moment later he went down heavily in acloud of dust with his rider, while the maddened steer, brought up short,reared and seemed to fall backward on pony and cowboy.
With one bound, it seemed, Mr. Carson leaped away from the side of hisinvalid guest, and was in the saddle of his favorite pony, that had beenstanding near the chuck wagon.
“He's killed!” was the thought that came instantly intothe mind of Mr. Bellmore. “No rider could suffer such a fall, andlive!”
Such an idea, too, it seemed, was in the thought of the ranch owner,for he was slightly pale underneath his coat of tan as he spurred hissteed forward.
A number of other cowboys had seen the happening, and those who couldleave the work in which they were engaged, started for the scene of theaccident. But there were some, holding down a refractory steer, orengaged in putting on the hot branding irons, who only looked over,shrugged their shoulders, and kept on with their tasks.
For that, too, was the law of the range. If a man had a fall, he waseither killed or he was not killed. If he was killed there was no usedropping important work to go to his aid. If he was not killed he musteither help himself, or take such help as could be sent to him at thetime.
Cruel, perhaps you will say, but it was eminently practical, and,after all, that is life.
If Dave was really dead no power the cowboys could exert would savehim. The accident had happened—it was over with—and that wasall there was to it.
Of course some did go to his aid—Mr. Carson and several of theless busy punchers. And, to do justice to the others, not a man but,would have rushed to help Dave had he been in a position to do so. Butthe work of the ranch must go on—and it did.
Long before Mr. Carson reached the scene, or, for that matter, beforeany of the others were in a position to help Dave, a movement wasobserved in the tangle of pony, rider and steer. Just who, or which, wasdoing the moving it was hard to determine, as the haze of dust stilloverhung everything.
“Can a person live after that mix-up?” asked Mr. Bellmore,speaking aloud, unconsciously.
“Oh, him plenty mluch alive!” glibly replied the Chinesecook. “Dave he plenty mluch hab fall, an' he come upsmilin'.”
“Oh, he does; eh?” asked the Chicago man.
“Sure!” was the answer, given with a bland grin. “Heclum' up smilin'.”
“Well, I hope he does,” was the comment.
By this time it could be seen that Dave was at least alive. Out of thehaze of dust he limped, But the steer lay prone.
Mr. Carson jumped from his horse, and an instant later had the youngcowboy in his arms.
“Dave! Dave!” he cried. “My boy! My boy! Tell meyou're not hurt!”
As the other cowboys rode up one of them gave a look at the prostratesteer.
“He's done for,” he commented.
It needed but a look at the curiously and grotesquely twisted neck ofthe animal to tell that it was broken.
“Dave, are you hurt?” gasped the ranchman.
“Well, I've felt better,” Dave answered, slowly, making awry face as he limped to one, side. He leaned heavily on the arm of Mr.Carson.
Then, as if remembering something he had forgotten, Dave looked towardhis pony. To his great relief he saw Crow rise to his feet, shake himselfand run off a little way, seemingly little the worse for hisadventure.
“Thank goodness!” murmured Dave, and there was a prayer ofgratitude in his heart. “I thought he was a goner.”
“And we thought you were,” put in Tubby Larkin, as hestrode up. “That was some fall—believe me!”
“Must have got tangled up in the rope,” commented PocusPete, who had finished a task he was at, and who now spurred forward.
“That's what happened,” Dave explained, as he rubbed theback of his head and threw out one leg as if to test whether or not ithad been knocked out of joint. “I didn't see the trailing lasso,and it got around Crow's feet.”
“Yes, that's how it happened,” said Mr. Carson. “ButI certainly thought both steer and pony fell on you.”
“I managed to roll out of the way,” said Dave, grimly.
“Lucky for you,” commented Pocus Pete. “That's oneof the biggest and worst steers on the ranch, and he weighs something,too.”
“His own weight broke his neck,” said Tubby, reflectively.“Well, we was needin' some beef an' now we've got it.”
“I'm sorry he had to go,” remarked Dave, as he walked offtoward his pony, having made sure that none of his bones was broken.
“Better him than you,” murmured Mr. Carson. “Are yousure you're all right, Dave, my boy?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh, yes I'm a bit shaken up, but I'll be all right. I can go onwith the round-up.”
“You can—but you'll not!” was the ranch owner'sdecision. “I want you to take a little rest. The worst of the job'sover, anyhow.”
Dave was nothing loath to have a little respite, and as he came up tothe chuck wagon, where Mr. Bellmore was eagerly waiting for him, theChicago man said:
“Well, I never expected to see you come up this way,Dave,” and he held out a welcoming hand.
“Oh, we get used to little things like that”
“Little things!” exclaimed the irrigation engineer.“Well, I thought I had a hard time when I was hanging over thatgully. But that wasn't a circumstance to yours.”
“It's all in the day's work,” said Dave with a shrug ofhis shoulders, as he sank down on a pile of sacks.
“He's grit clear through,” thought the visitor. “Ilike him more every day I see him.”
As for Dave, in addition to the thankfulness in his heart that he wasnot hurt, and that his favorite pony had escaped, was a deep sense ofgratitude for the manner manifested toward him by Mr. Carson. No fathercould have showed more love toward his own son than the ranch owner didtoward his ward, his nameless ward.
The excitement caused by Dave's fall soon passed, for, after all, suchthings are comparatively common on the ranch, and he had really been morethan usually fortunate.
And so the work of the round-up went on, day after day. Hard, hot,sweaty and dusty work it was, too, with little of the romance thatattaches to the book stories of life on a cattle range. But no onecomplained, least of all Dave Carson.
It was about a week after this that Dave was sent out again to look upsome stray cattle. He was not riding his own pony Crow, who had, afterall, developed a lame shoulder from his fall. So he was left in thestable for a day or two.
As the animal Dave had was rather strange he took the precaution ofstaking him out as he halted for a bite to eat at noon. Dave was takinghis nooning, resting lazily on the silent plain, when he heard a noisethat caused him to rouse up suddenly.
What he saw brought an exclamation of anger to his lips, for in theact of cutting the rope that held the somewhat restive pony was LenMolick. Dave had caught him in the nick of time.
Len had looked around, to make sure he was unobserved, but his backwas toward our hero, who was down in a little hollow.
“The sneak!” murmured Dave.
Then, silently, he began stalking the bully, who was preparing to goback to his own horse, that was standing with reins over its head.
Len's object was plain. He wanted to let Dave's pony run back to theranch, so our hero would have a long walk. But his plan failed.
Just as Len was about to sever the lariat Dave sprang up, and with ayell that startled both horses, fairly threw himself on the back of thebully.
“At last I've got you just where I want you, Len Molick!”Dave cried. “Maybe I can't prove you sawed the fence posts, but Idon't need any more evidence than I've just had of what you were going todo. I've got you!”
“You—you let me alone!” whimpered Len, who was acoward, as most bullies are.
“I will, when I've finished,” said Dave, laying aside hiscoat.
“What are you going to do?” asked Len, who hadstraightened up, after having been rolled on the ground by Dave.
“What am I going to do? I'm going to give you the best drubbingyou ever had. Stand up and fight now, you big coward!”
Perhaps if Len had done the manly thing—if he had owned to someof his misdeeds, and had promised not to repeat them, Dave might haveforgiven him. For Dave was not a fighter by nature.
Physically the two were well matched, with the advantage, if any, infavor of Len, who was larger than Dave. And if Len had acknowledged thathe was afraid to fight, Dave would not have pressed it.
But the bully and coward made the mistake of his life. As he sprang tohis feet he caught up a stone and suddenly hurled it at Dave. The latterducked just in time to save his head. And then his anger welled up.
“So that's your game; is it?” he cried.
Even then Len might have gotten out of it, only he did not. He aimed awild blow at Dave, and then the fight was on.
Len was no match for Dave in skill. The young cowboy easily dodged theblows aimed at him, and for a moment, he refrained from hitting Len hard.Then, as he saw Len again look about for a stone, Dave struck him so hardthat the bully toppled over.
“It's no more than you deserve!” Dave exclaimed.
Len got up, and with a cry rushed at his opponent. Again, Dave senthim down.
But I am not going to give you all the details of that fight which wassoon over. Len, bruised and sore, cried out that he had had enough.
“That'll teach you to behave after this, I guess,” saidDave, as he moved over toward his horse.
Len did not answer for a moment. He, too, approached his steed. Andwhen he was mounted he cast a look full of anger and hate at Dave, andsaid:
“You wait! I'll get even with you yet!”
It was the usual retort of a sneak and coward.
“You had your chance,” said Dave, grimly. “If youcouldn't take advantage of it that's not my fault.”
Then he rode off, collected the strays he was looking for, and madehis way back to the ranch.
“What's the matter, Dave?” asked Pocus Pete, as he saw thelad leap from his pony. “Did you have a fall?”
“No, it was the other fellow,” was the grim answer.
“Len?”
“Yes.”
“Does he look anything like you?”
“Worse!”
Dave's face was scratched and one eye bruised.
“Well, I s'pose it had to be,” chuckled Pocus Pete.“What'd he do, try to rope you?”
“No. He wouldn't have much chance at that, even if I was not onCrow.” Then Dave told the story of the encounter.
“Well,” said Peter reflectively, “I reckon, just assome one said about dogs, that a certain amount of fleas was good for'em, a little fightin' is good for some fellows. Are you sure Len gotenough?” he asked anxiously.
“He said so,” replied Dave, sententiously.
“Well, he ought to know,” was Pete's dry comment.
Life at Bar U ranch went on in much the same way for many days. Therewas a great deal of work to be done, and Dave did his share. But, all thewhile, he could not shake from his mind the memory of the revealed secretregarding himself.
“I wonder who I am?” he asked himself again and again. Buthe could not answer. He made up his mind that some day he would have along talk with Mr. Carson, and see if there was not some way in whichclews to his lost parents could be obtained.
“There must be some” reflected Dave.
Mr. Bellmore had almost recovered now. He could ride his horse about,and often accompanied Dave on the latter's trips. The Chicago man couldlimp about fairly well, but in the West, at least on the cattle ranges,little walking is done. If a person has only to go across the street itis the most natural thing in the world to leap to the saddle to cover thedistance.
“Well, I think I must get busy on that water businessnow,” said Mr. Bellmore one day, when he and Dave had come in froma little round-up. “It won't do to wait any longer. My people willbe wondering why I am taking such a long vacation.”
“They know you were hurt; don't they?” asked Dave.
“Oh, yes, but I'm practically well again.”
“What are your plans?”
“I must see if I can get some concerted action in forming anirrigation company. I think I shall talk to Mr. Molick, even if his sonand you are not on friendly terms.”
“Oh, don't let that stand in the way of business,” Davesaid, heartily.
“I hope you won't misunderstand my motives,” said thewater agent.
“Not at all.”
It was a few days after this that Pocus Pete, coming in from a distantpart of the range, said to Dave and Mr. Carson.
“I see they're putting up some new fences along the river on theCentre O ranch.”
“Is that so?” asked Mr. Carson. “That's news to me,I wonder what that means?”
“Perhaps I can tell you,” said Mr. Bellmore. “I havemade some arrangements with Mr. Molick about water rights. He is goinginto the irrigation scheme with me. I really need him, as he owns certainpatents in the water course. I meant to mention it to you, but it slippedmy mind.”
“So you are going in with Molick?” asked Mr. Carson, in acurious tone of voice.
“Yes. Is there any objection?”
“Well, I don't know but what there is,” was the reply ofthe ranch owner. “Sit down, and I'll tell you a few things youought to know, Mr. Bellmore.”
Dave, who had heard what was said between Mr. Bellmore and the ranchowner listened with interest and expectation to what would come next.There was an odd manner about the proprietor of Bar U—a sort ofconstraint, and Dave fancied there was a little feeling, almost ofhostility toward the man he had rescued from such a perilousposition.
Up to now Mr. Bellmore had enjoyed to the utmost the hospitality ofBar U ranch. Mr. Bellmore had been made very welcome, and he had hadevery care and attention while unable to use his injured foot. Now itseemed that a spirit of hostility had cropped out.
“Before I go on to say what I intend to-to give you a warning inother words,” said Mr. Carson, “let me ask you, Mr. Bellmoreif you know why Molick is putting up new fences along the water course?I'd like to know the reason for that before I give you mywarning.”
“A warning!” exclaimed the irrigation man, and there wasevident surprise manifested in his tone.
“Yes, a warning,” repeated the ranch owner. “Butplease do not mistake my meaning. I'm not warning you of any threateneddanger, but only of being careful what business dealings you have withJason Molick, or any of his men.”
“Oh, I thought you meant you were going to warn me to moveon,” and Dave fancied his friend laughed with an air of relief.
“Nothing like that yet,” said Mr. Carson, smiling.“But about the fences, concerning which Pocus Pete spoke tome?”
“Well, I suggested to Mr. Molick that he'd better put themup,” said Mr. Bellmore.
“You did!” There was great surprise manifested in theexclamation of Mr. Carson.
“Why, yes, I did”
“What for?” asked Mr. Carson.
“Of course you know that if land is allowed to go unfenced fortwenty years—or for a longer or shorter period according todifferent states— that the land becomes public property, or atleast the public has a right-of-way over it and it can not be closed off.I did not want, in case our irrigation company took up Mr. Molick's land,to have a public right-of-way over it, especially so near the water. Itmight spoil our legal title. So I told him to fence it in before we didany business.”
“Then you haven't done any business yet?”
“Not actually closed it, no. I am about to, and then I hope todo some business with you.”
Mr. Bellmore smiled frankly, but Mr. Carson's face was grave as heanswered:
“Well, I don't know. I'm afraid you can't do business with bothof us, Mr. Bellmore.”
“Why not?” asked the Chicago man, somewhat surprised.
“Because Mr. Molick and I—to be frank aboutit—don't pull together any too well. I'm not saying whose fault itis, but he and I have been on the outs for some time, and his men arecontinually seeking to pick quarrels with my men. He has taken more thanhis share of the water that is supposed to be for our joint use, and whenI objected he was very ugly about it.”
I feel it my duty to warn you that if you have any business dealingswith him to look well to your own interests. He will take every legaladvantage, and some that, in my opinion, are not legal.”
“You surprise me!” exclaimed Mr. Bellmore. “I didnot know that he was that kind of man.”
“Well, he is,” put in Dave. “You mustn't think wecowpunchers are in the habit of giving our neighbors black eyes, Mr.Bellmore,” went on the young cowboy, “but it is for your owninterests that my father is speaking.”
Dave did not hesitate at the word of relationship now. Mr. Bellmoredid not know the secret.
“Oh, I think I understand,” the water-man said. “I'msorry I began negotiations with Molick, but I don't very well see how Ican get out of them. I need his water rights.”
“Perhaps he hasn't as many rights as you think he has,”suggested Mr. Carson.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean there's a dispute about the river boundary lines. Iclaim more water than I'm getting, but I'm not in a position to enforcemy claims just at present. That is why I wanted to know about the fences.It may be that Molick is encroaching.”
“I'd be sorry to hear that,” Mr. Bellmore said.“When I told him to go ahead and fence in certain open tracts, sowe would know just where the water boundaries extended, I had no idea Iwould cause you trouble, Mr. Carson.”
“You haven't—yet,” was the dry answer.
“And I don't intend to!” went on the Chicago man.
“Oh, if there's any trouble, I'll not lay it at yourdoor,” went on the ranch owner, smiling grimly. “It will beMolick who causes it, if anybody does. But I want, for your own good, towarn you against this man. He has done a lot of mean things in thissection, and he is capable of doing more. He's as mean as they make 'em,and I truly hate to say that about a neighbor.”
“Oh, I accept it in confidence,” replied Mr. Bellmore.
“I know you do, and that's why I didn't hesitate. I thought itmy duty,” resumed the owner of Bar U ranch. “I've come tolike you a heap since Dave brought you here. Seems almost as though youwere kin to us. That's why I'd hate to see you wronged. And you surelywill be outwitted if you don't watch Molick. He'd take the eye teeth outof a stuffed alligator if he wasn't watched, and sell 'em for watchcharms. Dave knows him!”
“Oh, yes. He's made a lot of trouble for us,” Daveassented.
“Well, I don't know exactly what to do,” said Mr.Bellmore, slowly. “I have asked Molick to go ahead, and havepractically promised to do business with him. I can hardly back out now.If I did he might begin suit against my company, claiming a breach ofcontract.”
“He'd do that if he had half a chance,” answered Mr.Carson. “But perhaps matters are not so bad as they seem. He's justbegun to build the fences, so Pocus Pete says. It may not be too late tostop him. We'll take a run out that way to-morrow and see what's goingon. Meanwhile, consider yourself warned against Jason Molick, Mr.Bellmore.”
“I shall, and I thank you for telling me. I hope to do businesswith you, also, in this water matter.”
“Well, if Molick has his way I won't have any water to negotiateabout,” said the ranch owner grimly. “However, we'll go andtake a look at the fences to-morrow.”
Benjamin Bellmore's injured foot was now so nearly healed that he hadno difficulty in getting about on horseback. True, he had to favor theinjured member somewhat, but that did not greatly hinder him;accordingly, early on the morning following the conversation of warning,the irrigation man, Dave, Mr. Carson and Pocus Pete set out across Bar Uranch to see what the Molicks were doing.
“Well, they're at it, I see,” remarked Dave, as the littleparty topped a rise and saw, down in the river valley below them, anumber of men erecting fence posts and stringing barbed wire.
“Yes, he doesn't lose any time, that's one thing I'll say forJason Molick,” answered the ranch owner.
Indeed Molick's forces were very active. They seemed to be in a hurryto get a certain length of fence up before night, and as Dave looked atthe cowboys and others employed, he realized that the owner of Centre Oranch had called in from the distant parts of his holdings most of hisemployees and set them to work on the fence.
Nor was this all. Farther off another gang of men, with picks andshovels, seemed to be erecting a small dam, partially across a narrowpart of Rolling River.
“Hello!” exclaimed Mr. Carson in surprise, as he saw theiractivities. “What does that mean?”
“It's some irrigation work,” explained Mr. Bellmore.“Molick didn't believe me when I said that even a small dam wouldimpound enough water to supply not only a good herd of cattle but wouldalso water the dry land. So I told him to try it himself, and see how itworked. I thought if he had a practical demonstration he would be willingto go into the scheme with me. But that was before I had yourwarning,” he added with a look at the ranchman.
“Hum, yes,” said Mr. Carson, musingly. “Well, Molickhas a right to do as he pleases on his own land, of course—at leastI reckon so. But I don't like that business of putting a dam across partof the river.”
“Why not?” asked Dave.
“He might shut off too much water,” was the answer.
“That's so!” put in Pocus Pete. “Quite a bunch ofour cattle depend for a drink on what they get from Rolling River, andwe've got a lot of cattle below there now,” and he pointed to asection south of that part of the valley in which the work was goingon.
“Oh, well, we'll not cross a bridge until we come to it,”said Mr. Carson. “I'll not assume that Molick is going to doanything wrong. But when he does,” he added reflectively,“then he'd better look out.”
“I hope I sha'n't have started a quarrel,” put in Mr.Bellmore.
“Don't worry,” laughed Dave. “It doesn't take muchto start a quarrel with the Molicks. Maybe it'll not amount to anything,anyhow. Say, but he is putting up some fence all right!”
Indeed the operations were on a large scale, and seemed to indicatethat the Molick outfit had made good preparations.
Mr. Bellmore seemed very thoughtful. He sat on his horse, looking atthe work, for the starting of which he was, in a measure, responsible.Then he remarked:
“I think I'll get out of this while I can. I'm sorry I made anytentative proposition to Molick but there's time enough yet to withdraw.I'll tell him our irrigation company can't go into that water deal withhim. Can I depend on you to make some arrangements with me, regardingyour water rights?” he asked of Mr. Carson.
“Well, if you give me all the particulars, and I find them to beas you say, I wouldn't have any objections to going in,” repliedthe ranchman slowly. “I surely do need more water for my cattle andland, and if irrigation, conservation, or whatever you call it, is goingto bring it about, I'll be only too glad to go into it with you. Isn'tthat what you say, Dave?”
The youth hesitated a moment. He felt a warm glow in his heart thatthe man he had so long regarded as his father reposed this much faith andconfidence in him, when the secret had been disclosed.
“Yes, Dad,” said Dave, slowly, “I should think itwould be a good thing to go in with Mr. Bellmore's company.”
“I thought you'd say so. And now let's hear from Pocus Pete. Ialways like to let my foreman have a word to say,” he added to theChicago man.
“And I think you do right,” was the comment.
“What's your idea, Pete?” asked Mr. Carson.
“Why, I say go into it! That is, if we can get away from Molick.I never did like the idea of him controllin' so much of Rollin' River.Now if we can have all the water of our own we want, so much the better.Go into it, I says!”
“Then it's decided,” announced Mr. Carson. “We'll goin with you, provided you are not so tied up with Molick that you can'tunfetter yourself”
“I think there's no danger of that,” said Mr. Bellmore.“I only made a tentative arrangement with him.” I'll go overat once and tell him I've reconsidered my plans.”
“There he is now,” said Dave, pointing to two figures onhorses, riding down toward the Centre O workers.
“Yes, and that bully, Len, is with him,” added Pocus Pete.“Do you want to turn back, Dave?” he asked with a mischievousglance.
“Indeed I don't!” was the quick reply, and the eyes of theyoung cowboy flashed.
Mr. Carson's land, at this point, extended down to the edge of RollingRiver, where the stream made a sharp turn. On the opposite shore were theMolick workmen. And as Dave, the ranchman and the others rode forward,Jason Molick and his son also approached the stream from their side ofit.
Len glanced up and looked at Dave, but gave no other sign. Probably hehad not told of the drubbing he had received.
“Can I ride across here?” asked Mr. Bellmore of Mr.Carson, after a few minutes conversation, during which Jason Molick wasinspecting the progress of his workmen.
“Yes, the river, is very shallow here. Go ahead! We'll wait foryou. I don't want to go on his land.”
The irrigation man left his friends and, crossing the stream on hishorse's back, was soon approaching Mr. Molick.
“Well, how do you think we're coming on?” asked Len'sfather. “I took your advice, you see—I'm going in with you onthis deal. I think it's a good one, I'm ready to sign the papers wheneveryou say so.”
“Well—er—I don't want to disappoint you, after whathas taken place, Mr. Molick,” began the Chicago man in rather anembarrassed fashion, “but the truth of the matter is that I guessthere won't be any papers to sign.”
“No papers to sign! What do you mean?”
“I mean that the deal is off!”
“The deal off? You mean the irrigation scheme you agreed to gointo with me?” and Mr. Molick's voice rose.
“Yes, that deal is off,” went on the engineer. “Youremember I only broached it to you. I did not clinch it. I pointed outits advantages to you, and you were eager to go in. I said I would talkto you later about it.”
“And now you come and say you don't want to go into it withme?” asked Molick in sneering tones.
“Yes, that is a right I reserved, you remember.”
“Huh! I know what has made him back out!” exclaimedLen.
“What?” asked his father.
“He's been talking to them!” and Len pointed to Dave andthe others from Bar U ranch across the stream.
“Ha! So that's the game!” exclaimed Mr. Molick.“Well, I'll show you that two can play at it, Mr. Bellmore!”he sneered. “If you don't want to go into this scheme with me,after promising—”
“I never promised!” interrupted the other.
“Well, it was the same thing. But if you don't want to go in Ican get along without you. I guess you'll find you're not the only onearound here who knows about dams and irrigation ditches. I and my sonhave some brains. We'll show you a thing or two!”
“That's what we will!” boasted Len.
“I'm sure I don't wish to curtail your activities in anyway,” replied the Chicago man. “I hope you have all sorts ofsuccess. But I do not feel like going on with the scheme Ioutlined.”
“Because, I suppose, you're going in with the Bar Ufolks?” suggested Len.
“I haven't said so,” was the quiet retort.
“No, but I can read signs. Well, there's one thing I want totell you!” Len went on in threatening tones. “I warn you offour land—you and the Carson bunch. And as for that Dave, if I catchhim I'll give him the worst licking he ever had.”
“Seems to me it was the other way around,” retorted Mr.Bellmore, with a grim smile. “At least it was the last time youmet.”
“Huh!” snorted Len. “Well, tell him to look out,that's all!”
“I don't think there is any need of that,” said Mr.Bellmore. “I think Dave can look after himself. But now I'll bidyou good day.”
“And don't you trespass on Centre O ranch again!” was Mr.Molick's warning. “I've seen enough of you.”
Mr. Bellmore felt the same way about it, but did not think itnecessary to say so.
He rode slowly back across the stream and rejoined his friends.
“Well?” asked Dave.
“It's all off,” the Chicago man said. “I've endednegotiations with them, and I'm sorry I ever tried to do business. But itwill be all right. They can do business in their own way, and we'll doours as we please. I'll look into the irrigation possibilities on yourproperty now, Mr. Carson. We'll not hear anything more from the Molickoutfit.”
But Mr. Bellmore failed to reckon on the mean characters of the Molickfather and son. It was only a few days after this that one of the cowboyscame riding post-haste to the ranch house. He dismounted in a cloud ofdust, and seeing Dave and Mr. Carson standing together hurried towardthem, calling out:
“Th' bottom must have dropped out of Rolling River. It's almostdry down below there, where I've got that bunch of fine cattle, and theycan't get anything to drink. What are we going to do? Something must havehappened to th' river.”
“What can it be?” cried Dave. “Has an earthquakeoccurred, or has the river unexpectedly taken an undergroundcourse?”
“Neither one, I imagine,” said Mr. Carson, slowly.“This is retaliation, I fancy. I'll go back with you Skinny, andsee what has happened. But I'm sure it's retaliation.”
Dave, who had heard this talk, leaped on the back of Crow, andfollowed Mr. Carson and the cowboy who rejoiced in the euphonious titleof “Skinny.”
“What do you mean by retaliation, Dad?” he asked.“Has it anything to do with the Molicks?”
“A whole lot to do with them, Dave, I'm afraid,” was thereply.
“You mean they have diverted some of your water?”
“Some of it! Better say all of it!” exclaimed thedisgusted Skinny. “There ain't enough comin' down Rollin' River,over where I come from, t' make a cup of coffee.”
“As bad as that?” asked Mr. Carson in alarm.
“Well, almost. I got skeered and made up my mind I'd come andtell you about it.”
“You did just right, Skinny. We may be able to get ahead ofthese chaps after all.”
“I hope we can,” murmured Dave.
Though Dave had seldom, for any length of time, lost sight of the factthat he was a “nobody,” still he could not help feeling aninterest in the ranch, which had been the only home he had known for along time. In fact it was really the only home he knew, for he did not,of course, recall his days of babyhood. And now, though Dave knew that hewas not Mr. Carson's son, though he realized that he might never inheritthe broad acres over which roamed thousands of cattle, still he retainedthe feeling of loyalty and fealty that caused him to hope for thebest.
“I wonder if I'll ever find my real folks,” mused Dave, ashe rode on with Mr. Carson and Skinny. “It's hardly possible, afterall these years.”
Over the rolling plains they rode, now and then catching sight ofdistant herds of cattle under the guard of cowboys, again gaining a viewof the distant Centre O ranch. But they saw no sign of Molick or Len, norcould they catch, in the direction they were going, a glimpse of theplace where the fence work and dam building had been going on.
A little later they topped another rise, and began to descend into asheltered and fertile valley where Mr. Carson usually sent his choicecattle to fatten before shipping them to the dealers in Chicago andelsewhere.
As the three came within sight of this valley they saw a strange sightInstead of the cattle quietly grazing, with perhaps small bunches of themwandering now and then to the banks of the stream to get a drink, thewhole herd seemed scattered along the water course. And instead ofquietly drinking the cattle seemed fighting among themselves. Pushing,struggling, rearing with heads up against one another, bellowing andstampeding.
On the outside vainly rode two or three cowboys who were doing theirbest to keep the rearmost cattle from rushing over those in the frontrank, who were nearest the water.
“What does it mean?” demanded Mr. Carson of Skinny, as heurged his horse forward. “What does it mean?”
“It's a stampede!” cried Dave. “Maybe Len is tryingsome of his mean tricks again.”
“It's a trick, but it isn't any like that,” said Skinny.“None of that Molick crowd is around here now.”
“But what's the matter?” demanded the ranchman.
“Water—or, rather lack of water,” said the cowboybriefly. “The cattle are half mad with thirst I expect. And I guessmaybe it isn't so much of a real thirst as it is the fear that therewon't be any water left after an hour or two. Cattle know more that waythan we give 'em credit for.”
“This is serious!” exclaimed Mr. Carson.
“I thought you'd think so. That's why I come for you,”Skinny explained.
The three rode down the slope, the confusion among the cattleincreasing every moment.
“What can you do?” asked Dave.
“Have to drive 'em over to the other range, there's water there,I should think,” Mr. Carson answered. “That is, if Molick andhis bunch haven't tried any of their tricks there.”
“No, they can't stop the supply there,” said Skinny.“It's only here, where the river takes a sharp turn above us, thatthey could cut off the supply.”
“Then you think there's no question but that they did it?”as had Dave of Mr. Carson.
“Hardly any doubt,” was the reply. “But of courseI'll look into it. Watch out now, Dave. Those cattle are fairly wild, andI don't want you to be hurt.”
The ranchman looked affectionately at the youth, and Dave felt a warmspot in his heart for the man who had done so much for him.
“I don't believe we can drive 'em back until they've licked upevery last drop,” said Skinny. “Then they'll know there's nouse in stayin' and we may be able to do somethin' with 'em.”
“Is it drying up as badly as that?” asked Mr. Carson.
“You'll soon see,” was the answer.
Only skillful cowpunchers could have made their way through thatmaddened, seething, wild herd of cattle. But Dave, Mr. Carson and Skinnywere more at home in the saddle than afoot. Their intelligent poniespushed their way through the heaving mass of steers until the three ofthem stood on the brink of what had been a fair-sized branch of theRolling River but a few hours before.
Now all that showed was a small, narrow ribbon of muddy water, in theclay-like expanse of what had been the bed of the original stream.
“Whew!” whistled Mr. Carson. “This sure isbad!”
“I should say so!” exclaimed Dave.
A sharp bend in the course of the stream above them cut off all but avery limited view. But, as far as they could see, the same conditionsprevailed. There was only a small trickle of water. It was in the verymiddle, the lowest point of the stream, and up to the very edge of thisthe thirst-tortured cattle pressed, sinking down deep in the softmud.
“We've got to get 'em out of that,” declared the ranchman.“A lot of 'em will be mired if we don't.”
“There are some mired now,” said Skinny, pointing.“Ed and Foster are trying to yank 'em out.”
He indicated two cowboys who, with ropes around the mired steers, weretrying to drag them to solid ground. Other animals, though, were pressingin to make their way to the water.
It was a hot day, and bore a promise of being hotter. It needed but aglance to show that the water would soon fail entirely. And it wasevident what had caused it. At some point, higher up, the supply had beencut off or diverted.
“Well,” said Mr. Carson quickly, like a general on thefield meeting a reverse, and deciding on the best way to save the day,“well, the only thing we can do is to get the cattle off thisrange. Take 'em over to the spring, Skinny-you and the rest of the boys.Fight 'em hard-it's the only way. I'll ride on up and see what's happenedto our water supply. Dave, you ride back and get Mr. Bellmore. Maybe hecan tell us a way out of this trouble. He's a water engineer.”
Thus were the orders issued, and the cowboys and Dave prepared tocarry them out. Hardly had Mr. Carson ceased speaking than Skinny rodeoff with a whoop to aid his fellows.
Dave watched for a moment as the cowboys prepared to move the herd ofvaluable cattle. It would be hard work to get them away from the waterwhile a drop yet remained in the muddy pools. But it must be done, for ifthe steers were allowed to remain there many of them would be mired, andin the fight for water others would be trampled on and killed.
As Dave galloped back to the ranch to summon the irrigation engineerhe saw Mr. Carson head his pony for the bend, above which was thebeginning of the Centre O ranch.
Then the young cowpuncher gave a look at the strenuous efforts of thecowboys to move the maddened cattle.
“They'll have their own troubles,” Dave reasoned.“I'll help them as soon as I get back.”
He covered the distance to the ranch in record time, and found Mr.Bellmore busy over some calculations. The engineer was surprised to learnwhat had happened, and at once jumped on his horse and galloped off withDave.
When they again reached the valley Mr. Carson had not yet returnedfrom his trip to the bend, but the cattle were in a worse tangle thanbefore. The cowboys efforts to drive them away from what was now nothingbut a long mudhole, were unavailing.
“Something's got to be done!” cried Skinny. “We'velost some already, and more will die soon. We've got to get 'em away fromhere. But we can't as long as they smell even the mud. What's to bedone?”
Dave looked gloomily on, but could not answer. Could the engineersolve the problem?
Again and again did the weary cowboys try to force the maddened cattleto move away from the now veritable mud hole, that they might drive themto another range where there was water for them to drink. But the steers,usually intelligent in this matter, seemed to have lost all theirinstinct. They only wanted to remain near the spot where they had beenaccustomed to drink.
“Say, this is fierce!” cried Mr. Bellmore.
“It certainly is,” agreed Dave. “What can wedo?”
“Let's see if we can't lend a hand to get the animals off, andon the move,” suggested the engineer. “Those cowboys needhelp.”
Skinny and his mates certainly did. They were almost exhausted fromtheir strenuous labors,
But even with the experienced help of Dave, and the well-meant effortsof Mr. Bellmore, the cattle could not be moved. They fought for places atthe edge of the stream-which was a stream no longer, but only a slough,in which more than one fine steer was now mired.
“It's of no use,” said Skinny, wearily, after a bit.“You can't budge 'em! They'll have to die here.”
“No they won't!” exclaimed the engineer.
“How are you goin' t' stop 'em?” asked another of thecowboys. “They can't get any water here, they won't leave, an'everybody knows that without water cattle can't live long.”
“If we can't drive 'em to water we'll have to do the next bestthing.”
“And that is—” began Dave.
“Bring the water to them!”
“But how can we? The supply is cut off somewhere above. Dad wentto see about it, but he hasn't come back yet.”
“Then we'll go up there too. Something's got to be done. It maytake desperate measures, but if the Molicks have built a dam, to divertyour water from here, we'll have to open it; that's all.”
“Will they let you?” asked Skinny, settling wearily in hissaddle.
“We'll do it whether they let us or not!” exclaimed theengineer. “It's my fault, in a way, that they did this, for Ipointed out the advantage it would be to them to have a dam, and I'll domy best to make good the trouble caused. Come on, Dave. Well ride upabove and see what we can do. Meanwhile, you boys do your best to keepthe cattle from stampeding. They won't let themselves be driven away,that's sure, so we've got to bring water to them.”
“If we only can,” murmured Cowboy Dave. He felt it to be ahopeless task.
Now that the cowboys had given over their efforts to drive the cattleaway from the water-hole the beasts were quieter. Left to themselves,they scattered somewhat and sought for places where little pools mighthave formed, and where they could slake their thirst. It was not muchwater that remained, and the bellowings of the cattle, and their pantingappearance as their parched tongues fairly hung from their mouths, filledthe hearts of Dave and his friend with pity for the poor beasts.
“We haven't any time to lose,” said Mr. Bell-more, as heurged his horse, Kurd, toward the bend of the stream. Dave, on Crow,followed, wondering what would be the outcome. Dave glanced back fromtime to time at the thirst-maddened cattle. Some of them forced their wayinto the muddy sloughs in spite of the desperate efforts of the cowboysto drive them back. Then it was necessary to try to pull them out bylariats attached to them, and extending to the horns of the saddles.
“Poor beasts!” murmured the young cow-puncher.
He and Mr. Bellmore had ridden for perhaps a mile when they saw afigure galloping toward them.
“Who's that?” asked the engineer, pulling up suddenly.
“Dad,” answered Dave. “He rode up to investigate.He'll be able to tell us what happened.”
“It's easy enough to guess,” said Mr. Bellmore. “TheMolicks have built an intercepting dam, to get even with you andme.”
And this was exactly what Mr. Carson reported as he rode up.
“They've cut off our water supply,” he called to Dave andthe engineer. “They've made a board and mud dam right across theriver, and turned the water onto their own land. They're makingirrigating ditches now as fast as they can work.”
“I suspected as much,” Mr. Bellmore said, “Is thedam a very big or strong one?”
“Not especially so. But the water is low at this season of theyear, and it doesn't take much of a dam to block it off from me. This damis made of boards, banked up with clay and stones.”
“Would it be easy to break away?” asked the engineer.
“Yes, I suppose so. But Molick will take precious good care thatit doesn't break away, They're strengthening it all the while.”
“Oh, I didn't suppose it would break away of its ownaccord,” the engineer said. “I meant would we have muchtrouble in making a breach in it?”
“We?” cried Dave.” Do you mean—”
“I mean that we've got to break that dam to save yourcattle!” the engineer said. “It's the only way!”
“Break the dam!” murmured Dave. Yet his eyes sparkled atthe thought.
“Yes,” assented the irrigation engineer.
“But we can't do that,” objected Mr. Carson. “It'son Molick's land, and if we go there, and start something, he'll fightus. He is a desperate man.”
“And so ought you to be with your cattle dying of thirst,”said Mr. Bellmore.
“I am, but—”
“There aren't any buts about it,” declared theother.” This is a desperate situation, and we'll have to meet itdesperately. Morally, right is on your side, and I think it is legally,too. I've been looking into the records and titles of lands along thisRolling River and I find that you have not received all the water rightsthat belong to you, Mr. Carson. On the other hand Molick has taken morethan his share.
“And there is no doubt that he had no right to build the dam inthe way he has. He should have let some water come down to you. Now theonly way to accomplish this is to make a breach in the dam. This will letyour cattle drink.”
“But if we do that—break the dam—he'll either fightus to prevent it, or he'll build it up again,” Dave said.
“He may fight, but I doubt it. He was warned once before that hewas exceeding his property rights, and he can't claim ignorance now. Andwhile it is true that he may build the dam over again, after we cutthrough it, I don't so much care for that.”
“A change will have to be made anyhow, but if you can get alittle water, temporarily, to your cattle it will save them, and you candrive them to other ranges.”
“Yes, I could do that,” admitted the ranch-man.
“Then on to the dam!” cried the engineer, turning hishorse as he spoke.
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Dave. “That's the way totalk!”
Urged on by the thought of the suffering cattle, the three made goodspeed to the place where the river turned. There, as Mr. Carson had seena short time before, was the newly-built dam. A number of cowboys wereabout it, and Dave saw Len, his enemy.
“Are you game?” asked the engineer.
“I am!” exclaimed the ^ranchman.
Dave said nothing, but there was a flash in his eyes as he nodded hishead that told more than mere words.
“You and I will go up and have a talk with them,”suggested Mr. Bellmore. “Meanwhile Dave can ride and get some ofyour men, Mr. Carson. We'll need help if it comes to a fight, though Ihope it won't. We'll make a formal protest first. Hurry, Dave, everyminute may mean a steer's life.”
Dave whirled his steed about and rode hard and straight for thenearest range where some of the Bar U men were guarding the cattle.Meanwhile Mr. Carson and the engineer crossed the stream below the dam,and rode toward the Centre O boys.
“Well, what do you want?” surlily demanded the young heirof the house of Molick. “This is private land, and no trespassersare wanted. Get off!” he snarled.
“We came on business,” said Mr. Carson. “Where'syour father?”
“I don't know. But he told me if you came on this land to orderyou off, and that's what I do!”
“Ordering and going are two different things,” said theranchman, with a grim laugh. “You've cut off my water down below,with this dam, and I order you to open it up. My cattle are dying fromthirst. Open this dam!”
“Not much!” sneered Whitey Wasson, Len's crony.
“But I tell you my cattle are dying, man!” exclaimed Mr.Carson. “You know what it means to steers to be without water thiskind of weather.”
“You ought to have thought of that before you pastured them downthere,” sneered the cowboy.
“Then you refuse to open the dam?” asked Mr. Bellmore.
“We certainly do!” returned Len.
“Then you must take the consequences,” said Mr. Bellmore,speaking solemnly. “You will be sued for the value of every animalthat dies of thirst, as well as being obliged to pay heavy damages forthe trouble you have caused. I know the situation of water rights in thisvalley, and I tell you that you are acting illegally. Now do you stillrefuse to open that dam?”
Len looked a bit frightened at this warning, but Whitey whispered tohim, and the son of Jason Molick answered:
“Go on! We're not afraid. This dam is on our land and you can'ttouch it!”
At that moment a distant whoop sounded. Mr. Carson and the engineerlooked around and saw a cloud of dust approaching. It soon resolveditself into Dave, leading a number of cowboys who bore picks andshovels—rather unusual implements for cowpunchers. On they came,hard-riding, singing and shouting, eager for the fray. They outnumberedthe Centre O outfit.
“Well, since you won't open the dam, we'll have to do it foryou,” went on Mr. Bellmore. “Lively, boys!” he called,as Dave and his friends rode up. “Tear out the dam and let thewater down where it ought to run. Lively now!”
“Don't you touch that dam!” screamed Len.
“Go on! I order you to tear it away!” said Mr. Carson tohis men.
“Whoop!” they yelled in response, and a moment later,flinging themselves from their horses, they swarmed into the water andbegan the work of destruction.
Dave, Mr. Carson and the engineer looked anxious for a moment, feelingthat the Centre O boys might put up a fight. But not a gun was drawn.
Perhaps the cowboys employed by the Molick outfit were disgusted withthe tactics of their employer, when they heard the story of thethirst-dying cattle. No true cowboy would countenance that sort of thing.So they looked on idly while the Bar U men tore away the dam.
A little trickle of water came through, flowing down the course fromwhich it had been diverted. Gradually it grew in volume until a gushingstream filled the muddy bed of the stream.
“That's what was needed,” murmured Dave. “That willsave our cattle.”
“Stop it! Let that dam alone!” yelled Len, over and overagain. But no one paid any attention to him—not even the cowboys ofthe Centre O. They only smiled and rolled cigarettes. Perhaps they wereglad to see Len beaten.
But the bully and Whitey Wasson were whispering together, and soonthey rode off at a gallop.
“They've gone to get the Old Man,” said one of the Bar Ucowboys.
“We don't care,” Dave said. “Enough water has gonedown now to save our cattle, and it will be some time before they canbuild up that dam again.”
“That's right,” agreed Mr. Bellmore. “You needn'ttry to save any of the boards,” he added significantly to thecowboys who were destroying the obstruction.
And so he work went on, and when it had been accomplished the Bar Uboys rode away to their usual tasks. For much remained to be done.
“We've got to get the cattle off that range,” said Mr.Carson. “Molick will have that dam in place again as soon as hecan, and it will be the same story over again.”
“That's what he will,” assented the engineer. “Andthough I think you could stop him by legal action, it would take so longthat your cattle would die of thirst. The best way is to remove them, andfight him afterward.”
The pent-up waters were now rushing down their accustomed channel, andwhen the cattle range was reached the steers were drinking their fill.Most of them had been saved, only a few died, but some choice ones wereincluded in this number.
“And now for the big round-up!” exclaimed Mr. Carson, whenthe cattle, their thirst slaked, were willing to be driven on.“I'll move all my stock to some place where Molick can't kill themoff. Then I'll fight him to the last ditch!”
“Hurrah!” cried Dave.
“Hurrah for the round-up I” yelled the cowboys. It meanthard work, but it meant excitement, too, and that was a large part oftheir lives.
Once the thirsty cattle had satisfied their longing for water, it wasa comparatively easy matter to drive them from the temporary range wherethey had been sent to fatten. The river was running at its usual rate,but of course it could not be said how long this would continue.
“Len and his father will get busy and build that damagain,” remarked Dave, as he and Mr. Bellmore, with Pocus Pete andthe cowboys, herded the cattle together to drive them away.
“Yes, I suppose so, until we can take legal action againsthim,” assented the water agent, who was rapidly learning therudiments of cow-punching.
“And legal action is going to take a long time,” said Mr.Carson. “I haven't done any more of it than I've had to in my life,but it is mighty slow action.”
“But it is sure in the end,” said Mr. Bellmore. “AndI am positive that right is on your side.”
“Well, we won't take any more chances with the cattle gettingwater here— at least for a while,” said the ranch owner.“We'll make the main round-up while we're at it, and then we'll seewhat we can do. I'll sell off a big supply of steers, and that will meanless water will be required. Then I'll be in a better position to make afight against Molick and his crowd.”
“That's a good idea—reducing your cattle until the watermatter is settled,” the Chicago man said.
Talking and laughing among themselves, at the manner in which they haddestroyed the dam, and let in the water to its former course, the cowboysrode along, driving the cattle. Not all who had been summoned for thiswork were needed to drive the steers, since they went willinglyenough.
“So some of you had better ride on ahead to the ranch house, andget ready for the round-up tomorrow,” said Mr. Carson.“There'll be busy times, then. And, too,” he added in a lowvoice, “I rather want them around the place just atpresent.”
“Why?” asked Dave.
“Oh, you never can tell what Molick will do,” was theanswer.
“You mean he might try to be revenged on you for opening thedam?” asked Mr. Bellmore.
“Something like that—yes. It wouldn't be the first time ifa barn or bunk house or a pile of fodder should go up in smoke. Suchthings have occurred here.”
“And was it never found out who did it?”
“Well, we had our suspicions. Almost always the one who sufferedwas on the outs with the Molick crowd.”
“I think I'll ride back myself,” Dave said. “I'vegot a few possessions I wouldn't like to have damaged,”
“I'll go with you,” offered Mr. Bellmore. “There aresome valuable papers on this irrigation scheme that I wouldn't like tolose, or see fall into the hands of strangers.”
“Oh, I don't really believe there is any danger,” went onMr. Carson. “I was just taking the utmost precaution. But ride onif you want to, Dave. We can handle the cattle all right now, and I wantto talk to Pocus Pete about the round-up.”
So Dave and his friend rode on ahead, following some of the cowboyswho had been summoned to tear away the dam. Now that the excitement wasover Dave felt a little reaction, which generally follows high tension.As Dave looked at the young man riding beside him he could not helpcontrasting their two positions.
“I guess he knows all right who he is,” mused Dave.“No worrying about his father and mother or about his future. Asfor me, I don't know whether I'm a rag-picker's son, or whether I camefrom a millionaire's family.”
Yet, as he thought it over more soberly, Dave could not help thinkingthat he must have had as parents persons in that broad, and altogetherdesirable, middle class.
“If they were millionaires they would hardly have been living ina small Missouri town,” reasoned the young cowboy, “and if Icame from rag-picker ancestors I'd have had on such ragged clothes thatMr. Carson would have noticed that and spoken of it. And that reminds me.I must ask him about the clothing I wore, and about how old I was. Maybehe kept the garments, and they might form a clew. Yes, that's what I'lldo. I'll ask Mr. Carson about it.”
To himself Dave always thought of the ranchman as “Mr.Carson,” though when he spoke he called him “Dad,” forhe did not want strangers to surmise concerning the secret, nor did hewish to hurt the man who had been a father to him.
“Anything wrong?” Inquired Mr. Bellmore, as they canteredalong.
“Wrong? No. Why?” asked Dave, looking up suddenly.
“Why you're as glum as an owl, and as silent as one of theseprairie dogs,” went on the engineer. “You haven't said a wordfor over a mile. Is something troubling you?”
“Yes—that is, no I” exclaimed Dave. “Iwas—just thinking”
“Oh, I could see that,” returned the other with a laugh.“Well, if it's anything about this water business, don't worry.Molick and his crowd may bother your father for a time, but Bar U ranchwill win out—I'm sure of it!”
“I hope so,” murmured Dave. “They're a mean crowd,though,” and he thought of the cowardly taunt of LenMolick—the taunt which had first given him the clew to his lack ofidentity.
“Well, I'll do all I can for you and your father,” went onthe engineer. “I owe a great deal to you both. In fact I amconvinced that I owe my life to you.”
“Oh, pshaw!” deprecated Dave.
“Yes, that's a fact,” went on Mr. Bellmore. “I mighthave lain caught there in that gully until I died, for it is a lonelyplace.”
“Yes, that's true enough,” agreed Dave.
“And so, in a small way, I'm going to do all I can to repayyou,” said the Chicago man. “I know something about waterrights, irrigation and title deeds to streams, even if I'm not much onthe cowpunching,” he added with a smile, “and such knowledgeas I have is at your service.”
“Well, I'm sure we'll appreciate it—dad and I,” saidDave. “Now let's try a little run. Crow is just spoiling for a goodgallop, and the way from here home is as fine a track as you'dwant.”
Calling to his horse, Dave set him at a gallop, being followed by Mr.Bellmore on Kurd, and the two indulged in an impromptu race, reaching theranch house at the same time.
“Hi there, Hop Loy!” called Dave. “Grubready?”
“Alle same leady velly soon,” said the amiable Chinese,with a cheerful grin, “How you like plan-cakes?”
“Plan-cakes strike me as about right; don't they you, Mr.Bellmore?”
“I should say they would be eminently fitting and proper,”returned the engineer with a laugh.
Presently there were busy scenes being enacted at Bar U ranch as thecowboys came in from their various stations, including those men who werewith Mr. Carson, driving in the cattle that had been in such danger.
“Grub” in other words, supper, was served, a prodigiousnumber of “plan-cakes” being consumed. But far from beingannoyed, Hop Loy was pleased the more the boys ate. His shrill voice,singing a Chinese song, rose higher and higher as he toiled in hiskitchen, baking stack after stack of the brown cakes.
“Velly much glood eat!” he exclaimed with a grin.
“Hop, you're all right!” cried Pocus Pete.
“Your pig-tail is safe with us!” declared Tubby Larkin, ashe passed his plate for more cakes.
Preparations for the round-up were made that night, and the real workbegan next morning. A round-up on a cattle ranch, as I suppose you allknow, means just what the word implies. A rounding up, or bringingtogether, of all the beasts, that a count may be made and some disposedof.
When the cattle roamed freely about the plains there was anintermingling of herds, and the only way one man could tell his“critters” from those of his neighbor, was by the brand markson their flanks, or cuts in the ears. Of course in later years when therewere more fences, the work became easier.
In the round-up the calves born since the last accounting are branded,and cattle matters generally are straightened out, and settled for theensuing year.
And this was the work that Dave and his cowboy friends did. The mainobject of having it done now at the Bar U ranch was to provide for thewater contingency. Mr. Carson realized that Molick would probably soonagain shut off a portion of his supply.
“And if I can't get enough water for all my cattle I'll have tokeep a smaller number until the tangle is straightened out,” saidthe ranchman, “I'll sell off while I have the chance, and buy laterin the fall.”
These were busy times. From distant ranges the cattle were driven in.Those needing branding were “cut out,” or separated from therest of the herd. With skillful throws of their ropes Dave and the otherswould lasso the creatures, throwing them and holding them to the ground,while another cowpuncher, with an iron made hot in a hastily built fire,imprinted on the flank of the unbranded cow or steer the device of aletter U with a straight bar across it. This marked the animal as Mr.Carson's.
Riders dashed here and there, shouting, yelling, now and thenlaughing, and occasionally firing off big revolvers to turn somerefractory steer.
The dust-cloud was thick over everything. It coated the faces of thecowboys until they appeared to be wearing masks. Now and then one of themwould have a fall, but seldom with any serious results.
It was work, toil, sweat, ride hard, gallop here and there, yell,shout, leap, stumble, fall and get up again. And gradually something likeorder came out of the chaos.
Over at the chuck wagon Hop Loy stood ready to serve a hasty lunchwhenever it was called for. Water, thickened with oatmeal, or made spicywith vinegar and ginger, “switchel,” as it is called, servedto quench the thirst.
“Well, I guess we have 'em pretty well where we want 'em,”said Dave, at the close of the day. “Pretty good round-up; eh,Dad?”
“Yes, but it isn't over yet,” was the answer. Mr. Carsoncast a look at the sky. All his cattle were now gathered in one immenseherd, branded, and ready for division during the following few days. Alarge number would be shipped away, and others would be scattered overthe ranch on ranges where the water supply could not be tampered with byJason Molick.
“Thinking of a storm?” asked Mr. Bellmore, for a midnightstorm will sometimes stampede a bunch of cattle more quickly thananything else.
“Well, I don't like the look of the sky,” the ranchmansaid. “But it may blow over.”
Night on the prairies. Night, with a great herd of cattle to be lookedafter. The cowboys rode slowly around the immense herd, singing their ownpeculiar songs. Some claimed that the cattle were quieter if they heardsinging.
“Though th' way some of those fellers howl is enough t' give anyself-respectin' cow critter th' nightmare,” declared PocusPete.
“Go on! You're just jealous 'cause you can't warble!” saidSkinny.
Gradually those who were not on night duty rolled themselves up intheir blankets and forgot the cares of the day in heavy slumber. Dave laynear Mr. Carson and Mr. Bellmore. But for some reason or other the youngcowboy could not sleep. He stared up at the stars which had been dim, butwere now quite bright.
“I don't believe we're going to get a storm,” musedDave.
He arose to get a drink of water, thinking perhaps this change mightbring slumber. As he stood for a moment, after quenching his thirst, hegazed over the great dark mass of slightly moving cattle. He heard thedistant songs of the cowboys. And then, suddenly, Dave saw somethingelse. It was a glow off to the west-a red, dull glow that nearly causedhis heart to stop beating.
“That's a fire!” he murmured. For a moment he thought ofthe ranch buildings, but an instant later he knew it was in the oppositedirection.
The glow increased. It lighted the sky. Dave sprang toward the placewhere the ranchman slept.
“Fire! Fire!” he cried. “The prairie is onfire!”
The cry of fire at any time, is a dreadful one to hear. Whether it bein the crowded city, or in the lonely country; whether on board a ship onthe heaving ocean, or an alarm given where factory workers are assembled;it is fearsome, always.
And though Dave and his friends were out on the great, open prairies,where the fire might have full sweep without ever coming near them, yetthe cry of the young cowboy roused all instantly.
For fire on the prairies means more than would at first seem, and whena herd of cattle is in its path it is a warning that must be heeded atonce if one would save the stock.
If there is not actual danger from the fire itself, there is the riskof its stampeding the cattle causing them to make a mad rush in whichmany will be killed.
“Fire! Fire!” yelled Dave, but his first cry was enough.All the sleepers jumped to their feet, and an echoing cry came from thecowboys who, on the far side of the herd of cattle were riding aroundthem to keep them from straying.
As yet the animals had not taken the alarm. They could not smell thefire, for it was too far away, and the dull, distant glow in the west, asyet, meant nothing to them.
Nor had Dave's cries, and the answers thereto, given them any alarm.They were accustomed to the shouting and yelling of the cowboys day andnight, and a little more or less of this noise did not startle them.
“Fire did you say, Dave?” cried Mr. Carson, as he shookhis blanket from him.
“Yes, Dad. Over there!”
Dave pointed to the glow. It was brighter now.
“Yes, it's a fire sure enough,” was the ranchman's remark.“And traveling fast, too.”
“Wind's blowing her this way,” remarked Pocus Pete, whohad joined the two.” Got t' get busy, boys.” That last to thecowboys who were now up, ready for business.
“A prairie fire!” cried Mr. Bellmore. “How are yougoing to fight it?”
“There are only two ways,” said Pocus Pete. “Byplowing, or by firing a strip so wide that the main fire can't cross. Wewon't have time to plow. We've got to fight fire with fire. Come on,boys.”
“Oh, if we only had water!” murmured the engineer.
“It wouldn't do us much good,” said the ranchman.“When that fire gets here it will be a mile or more wide, and nohose would reach that far.”
“That's right,” chimed in Dave. He had not seen manyprairie fires, but he knew something of their danger. “I guesswe'll have to back fire. Though we could send for some plows,Dad”
“Yes, and I think I'll do that,” the ranchman said.“The wind may shift, and I'd feel better if I had some plowedfurrows between that blaze and my cattle.”
Plowing and burning a strip are the two principal methods used infighting prairie fires. The dry grass of the plains, when it starts toburn, goes like tinder. If it can be done in time, it is often effectiveto light another fire in front of the one that is rolling forward. Thisconsumes the grass on which the flames feed, and when they reach thatspot there is nothing for them to burn. And if one stands on the areaburned he will be comparatively safe. Of course care must be taken not toget singed in the back-fire.
Another method is to plow the ground, turning the dried grass under,and leaving only the bare earth exposed. If a strip can be plowed wideenough the fire can not leap over it.
“Lively now, boys!” called Mr. Carson. “Dave, you goover and help keep the cattle from stampeding. Keep 'em milling.”This means keeping the animals going around and around in concentriccircles, like a mill wheel. When they can be made to do this they seldombreak and run wild.
“Oh, Dad! Let me go to fight the fire!” pleaded theyouth.
“All right. Only take care of yourself,” was thecaution.
“I'll go and help the boys mill the cattle,” offered thewater engineer. “I believe I can do that.”
“I think so, though it isn't going to be an easy task,”said the ranchman.
The glare of the distant fire was now brighter, and a dull roar couldbe heard. The cattle seemed to be aware of the danger, and it requiredhard work on the part of the punchers to keep them from breaking. Withshouts and yells, with lashings from their shortened lariats and withshots from their heavy revolvers the punchers did manage, however, tokeep the creatures in a compact mass.
Some cowboys, leaping into the chuck wagon, had started to drive tothe ranch buildings to bring back plows and plow horses. They might, ifthey were lucky, return in time to help in keeping back the flames.
But the main fighting force, which Dave joined, rode straight towardthe onrushing flames in the desperate endeavor to fight fire with fire.They would need to reach a spot, though, where the wind was blowing awayfrom them and the cattle, and toward the main blaze. Such places canoften be found in the rolling prairie, with its many glades and swales.Then, too, the heat of the big fire often creates a vacuum, or backdraft, causing air to rush in toward the leaping flames, and making awind blow toward them that will carry with it the fire started to offsetthe menacing one.
“Here's a good spot!” exclaimed Pocus Pete at length.“Scatter along here, boys, and set the grass ablaze.”
Leaping from the backs of their ponies, the cowboys gave the reinsinto the hands of one of their number to hold, for the horses could notbe trusted to stand alone with the fire coming ever nearer them. Andwithout their mounts the cowboys would be lost.
The spot where the party now found itself was down in a littledepression, or swale, and the wind was blowing away from them and towardthe main conflagration.
“Light, boys!” cried the foreman, as he struck a match andapplied it to a bunch of dried grass that made a rude torch. The others,including Dave, did the same. Soon little spurts of flame in the grassshowed where the contending fire was started.
“Watch it now, boys!” Pocus Pete warned them. “Ifyou see it starting to creep back on you swat it out. Take your blankets,and see if you can't find a water hole. Sozzle your blankets in that andswat the blaze if she starts to run back on you.”
A spring, or, rather a mud-hole that passed for one, was found, and inthis the blankets were wet. Then, as the contending fire burned onward,some little tongues of flame crept back toward the spot where the cattlehad been left These were “swatted” with the wet blankets asfast as seen.
“Well, she's going!” cried Dave, as he saw the fire theyhad set to fight the other leaping onward as though to meet the blazingenemy. “That ought to burn a safety strip.”
“If th' wind doesn't turn,” murmured Pocus Pete. “Ifth' wind doesn't turn.”
Anxiously now they waited, looking the while to see that no straysparks set a fire behind them. Dirty, dusty, choking and smoke-begrimed,the cowboys fought the oncoming fire. Back of them their comrades workedhard to hold in check the frightened cattle, while others were racingback with the plowing outfit.
And off to the west glowed, roared and crackled the menacing prairiefire.
“Lively boys! Swat it out! Farther off to the left there,Skinny!”
“All right, Pete! I get you!”
“Dave, there's a flicker behind you. Swat it out!”
“Out she goes!” answered the young cowboy.
“Tubby, step along with a little more life!” the foremancried. “Th' fire'll git yo' if yo' don't watch out!”
“I'm goin' along as fast as I can, Pete.”
“Well, move faster. We've got to beat this fire!”
Thus with friendly gibes and taunts Pete kept his men at work. Thefire was coming nearer, but the burned strip was widening too, and soonwould be too broad for the flames to leap over.
They would separate, of course, and travel down on either side of thecharred section, but the cattle might be saved.
Up and down the length of the line of fire they had started to offsetthe other, keeping well back of it, and watching that no stray sparks orwisps of burning grass got behind them, Dave and his comrades workedhard. The immediate danger seemed to have passed, but a shift in the windmight come at any time, and render their task futile.
“A little more, boys, and we'll call it done!” exclaimedthe foreman, wiping his grimy, sweaty face on his sleeve. It did notgreatly improve his countenance, however.
Dave and the others lengthened the line of back-fire, and then, seeingthat they had burned a strip sufficiently wide to make it comparativelycertain that the oncoming fire would not leap over it, they turned backto help plow the furrows, or to keep the cattle in order and fromstampeding.
Leaping on their snorting ponies the cowboys rode back, leaving behindthem two fires where before there had been but one. But soon the twowould merge into one, leaving a broad, blackened barren strip, thatcontained no fuel for the flames.
“It's lucky we struck that swale where the wind blew in theother direction,” Dave remarked.
“Mighty lucky,” assented Pocus Pete.
Of course where a strong wind is blowing a prairie fire toward one,another method of escape can be taken. If there is time a fire can bestarted where one is standing. The wind will carry it in the samedirection as that in which the main blaze is advancing, but ahead of it.Then, as the grass is burned off, and the ground cools, one can followthe second fire, getting far enough in toward the center of the area onehas burned to be safe. But this method can not be used where the secondfire would consume buildings or cattle, as would have been the casehere.
“How'd you make out?” demanded Mr. Carson, as Dave and theothers, smoke-begrimed and weary, rode up.
“All right. There's a big burned patch between us and the firenow,” said Pocus Pete. “Have the plows come?”
“Not yet”
“Hark!” exclaimed Dave. “What's that?”
A thunder of hoofs could be heard, thudding on the ground.
“The cattle—a stampede!” gasped Tubby Larkin.
“No, it's the boys coming back with the plow outfit,” saidDave. “I can hear the rattle of the wheels on the chuckwagon.”
And his guess proved correct. A little later the wagon rumbled up. Ledalong behind it were a number of horses kept for use on the farm that wasattached to the ranch. The animals were quickly hitched to theplows— several of them—and then began the turning over of anumber of damp furrows of earth, which would offer no food for theflames.
The fire was increasing, for it found much dry material on thesun-baked prairie. It had not yet reached the strip that had been burnedto stop it. Would it pause there, and divide? Or would it still come ontoward the cattle?
Those were questions each one was asking.
The cattle were becoming more and more excited as the sky was lightedmore brilliantly by the bright glare. The smell of fire and smoke was inthe air, and the crackle and roar of the flames sounded louder. Thecattle heard and were afraid.
“Come, Dave!” called Pocus Pete. “Guess we'll findour work cut out for us over there now. They won't need us to help withthe plowing.”
Indeed the cowboys in charge of the cattle had their hands full. Everynow and then some steer would make a break, and if he were not quicklyturned and driven back it meant that others would follow. Quick actionwas required.
And while the men selected for that work attended to the turning overof the brown earth, Dave and the others, under the direction of PocusPete kept the cattle from stampeding.
The prairies were now as well lighted as at early dawn. In fact withthat dull, red glare over everything, it was not unlike a dawn—thedawn that brings a storm in its wake.
The roar of the fire sounded like distant thunder, and there was asmoky taste to the air, which was hot and stifling.
“Look out for that fellow, Dave!” called the foreman, as abig steer made a break for liberty.
“I'll get him!” shouted the young cowboy, as, whirling hislasso in readiness he spurred after the animal.
As Dave rode on, another steer, thinking perhaps to take advantage ofthe distraction, started out after the first one, and directly behindDave. With lowered head the animal took after the horse and rider,seemingly with the intention of trying to overthrow them.
“Look out, Dave!” yelled Mr. Bellmore. “He'll tossyou!”
The engineer sent his horse on the run toward Dave, but it is doubtfulif the Chicago man could have done anything, not being an expert inhandling the rope.
But Skinny had seen Dave's danger, and with a yell he took after thesecond steer. An instant later his lasso had settled over the animal'shead, and as the pony stopped short, and braced back, the steer fell, hisfeet kicking in the air.
Dave himself was not aware of what had happened, so intent was he ondriving back the brute he was after. And it was not until he had donethis, and looked back, seeing the prostrate creature, that our hero wasaware of what had happened. Then he understood at once.
“Thanks, Skinny,” he said, pantingly.
“Don't mention it,” replied the other. He shook free hisrope, and the steer, now subdued, and tractable, rose to his feet andwent back to the herd.
It needed every effort and attention on the part of the cowboys tokeep the cattle from stampeding, but they managed to do it. The fire cameon, halted at the burned strip, hesitated as if considering a leapacross, and then divided, rolling down either side of the bare strip.
“That does the trick,” said Mr. Carson. “I guesswe've saved our stock.”
“And we didn't need the plowed strip after all,” Davesaid, for, so far, the blaze had not approached within danger-distance ofthe herd.
“Well, it isn't over yet,” said the ranch owner.“That fire still has plenty of ginger in it, and the wind may shiftany minute. Dave, you worked well!”
“Oh, no better than any of the others.”
“Yes you did! You worked well, and I shan't forget it But I'dlike to know how this fire started. No cowman would be so careless withmatches when he knows how dry it's been. And I don't believe lightningset it. I'd like to know how it started.”
“So would I,” said Dave, “and I think I'llinvestigate.”
“How? Where?” asked the cattleman.
“Why, I'll go over there where the fire started. I may be ableto learn something.”
“Better take one of the boys with you,” Mr. Carsoncautioned him. “That's in the direction of Molick's ranch, and theymay be in a bad humor. Take some one with you.”
When Dave's intention was made known Pocus Pete and Mr. Bellmoreoffered to accompany him. Dave was glad to have them.
They rode over the blackened, scarcely-cooled area, there being lightenough from the distant flames to enable them to see well. But there wasnothing to observe—that is at first.
Finally, however, as they went on, Dave gave a sudden exclamation.
“What is it? “asked the engineer.
“Hush! Not so loud!” was Dave's caution. “Don't yousee some one crouched down in the grass there, lightingmatches?”
The other two looked to where he pointed. They did indeed see a darkfigure. Suddenly it became plain, and the three saw some one stoopingover in the dry grass, setting fire to it with matches.
“The scoundrel!” cried Mr. Bellmore. “Who ishe?”
“I don't know, but we'll soon find out,” said Pocus Pete,grimly. “Come on, boys!”
He spurred forward, followed by Dave and Mr. Bellmore. The person inthe grass heard them, and, leaping to his saddle, leaving the littleblaze to grow, he was off at a gallop. But Dave and his two friendschased on after him.
“Looks like he was the very man we want,” murmured PocusPete.
“What about that fire?” asked Mr. Bellmore, as he gallopedon beside Dave.
“I don't know,” was the doubtful answer. “What doyou say, Pete?”
“What's that?” called back the foreman, his eyes neverleaving the dim figure that was racing on ahead.
“The fire he started,” replied Dave. “Won't it eatback to the cattle?”
“It may. But they've got enough men to fight it now, and theplowed strip will stop almost any blaze. Come on, we want to get thatskunk!”
“Do you think he set the big fire, Pete?”
“I don't know what to think, I'm goin' to catch himfirst!” was the grim reply. “I'll do my thinkin'afterward.”
The glow of the big fire was dying away now. One reason for this wasthat the blaze was working its way behind a range of hills. Another wasfound in the coming of the dawn, the fire paling before the glow of therising sun.
Dave gave a look back at the blaze in the grass he had seen started bythe crouching figure. The flames were spreading in the dry, tinder-likegrass, and for a moment Dave was worried. Then he reflected that thecowboys who were with the herd ought to be able to handle it, and, asPete had said, the plowed strip would act in the same manner as had theburned area.
“We've got to take a chance,” murmured Dave, “and itcan't be a much worse chance than the one we took earlier in the night.And we must get that fellow!”
It would be the worst possible procedure to leave loose in the countryso desperate a character as one who would deliberately start a prairiefire. He could do untold damage.
“I wonder who he is?” mused Dave. Yet in his heart he hadan answer ready. “Some of the Molick crowd,” he whispered.“Their ranch would be safe with the wind blowing the way it doesnow, and they must know it would send the fire right down on us. It wasthe Molick crowd, I'll wager a hat!”
He hurried on with the others. Dawn was breaking rapidly now. Itseemed scarcely more than a few minutes since Dave saw that glow in themidnight sky, yet it was several hours. But so crowded had they been withwork and worry that it seemed hardly more than one—or, at most, afew minutes.
The figure ahead was riding desperately to escape.
“He's got a good horse critter,” observed Pete,admiringly. He could admire even an enemy's mount.
“Yes, but he can't keep up that speed,” said Mr.Bellmore.” And our animals are fresh.”
This was true, as during the fire-fighting the ponies of the Bar Uranch had been able to rest. Now they were fresh for the chase that wason. And a fierce chase it was.
Setting a prairie fire, when the person who did it could not but knowit would eat its way toward a bunch of cattle, was a crime not far fromhorse stealing, than which there is no blacker offense in the West, wherea man's life depends on his horse. And the person who was riding thusdesperately away must have known, or at least feared, that quickvengeance would be dealt out to him.
“Th' skunk!” muttered Pete, as he and the others swept on.“Th' mean, onery skunk!”
Up came the sun from below the horizon, shining red in thesmoke-filled air—red and dim, like some great balloon. The morningwas hot with the heat of the fire, and it would soon be warmer and moredepressing from the heat of the sun's rays.
“It's a good thing dad has his cattle where there's some waterfor them,” said Dave.
“Yes,” agreed Pete. “There isn't much, but it'sbetter than being over at the other place, where Molick and his crowd cancut us off altogether.”
“If worst comes to worst, and he's built up that damagain,” said the engineer, “we'll go and tear it down oncemore.”
“That's what we will,” Pete said. “I'm not going tolose the cattle for want of some water, when we saved 'em from thefire.”
Dave was about to make a remark, when he gave a cry of surpriseinstead.
“What's up?” asked Pete.
“Look! If that isn't Len Molick I'll eat my rope!” criedthe young cowpuncher. “Len Molick started that fire!”
“It's him all right,” agreed Pete, after an instant'sglance.
The figure racing on ahead so desperately had turned for a moment inthe saddle, and this turning gave a view of his face. Dave had seen itwas his enemy—the enemy who had taunted him with his lack ofknowledge concerning his birth and parentage.
“And we've caught him with the goods,” remarked Pete,indulging in the slang which meant so much. “He'll go to jail forthis.”
“If we catch him,” suggested Mr. Bellmore.
“Oh, we'll get him,” declared Pete. “Come on hereyou cayuse you!” he called merrily to his mount.
But alas for Pete's hopes. Whether the extra burst of speed was morethan his horse could respond to, or whether in the excess of his zealPete forgot his usual caution probably would never be known.
But the fact of the matter was that his horse Stepped into the burrowof a prairie dog, and, a moment later, the foreman went flying over thehead of his steed, landing on the soft grass some distance away.
Dave and Mr. Bellmore pulled up at once, but they had hardly done sobefore Pete leaped to his feet.
“Ride on I Ride on!” he yelled. “Don't mind me. Getthat skunk!”
“But you may be hurt!” Dave called.
“Hurt? No, not a bit! I'm all right!”
“What about the horse?” asked the engineer.
The animal had picked himself up, and walked with a limp toward hismaster, for Pete had trained him well.
“Poor brute's got a twisted shoulder—I'll have to ride himslow after I rub him down,” Pete said, mournfully enough. “Ican't make any kind of speed on him. Ride on, you fellows! Don't let thatskunk get away!”
It was the law and custom of the range. When a chase was on, if onefailed and fell behind, the other, or others, must keep going. It was ahard law, but life on the range was not easy, nor was it one forchildren.
“All right!” called Dave, recognizing the necessity forprompt action. “We'll get him!”
“And watch out for him,” Pete warned them. “He'll bedesperate if he finds you're closing in on him.”
“We'll watch out,” said Mr. Bellmore.
Again he and Dave dashed on, leaving Pete to minister to his injuredhorse. The foreman at once proceeded to rub vigorously the strainedshoulder with a bunch of grass. His steed winced it the pain, but seemedto know it was for its own good.
“I'll have to go back,” Pete said, mournfully. “ButI hope they catch that skunk!”
It was the meanest name he could think of to call Len Molick.
The chase was resumed. Pete's accident had cost Dave and his companionsome precious moments and they had lost distance. But they felt that,eventually, they must win. For their horses were fresher than was themount of the youth who had set the fire, and already they had appreciablylessened the distance between them.
Len's horse had shown a wonderful burst of speed at first, and he hadsecured a quick start.
“But it won't do him any good,” said Dave. “We'llhave him ridden down in ten minutes more.”
“I hope so,” murmured Mr. Bellmore, “Why. Can't Kurdstand it?”
“Oh, yes, but I'm afraid I can't. This is more riding than I'vedone since I had my accident, and my ankle is paining me.”
“Say, you drop out,” Dave urged him. “I can manageLen all right.”
“Indeed I'll not drop out! I'm going to stay in to the finish,but I'll be glad when it comes. This Western life is, indeed, rough andready, Dave.”
“Then you're not a Westerner by birth?”
“No, I came from the East. I'll have to tell you my story someday. It's rather a curious one.”
Dave reflected that his own was, also, but he was not so sure hewanted to tell it. Every day had increased his admiration for Mr.Bellmore, but there are some facts that we keep even from our bestfriends.
They were on a downward slope now, and the going was better. Slowlybut surely they were overtaking Len. Now and then he glanced back overhis shoulder, as if to measure the distance separating him from hispursuers.
“Do you think he'll shoot?” asked Mr. Bellmore.
“He may,” said Dave, calmly. “He's a big enoughbully to do so, but he's the worst shot you ever heard of. I reallybelieve he's afraid of a gun.”
“Still, sometimes those chaps make a bull's-eye out of pureluck.”
“We've got to take the chance,” Dave said. “Keepwell down on your horse's neck.”
But Len showed no intention of drawing a weapon. Probably it was allhe could do to manage his now fast-tiring steed.
Suddenly the stillness of the morning was broken by a prolonged shrillscreech.
“What's that?” cried Mr. Bellmore.
“Railroad train,” said Dave. “The line passes justbelow us. You can see the smoke of the train in a minute. There sheis—a fast freight. Whistled because they're going to stop for waterI guess. Yes, there she goes up to the tank.”
Down below them they could see the crawling freight. As they watchedthey saw it draw up to the tank and stop. Water poured into the tender ofthe engine.
“Why, look at Len! He's riding straight for the freight!”cried Dave.
“That's what he is,” echoed Mr. Bellmore. “Maybehe's going to take it!”
“If he does—” murmured Dave.
They spurred on, but were too far away. A moment later they saw Lenleap from his horse, abandon the creature, and jump on one of the freightcars. The engine whistled, started off and rapidly gathered speed, takingLen away from his pursuers.
“Well, if that isn't tough luck!” bitterly said Dave, asthey pulled up. Len had escaped. There was no use in chasing the fastfreight.
Sitting astride his tired horse Dave looked lung and earnestly at thefast-disappearing freight, as it went around a bend in the hills. Hecould not see Len, but he knew the young bully was aboard.
“Well, you're gone now, but there'll come a time when you maywant to come back,” mused Dave. “And when you do, I'll getyou. I think you started the big fire, but I'll give you a chance toprove you didn't.”
He sat there musing for a while longer. The freight was out of sightnow but there came to his ears, faintly through the heavy morning air,the sound of the distant puffing. And he could see the trail ofsmoke.
“Smoke! Ugh!” exclaimed Dave. “I've seen enough, andsmelled enough, in the last few hours to last me a year!”
His eyes smarted from the acrid fumes of the burning prairie grass,and his mouth was parched.
“Guess you must want a drink too, Crow,” said Dave aloud,and his horse whinnied as though understanding. Dave saw Len's horse,which the young rascal had abandoned, taking a long drink from a poolthat had formed under the railroad tank.
Dave's horse needed no urging toward the inviting water and soon bothmaster and beast were drinking deeply. Dave also plunged his head down ina puddle and soused his arms and hands in it.
“There, I feel better,” he said.” A heapsightbetter. And now what am I going to do with you?” he asked as he sawLen's abandoned horse cropping the grass near the tank. “I can'tleave you here for rustlers to make off with. You're too good an animal,if you do belong to a mean skunk. And yet I don't feel like doing Len anyfavor. If I take you I may get into trouble with Mr. Molick, too.
“Oh, I'll take a chance though. Can't see a horse suffer,”Dave went on, and when his own mount had sufficiently refreshed itselfwith water and food, the young cowboy leaped to the saddle and rode up toLen's animal.
He had no difficulty in catching the pony, as it was quite exhaustedfrom the run. And thus leading his prize, Dave started back. Mr.Bellmore, who had done as Dave had, taken a long drink and a wash, wasalso much refreshed.
“It surely was tough luck,” remarked the engineer,“but it couldn't be helped. We did our best!”
“I should say so!” exclaimed Dave. “I regard it as apretty sure sign of his guilt—that running away; don'tyou?”
“Well, most people would, I think,” said the Chicago manslowly, “and yet, from what you have told me, I guess Len would runfrom you anyhow, wouldn't he, if he saw you take after him?”
“He might,” admitted Dave, with a grin, as he thought ofthe encounter he had had with the bully. “Yes, I guess he might.But we saw him start one fire; didn't we?”
“Yes, but of course he could claim that he was starting aback-fire, just as we did.”
“Huh!” Dave mused. “I didn't think of that. But I'msure Len did start the big blaze, anyhow. He wanted to either stampedeour cattle, or burn some of them, and you can't make me think anydifferently.”
“Oh, I'm not trying to,” said Mr. Bellmore. “I'monly giving you an idea of the view a judge and jury might take of it, ifyou had Len arrested.”
“I didn't think of that,” Dave said. “I guess itwon't come to an arrest, as far as that is concerned. We Western folkgenerally administer the law ourselves. If we waited for judges andjuries we'd get left in a good many cases. But I don't believe Len willcome back, in a hurry.”
“Perhaps not But what are you going to do with hishorse?”
“I don't know. Take it back with us for the time being. It's agood animal I might hold it as a sort of hostage until Len claims it. ButI don't believe he will. Whew! That was some chase!”
“It certainly was,” agreed Mr. Bellmore.
They rode back slowly. The air was gradually clearing of the smokefrom the prairie fire, though far off it could be observed burning yet.But the worst of it was over. Bar U ranch was no longer in danger.
“What's the next thing on the programme?” asked Mr.Bellmore.
“Finish the round-up, get rid of as many cattle as we can,provide for the rest so they'll have plenty of water in the dry spell,and then fight the Molick crowd,” said Dave.
“Plenty of room for action there,” commented the engineerwith a smile.
“I guess so,” assented Dave. “But we're depending onyour help.”
“And I'll give it to the best of my ability. I think it is wiseto undertake legal action as a starter to regaining control of your waterrights. If they don't help us—-”
“Why, then we'll try some of our Western persuasive ways,”finished Dave. “I guess dad will be anxious to get busy right away.This fire shows how desperate that other crowd is.”
“Yes. And if the Molicks had a hand in starting it, which seemsreasonable to believe, they probably did it out of revenge for thebreaking of the dam. But we had a perfect moral, if not a legal, right todo that,” the Chicago man said.
They rode back slowly, and soon overtook Pocus Pete, who was amblingalong on his injured pony.
“How'd he get away?” asked Pete, as he saw Dave leadingthe riderless horse. “Was there any shootin'?”
“No, nothing like that,” Dave replied. “He jumped onthe fast freight, and left his animal behind.”
“Huh! Well, maybe it's jest as well,” the foreman said.“It's one skunk less in a country that's got more than its share.That's a good horse,” he went on, sizing up Len's mount.
“Yes,” said Dave. “You'd better take it for awhile,and give yours a rest.”
“I will,' said Pete, dismounting and leaping to the saddle ofthe other. It was a great relief for his own mount, whose shoulder wasbadly wrenched.
“This is forcin' th' enemy to give us aid an' comfort,”commented Pocus Pete, as he settled to the saddle, having put on his ownin place of the one Len used, which did not fit the foreman.
Back over the burned prairie they rode. It was hot with the heat ofthe sun, which rose higher and higher in the sky, and the air, though itwas morning, still seemed to have in it some of the heat from the bigfire.
Dave and his friends found Mr. Carson and the cowboys waitinganxiously for them. The story of the chase and its failure was soontold.
“Well, you did your best, Dave, and I'm much obliged toyou,” said Mr. Carson. “I agree with you that it looks asthough the Molick crowd was getting desperate, and trying to drive us outof the country either by a stampede or by fire. If you hadn't discoveredthat blaze in time there's no telling what might have happened. Now I'vegot to plan what to do.”
“And let me help—Dad,” said Dave in a low voice.“I want to do all I can for you and the Bar U.”
Mr. Carson did not reply at once, but he held out his hand and Davegrasped it in a firm clasp. They understood one another.
A conference was held, and it was decided that the round-up should befinished as soon as possible, and the cattle intended for shipment drivento the nearest railroad point. The others would be scattered over thedifferent grazing ranges Mr. Carson owned.
“And then we'll take up this water fight,” said Mr.Bellmore. “If I had my papers here I could begin some preliminarywork now.”
“What you folks most need is a rest,” said Mr. Carson.“You've been up the best part of the night, fighting fire, and onthis chase. Now get some breakfast and stretch out in the shade of thechuck wagon. There's nothing to be done right away. Hop Loy, get 'emsomething to eat!”
“Slure I glet bleckflast!” exclaimed the happy-facedCelestial. “Plenty hungly Mlister Dave?” he askedcheerfully.
“Yes, plenty hungry,” Dave assented.
While he, Pocus Pete and Mr. Bellmore rested after the meal Mr. Carsonand the others finished the round-up work, branding such cattle as hadnot already felt the iron. Then the herds were separated, the ones forshipment being cut out from the others.
The next few days were busy ones, the work going on from the firstpeep of daylight until it was impossible to see. And in due time theshipment was successfully made.
“Well, I can breathe more easily now,” said Mr. Carson,when the train had departed, some of his cowboys going with it to seethat the cattle were fed and watered on the trip. “No matter whatMolick does now he can't ruin me completely.”
“That's so, and now we'll take up this water matter,” saidthe engineer. “I'm afraid it's going to prove a legal tangle,though.”
And so it did. The chief fight was about the ownership of the waterrights at the point where Molick had built the dam that the Bar U boyshad destroyed.
It had at once been rebuilt, as was expected and all water was shutoff from Mr. Carson's land in that vicinity. But as he was not pasturingany cattle there for the present, no damage resulted.
“But you have a right to that water, and I'm going to see thatyou get your share of it,” said Mr. Bellmore. “It was partlymy fault that Molick built that dam, for if I had not mentioned it to himhe probably would never have thought of it. So it's up to me to make thisfight for you, and I'm going to.”
Nor was the fighting all on one side. Molick brought suit against Mr.Carson for the destruction of the dam, but it would take some time tosettle this, since many questions were involved.
In turn Mr. Carson sued the owner of Centre O ranch for shutting offthe water supply. Mr. Carson, Dave and Mr. Bellmore also went before theGrand Jury and gave information about having seen Len starting a prairiefire. That body lost little time in returning an indictment against themissing bully. But of course it was out of their power to go after himand bring him back.
“But if he ever does come back I'll get him,” the sheriffassured Dave. “He daren't set foot in this county again. Of courseI'm not saying he's guilty, but I'll arrest him and he'll have to provehis innocence.”
“That's all we want,” said Dave.
Meanwhile the legal tangles increased. A number of suits were startedon both sides, and as a result there were several physical clashesbetween the cowboys of the Bar U and the Centre O ranches.
The horse of Pocus Pete was more seriously hurt than he had at firstthought, and he had to give his mount a long rest.
“But I've got Len's critter!” Pete chuckled, “andI'm goin' to ride that.”
This he did to his own great satisfaction. Several times when he andhis boys got into more than verbal arguments with the Centre O crowd Peteused Len's horse.
“It's like gettin' th' enemy's ammunition an' firin' it athim,” said Pete with a laugh.” I guess they don't relish itnone.”
And Molick and his crowd did not. They did not make a claim for thehorse, however, since this would have involved admitting that Len rode itto escape from the country, and they did not want to do this. So PocusPete kept the contraband horse.
Work was easier on Bar U ranch after the big cattle shipment, butstill there was plenty to do. Mr. Bellmore was busy working up his waterirrigation project, in addition to helping Mr. Carson fight the Molickcrowd. After a number of suits had been started Molick brought an actionagainst the engineer for breach of contract.
“He claims I promised to go into the water matter with him, andthen backed out,” said Mr. Bellmore. “Well, I did nothing ofthe sort. I might have gone in with him, if you had not warned me, thoughMr. Carson.”
“Well, I'm glad I warned you, for he'd have you all tangled upif you had gone in with him.”
“I guess you're right. But well get straightened out after abit, I think.”
The Molick outfit was the only one that fought the irrigation project.All the other ranch owners in the vicinity recognizing the value of it totheir places, entered into it.
“Dave, are you fit for a little ride this morning?” askedMr. Bellmore, about two weeks after the prairie fire.
“Why, sure,” was the answer. “What's on?”
“I want to go over to the stone valley, and make somecalculations of the flow of water there. It isn't much of a stream, to besure, but if we're going into this irrigation scheme, we can't neglecteven a small flow of water. We might want it in dry weather. I need someone to help me make the measurements.”
“Why sure I'll go. Be with you in a little while. There's alittle matter I want to see dad about, and then I'll come.”
Though Dave spoke thus lightly of a “little matter,” itwas one that meant a great deal to him. For it was nothing less than anattempt he had made, or, rather, started, to solve the mystery of hisidentity.
All along, ever since Dave had been told the truth of his rescue fromthe Missouri flood, he had sought some means of finding out who he was.Mr. Carson had said there was no means of knowing, since he had madeinquiries at the time in the vicinity of the flood, and no one had laidclaim to the then small baby.
“Which led me to believe, Dave,” the ranchman said,“that your parents and all your relations were drowned.”
The young cowboy was silent after this, and a look of sadness cameover his face.
“But there is a bare chance that some—even distantrelatives—might have been saved,” he said. “And on thatsupposition, if I had some little clew on which to start it might put meon the right track.
“How was I dressed when you found me? Wasn't there anydistinguishing mark?”
“Huh! Well, now I come to think of it, perhaps there might havebeen,” Mr. Carson had said. This conversation had taken place sometime previously.
“What was it?” asked Dave eagerly. “Was there a notepinned to my dress? I suppose I must have worn dresses, if I was solittle at the time?”
“Yes, you wore dresses,” the ranchman said, with a far-offlook in his eyes. He was struggling to recall the dim and distant past.“Yes, you had on a dress. I think it must have been white at thestart, but the muddy water had stained it a dark brown. But there was nonote or anything like that pinned to it. I looked for that. But you didhave on something that perhaps might prove a clew.”
“What was it?” asked Dave eagerly.
“It was a sort of life-preserver,” said the cattle man.“At least I took it to be that.
“A life-preserver!” echoed Dave.
“Well, maybe I'm wrong about it, for I never had much to do withwater or the sea,” admitted Mr. Carson. “But it was some sortof a cork jacket. It was made from a lot of bottle corks, all strungtogether, and wound around in a sort of belt.”
“They don't make life-preservers that way,” said Dave, whohad been on a trip East, and had seen the life-saving apparatus on asteamer. “A life-preserver is made from broad sheets of cork,sometimes granulated, and pressed together. I never heard of one beingmade of corks from bottles strung together.”
“Well, that's what you had on,” said the ranchman.“Maybe it was a home-made one. Come to think of it, that's probablywhat it was. I reckon it saved your life, too, for though you were on apretty big piece of wreckage, you looked as though the waves had washedup over you a number of times. Yes, that home-made cork life-preserverundoubtedly saved you.”
“What became of it?” asked Dave. “I suppose youthrew it away. You must have had your hands full, looking after a smallbaby.”
“Why, no, I didn't throw it away,” said Mr. Carson slowly.“I sort of had an idea it might prove a relic, so I keptit.”
“Where is it now?” asked Dave, eagerly.
“Well, I didn't take it all over with me,” went on theowner of the Bar U ranch. “I left it in Denver with a lot of otherthings of mine. It's there yet I reckon, in storage.”
“Could you get it?” exclaimed the youth, his eyes shiningwith eagerness.
“Yes, I reckon so. But what good would it do, Dave?”
“It might—it might prove my identity.”
Mr. Carson shook his head.
“I'm afraid not,” he said. “There wasn't anything toit but a lot of corks strung together. They were wound around you like abelt.”
“But could you send for it? I should like to see it. And itmight—it might, after all, be a clew.”
“Well, I'll get it, of course. I suppose you aren't satisfied tobe just what you are. You know I'll look after you all your life. Youknow that, don't you, Dave?” asked the ranchman softly.
“Yes—Dad—I know that,” and the youth's voicefaltered. “But I want—I just want to know who I am. I don'tintend to leave you. I guess you know that. I haven't any other place togo. But I would like to know who I am. Maybe—maybe,” andDave's voice was husky, “I might have a—a sister somewhere inthis world. Oh, what I'd give if I had!” and unshed tears shone inhis eyes.
“Well, Dave, I never thought of it in just that way,” saidthe ranchman. “Yes, what you say may be true. I'll send for thislife belt of bottle corks, and let you look at it. Mind, I don't believeit will be of any use as a clew, but I'll send for it.”
And so the matter had ended for the time being. There had been so muchto do, what with the fire and the trouble over the water rights, thatthere had been a delay in sending for the old relic of the flood.
But finally Mr. Carson had written for it, together with some of hisother goods in storage in Denver, and they had arrived that day. He hadpromised Dave to unpack them, and show him the belt, and it was thismatter that the young cowboy wished to see about before going over to thestone valley with Mr. Bellmore.
“Well, Dave, there it is,” said Mr. Carson, as he opened atrunk, and took out several articles. “Here's the little dress andthe other things you wore when I hauled you from the water.”
He held up a white garment, clean, but yellow with age, and smellingfaintly of some perfume.
“It doesn't look as though it had been through a flood,”said Dave.
“No, I had it washed and ironed, and then a lady I knew packedit away in rose leaves for me. She said that's how she kept the babyclothes of her own little ones. Those are the shoes you wore,” theranchman went on, as something fell to the floor, when Dave unrolled thedress.
The shoes, too, had once been white, but were soiled now, not havingresponded to the cleansing process as had the dress. They were stuffedout with wads of paper.
“It would be some job to get in them now,” Dave remarkedwith a smile as he glanced down at his booted and spurred feet.“Some job!”
“Yes,” assented Mr. Carson. “And here's yourpetticoat, Dave. I reckon that's what you call it,” and he held upsome other garments. “I saved 'em all,” he said,“thinking they might be a clew, but they never turned outso.”
“But where is the cork belt?” Dave asked. He was impatientto see that. He realized that baby dresses must be more or less alike,with seldom a distinguishing mark. But the cork belt impressed him withthe possibility of being different.
“Here it is,” said Mr. Carson.
From amid the contents of the trunk he pulled out a queer object
Dave held it up to get a better view of it. As Mr. Carson had said itwas a belt, composed of a number of corks strung together on a strongcord, there being many rows of them, one above the other. The corks wereof all sizes, the cord passing through them on the short axis. There weretwo holes for the arms, and a sort of tape by which the belt could betied around one.
It was small, clearly made for a child, though for a larger one thanDave could have been at the time he was picked up in the flood.
“I must have rattled around in that?” he said, with aquestioning look.
“Yes, it was lapped around you a couple of times,” saidthe ranchman. “But, just as I said, Dave, it isn't much of a clew.They are just common corks.”
This was so. There were no marks on the corks, as far as Dave couldsee, by which any identification could be made. He looked closely at theodd life-preserver.
“I say, Dave, are you coming?” called Mr. Bellmore fromwithout.
“Right away,” was the answer.
Dave sadly laid down the cork jacket and went out.
Profound indeed was the impression made on Dave by the sight of thechildish things in the trunk Mr. Carson had received from Denver.Sadness, too, was mingled with his feelings. Somehow he felt as thoughthe last hope had gone from him, for he did not see how he could find anyclew to his identity in the corks, strung into such a queer jacket.
Dave tried to look cheerful as he came out to join Mr. Bellmore forthe ride across the prairies to the place where they were going tomeasure the flow of water. He did not want his companion to suspectanything.
“Feel like taking it on the gallop?” asked theengineer.
“Yes, I guess Crow can stand it if your animal can,” Davesaid.
“Oh, I'll bank on Kurd!”
Together they were off at a fast pace that fairly ate up the distance,and soon they were half-way to the place where a small stream had givenMr. Bellmore hopes that he could add it to his water conservationscheme.
“I wonder how it would be to take a trip over to the Molick dam,and see what they're doing?” suggested the water man. “It'sjust as well to keep tab on those fellows.”
“Go ahead, I'm with you,” said Dave.
They changed their course slightly. The whole day, or, rather, thebest part of it was ahead of them, for they had made an early start. Davehad not much to do at the ranch since the big cattle shipment, though Mr.Carson was getting ready to increase his stock as soon as the question ofproviding water for them was settled.
“Looks as if something was going on,” commented Mr.Bellmore, as they approached the place where the Molick dam had beenrebuilt.
“Yes, there's a crowd there, anyhow,” agreed Dave.“And some of them are on our land, too!” he exclaimed,excitedly.
“Now take it easy,” advised his friend. “This mattermust take a legal course, since we have started it that way. Keepcool.”
“Oh, I will” the young cowboy promised, as he spurred on,followed by the engineer.
They found Molick and several of his men making a sort ofsupplementary dam, the water having backed up more than they hadcalculated on, so that some of it was now flowing in the old bed of thestream over Mr. Carson's property. It was to prevent this that anotherdam was being made.
“He wants to get every drop!” said Dave, bitterly.
“Yes,” assented the engineer. “He isn't satisfiedwith a fair share.”
Some of the workmen who knew Dave seemed a bit embarrassed as hecaught them on the Carson land, for it was necessary for them to go thereto complete the dam. The young cowboy, however, said nothing, preferringto leave it to Mr. Bellmore. The latter looked significantly at Molick,and remarked:
“Seems to me you're overstepping a bit; aren't you?”
“I don't know that I am,” was the surly answer.
“Why, you're on Bar U land—or some of your menare.”
“I know it.”
“What gives you the right?”
“The law. It says I can go where I have to, to recover myproperty. I guess that's right enough.”
“Where is any of your property on Mr. Carson's land?”
Molick pointed to the trickling water.
“That's mine,” he said. “It's escaping from my pondover the dam. I'm making the dam bigger, and if I have to go on Bar Uland to do it, to save my property, the law gives me a right. I know whatI'm talking about, for I've looked it up.”
As this was a point on which the engineer was not certain of therights of Mr. Carson, he thought it better to say nothing. He observed,however, that there was more water than even he had calculated on, andthat though the dam were raised it would overflow again, thusnecessitating further trespassing on the Bar U property.
“And if the flow keeps on increasing,” the engineerreasoned, “it will give us a water supply in spite of all Molickcan do. Guess I'll let matters take their course for a while.”
He said as much to Dave in a low voice, and the two rode away. Theyhad seen all they needed to.
“Dad can pasture here again soon,” said the youngcowboy.
“Yes,” assented the engineer, “I guess we don't needto worry much. There'll be more water than Molick can impound unless heraises a big concrete dam, and before he can do that we'll have legallyestablished our own rights, I think.”
They resumed their way to the valley to measure the water there, andfor some time were kept busy, Dave helping his friend make thecalculations.
“Well, there isn't as much as I thought there'd be,” wasthe comment of the engineer, “but every little helps. We'll make adifferent section of this a year from now. If it wasn't for Molickstanding out against the irrigation scheme we'd have the whole of RollingRiver Valley in it,”
“Is there any way of forcing him?” asked Dave.
“There may be, after he sees what he's missing.”
Together they rode home in the early evening. Now that the work of theday was over Dave's mind went back to the scene of the morning, when hehad handled his baby garments and the cork jacket. His manner must havebeen strange and distracted, for Mr. Bellmore said:
“What's the matter, Dave?” You act as though you had lostyour last friend.”
“Well, I have, in a way,” was the unexpected answer.
“You have! What do you mean? Seems to me, if I were you, withthe kind of a father you have, and a dandy ranch like this I'd be thehappiest fellow on—”
“I haven't any father!” burst out Dave. “And that'sthe trouble. Oh, it's just as Len Molick said—I'm a namelessnobody!” and his voice choked and broke.
Mr. Bellmore rode his horse over beside Crow. He put his arm aroundthe lad, who hung his head.
“Look here, old man!” said the engineer. “I don'twant to intrude, but if it will do you any good, tell me all aboutit!”
“I will!” exclaimed Dave, taking a sudden resolve.“I wasn't going to tell you,” he went on, after a pause,“for, though some of the fellows at the ranch know it, and thoughsome over at Centre O do, also, still I wasn't going to tell you. I wasso happy before I knew it.”
Then, slowly, and haltingly, he told how Len Molick had fired thetaunt at him and how, upon making inquiries of Mr. Carson, the latter hadconfirmed the rumor, saying that Dave was not his son, though he lovedhim as such.
“And where did you say he found you?” asked the engineer.There was a curious light in his eyes, and an eager expectancy in hismanner.
“It was during a flood somewhere in Missouri. I've forgotten theexact name of the place. He can tell you. He picked me up on somewreckage, and looked after me. That was a long while ago—or atleast it seems so,” Dave remarked with a smile.
“It couldn't have been so very long ago. You're not more thantwenty; are you, Dave?”
“Nineteen, I think. Of course I don't know my exactage.”
“No, I suppose not. Then I'm not so much older than you. I'mtwenty-seven. But yours is a strange story. Dave, we are brothers inmisfortune.”
“Brothers in misfortune! What do you mean?” cried theyoung cowboy.
“I mean, that I haven't any near relatives either. And while Ido know who I am, and who my parents were, still that isn't muchsatisfaction. I have lost them.”
“Lost them?” Dave echoed.
“Yes, and in a flood, such as nearly claimed your life. I mustfind out just what town you came from. It may be that our folks lived inthe same place. It would be a strange coincidence, but it might be thatit is so. I lost all my folks, including a baby brother in a Westernflood. I don't know many of the particulars, for I was with relatives inOhio at the time, so I escaped.
“I am anxious to hear Mr. Carson's story. It interests memightily. To think that we have gone through much the same sort ofsuffering. But I should have thought so small a baby as you must havebeen at the time would have been drowned.”
“I would have been if it hadn't been for one thing,”returned our hero, with an odd little smile.
“One thing? What was that?”
“I doubt if you can guess.”
“Maybe you were bound fast to the wreckage, or it didn't floatinto deep water.”
“I don't know about being bound fast, but I do know the wreckagefloated around, or rather, down stream. But that wasn't what I referredto.”
“What was it?”
“Can't you guess?”
“I don't think so.”
“I had on a cork life-preserver,” said Dave. “I waslooking at it this morning when you called to me.”
“A cork life-preserver?” excitedly repeated Mr. Bellmore.“Was it—was it any particular kind, Dave?”
“Why, yes, it was. But why do you look at me sostrangely?”
“Never mind that now! Tell me about that life-preserver. How wasit made?”
“From bottle corks strung together and made into a belt. I hadit around me when dad—I mean Mr. Carson—picked me up.I—I thought the preserver might be a clew but it isn't,for—”
“A clew! Of course it is!” fairly shouted the engineer.“Hurrah, Dave itis a clew. Put her there, old man! Shake! Isaid a while ago that we were brothers in misfortune! We're more thanthat.
“We're real brothers, Dave Carson—no, not Dave Carson anylonger! Dave Bellmore! We're brothers, I tell you! brothers !”
For a moment the two remained with clasped hands, looking deep intothe eyes one of the other. Then Dave, with a deep breath, murmured:
“Brothers! Is it possible?”
“Not only possible, but probable!” cried Mr. Bellmore.“We are brothers, I tell you, Dave! Your mention of that corklife-preserver almost proves it to me.”
“Why so?”
“Because, before I went away to the East, to visit, I made onejust like that with which to learn to swim. I did learn, too, with it. Ofcourse I'd have to see this one to be dead sure, but it isn't likely thatthere would be two cork life-preservers made in that way. I'm sure it wasmine you had on when you were rescued. Come on, we'll gallop to the ranchand find out.”
They set off at top speed, Dave's heart beating madly with hope.
“Oh, if it should prove true, after all!” he murmured overand over again. “That I really have some folks at last!”
As they rode Mr. Bellmore briefly told how, as a boy of about ten, hewanted to swim in the stream that ran near his home.
“This was in Missouri, too,” he said, “so that addsto the assurance I have that we are brothers, since it was in Missourithat you were found by Mr. Carson. I made that life preserver out of adesign from my own head. I know I had to beg and borrow corks from allthe neighbors before I had enough. But with that on I simply could notsink, and so I learned to swim.
“I wanted to take it East with me, but my folks persuaded me toleave it at home. And poor mother or father must have fastened it on youwhen the flood came. Oh, I'm sure it's the same one. We arebrothers!”
Once more they clasped hands and looked into each other's eyes.
It was two excited individuals who burst into the ranch house of Bar Ua little later. Fairly leaping from their steeds Dave and Mr. Bellmoresought Mr. Carson.
“Dad, where is that cork life-preserver?” asked the youngcowboy. The use of the word “Dad” seemed perfectly properunder the circumstances.
“The life-preserver?” repeated the ranchman,wonderingly.
“Yes, Mr. Bellmore—Benjamin,” said Dave, using thename for the first time, “Benjamin thinks it's one he made, and ifit is I'm his brother!”
“His brother?” Mr. Carson looked from one to the other, asif doubting whether he had heard aright.
Slowly the cattleman again produced the old relic. At the first sightof it Mr. Bellmore exclaimed:
“Yes! That's it! I'd know it anywhere! Dave, there's no doubtbut that you are my brother! Shake!”
“But are you sure?” asked Mr. Carson.
“Positive!” exclaimed the young engineer. “See, Ican point out a dozen little points about this belt that makes me certainit is mine,” and he did. He even recalled where he got certainoddly-shaped corks from the neighbors.
Then he related his story—how he had lived as a boy in the townwhere, later, the flood came and swept away the Bellmore home, takingDave with it. The future engineer was away at the time of the disaster,and he knew nothing of the particulars of the rush of the waters, savewhat relatives told him afterward.
“But they said my whole family was drowned, including my littlebrother,” he went on. “His name wasn't Dave, by the way, butCharles.”
“I named him Dave,” said Mr. Carson.
“And I'm going to keep it,” Dave said.
“It's just as well,” decided Mr. Bellmore. “But, asI said, all I know is what I was told. I was only about ten years old atthe time, and you must have been about two, Dave. How it happened we canonly guess, but mother or father must have put my odd cork life-preserveron you when they saw the waters rising, and it probably saved your lifewhen the house was carried away. What a strange coincidence!”
“Isn't it?” agreed Mr. Carson. He could add little to thestory, for all he knew was the finding of the baby. His inquiries hadcome to naught, so it was assumed that all the rest of the Bellmorefamily had perished in the high waters.
“And what did you do when you heard you had no folksleft?” asked Dave of his brother.
“Well, I was too young at the time to realize all that it meant.My Eastern relatives came to Missouri with me in the hope of finding someof our folks, but we never did. Then they took charge of me until I grewup, and entered upon my profession.
“And all these years I've been thinking I had not a near livingrelative, when, all the while I had a brother!” and he lookedfondly at Dave.
“And to think I believed myself a nameless nobody!” Davereturned.
“Well, you're Dave Bellmore, from now on.”
“DaveCarson Bellmore,” corrected the othersoftly.
“Oh, I see!” Mr. Bellmore exclaimed. “Ofcourse.”
And so it was arranged. The story created no end of wonder at Bar Uranch, and Dave and his brother were congratulated on all sides. TheEastern relatives were communicated with, and one sent a lettermentioning a certain birthmark on Dave's arm, which would be there if hewas really the Bellmore baby. The mark was found, and thus the matter wasfully proved.
“Well, now that you've found your brother, I suppose you'llshake Bar U ranch—and me,” said Mr. Carson some timelater.
“Not much!” cried Dave with shining eyes, as his arm wentaround Benjamin. “I'm a cattleman first, last and always. If youhaven't any room for me here I'll have to start out and work for some oneelse, I guess.”
“Not while I've got a horse to ride,” said the ranchmansignificantly.
A few days later the matter of trying the various lawsuits came up. Itwas a tedious proceeding, with which I will not burden you, but to bebrief I will say that Mr. Carson won nearly everything.
It was settled beyond dispute that the Molick ranch had no right tobuild the dam and shut off the water from the fine pasture. So that wassaved to Mr. Carson. And not only that, but certain other water rightsthat Mr. Molick had claimed, were taken from him, and restored to BarU.
“That means I can go into the cattle-raising business on alarger scale than ever,” declared the ranchman.
Mr. Molick was allowed to retain enough of the water for his ownstock, so that his ranch was as valuable as ever. He recognized when hewas defeated, and when the court business was over he approached Mr.Bellmore, rather shamefacedly, it is true, and requested that he beallowed to come into the general water and irrigation scheme.
“No, sir!” exclaimed the engineer. “You had yourchance and would not take it. It's too late now. All our plans are madeand your ranch isn't included.”
“Then if you won't take me in I'll sue you and makeyou.”
“Go ahead,” was the cool response. “You had yourchance and turned it down. We aren't depriving you of any water. You'llhave all you need, but you won't have any over, as the rest of theranchmen will. Go ahead and sue.”
Molick did, but he was defeated, and then, as his son Len dared notreturn to the vicinity on account of the fire indictment, there came anunexpected turn to affairs.
“I hear Molick wants to sell out,” said Pocus Pete, comingto the Bar U ranch house a few days after the defeat of the bully'sfather. “And he'll sell out cheap, too.”
“Will he?” asked Mr. Bellmore. “Then I know some onewho will buy.”
“Who?”
“I will! Dave, I've been thinking for a long time of going intothe cattle business. I think it will pay better than water engineering.I've been hoping for a chance to get a good ranch, and now that Molick'sis on the market, I'm going to take it”
“Good!” cried Mr. Carson. “I'll have decentneighbors all around me then. And if you want any money, Mr.Bellmore—you and Dave—”
“Thanks, but I'm pretty well off. I've saved a bit. I think I'llinvest it in Centre O, but I'm going to change the name, with yourpermission.”
“What are you going to call it?” asked Dave. “BarU-2. How does that strike you?”
“Fine!” Dave exclaimed.
“Couldn't be better!” declared Mr. Carson. “We'llcombine the two ranches into a new one, and with the water supply we'llhave there won't be a place in this country that can hold a candle to us.Shake!”
“Do you really mean it?” cried our hero, his eyes shiningwith delight.
“Sure I mean it,” answered the man who had been a fatherto him, with much feeling.
“It's a fine thing to propose,” put in our hero'snewly-found brother. “A fine thing indeed.”
“I've got to do it—to keep Dave by me,” answered Mr.Carson.
“I'll stay—don't worry,” answered the boy, with ahappy grin.
And so it was arranged. The Bellmore brothers, as they were nowcalled— Dave and Benjamin—purchased the Molick ranch and itwas added to the Carson holdings under a general partnership agreement.More cattle were purchased, and to-day the Bar U-2 is one of the finestranches in the West. The water irrigation scheme, planned by Mr. Bellmorewas a complete success, though when he took up ranching with Dave,another irrigation engineer succeeded to the managership. TheMolicks—father and son— disappeared, but most of the cowboys,with the exception of Whitey Wasson, were hired by Dave and hisbrother.
“Though if it hadn't been for Len and Whitey I might never havefound you, Ben,” said Dave, with shining eyes.
And that is the story of Cowboy Dave—a “namelessnobody” no longer—but an honored and respected member of thecommunity. And Mr. Carson, who had no near kith or kin, has promised tomake the Bellmore brothers his heirs.
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