Cowboy Dave; Or, The Round-up at Rolling River Part 8

This was strictly true, and Dave knew it. Pocus Pete would never needlessly quarrel with any one, but once he had started on what he regarded as a right course, nothing would turn him aside until he had either vanquished or been beaten. And the latter was seldom the outcome.

"Well, that's my case," said Dave. "I'm not going to put 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 in a 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 the boys."

"What will you do?"

"I'll stay here and guard the cattle. It won't take long, and your 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 of the broken posts and boards, the gap in the fence was made smaller so the cattle would not be so likely to try to rush through it.

This done, Pete prepared to mount guard while Dave leaped to the back of Crow and started for the ranch on the gallop, to bring help and to tell the story of the broken corral.

"I wonder if I'd better mention Len?" thought Dave, as he rode on. "I'm pretty sure he did the trick, but I don't want to accuse any one unjustly, even him."

After thinking it over Dave decided that it would be better not to say anything about Len just yet. He would let matters take their own course.

"But I'll be on the watch for him," he made up his mind.

Dave's mind was busy with many thoughts, and his body was weary with the exertions through which he had just pa.s.sed. But there was a certain sense of exhilaration after all. He had done a good piece of work, and he realized it. Of course Pocus Pete had helped, but Dave was in a fair way to stop the stampede when the old foreman came along.

"I'll get to be a regular cowboy after a while," thought Dave, not without a little smile of gratification.

To get to the ranch more quickly the young cowpuncher took a trail that led through a patch of rocky woodland. It was a curious formation in the midst of the flat cattle country, being a patch several miles square, consisting of some rocky hills, well wooded, with a number of deep gullies in them. More than once cattle had wandered in among them and been lost.

And it was said that at one time a noted band of cattle rustlers, or thieves, had made their headquarters in this wood, and had held out a long time against the attacks of the cattlemen.

Dave rode through this not very cheerful place. He had been keeping his eyes open for a sight of Len Molick, but had caught no further glimpse of the bully whom he suspected.

"Hit it up, Crow! Hit it up!" Dave called to his black horse, who was going along a not very safe trail amid the rocks and stones.

Dave was about half way through the place when the silence, undisturbed save by the rattle of Crow's hoofs, was suddenly broken by a cry.

"Help! Help!" Dave heard uttered in somewhat weak accents. "Help!"

The young cowboy was startled for a moment. He reined in his horse sharply, and looked about. He could see nothing, and the silence seemed more p.r.o.nounced after the echo of the appeal for aid had died away.

"h.e.l.lo!" Dave called. "Who are you, and what do you want? 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'll toss 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 down softly.

Crow started violently.

CHAPTER VII

THE RESCUE

"Whoa there, old boy! Steady!" Dave spoke to his horse, and the animal, that had been frightened by the sudden throwing into the air of the handkerchief, stood still.

"I see where you are!" Dave called to the unknown and unseen one--a man, evidently, by the tones of his voice. "I'll be with you in a minute!"

"Be careful of yourself," was the caution. "I had a bad 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 ground pretty well. Stand still now, old fellow," he went on to his horse. "I don't want you falling, and breaking your leg or neck."

Crow whinnied as though he understood, and Dave, slipping the reins over the neck of the intelligent animal as a further intimation that he was to stay where he was without wandering, climbed from the saddle, a bit wearily it must be confessed, and started for the rock, behind which lay the injured man, and from which point the young cattleman had observed 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-filled gully, a man about twenty-seven years of age. Dave guessed this much though he could see only a part of the man's body, for his head and shoulders 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 a cliff, looking down.

"I can't get up," the man answered, his voice being a bit m.u.f.fled because his head was hanging over the cliff. "My foot is caught in a cleft in the rocks, and I'm afraid to move for fear it will pull loose. If it does I'll lose my balance and topple, for I'm hanging more than half-way over this cliff now. And it doesn't look like a good place into which to fall."

This was true enough, as Dave knew, for the bottom of the gully was covered with jagged rocks. More than one straying steer had fallen over there and had been dashed to pieces.

"Steady!" called Dave. "I see how it is. I'll soon have 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. Save your strength. I'll have you out in a jiffy."

He hurried back to where he had left his horse, and took from the horn of the saddle the rope which no cowboy is ever without. With this Dave took a turn about the man's waist, pa.s.sing the rope under him. He then carried an end back to a stout tree and tied it there, working, the while, deftly and swiftly.

"That will hold you in case you slip when I loosen the rocks and free your foot," Dave explained. "You are pretty well overbalanced. But I'll get you up, all right."

The man was in a peculiar and perilous position, but Dave thought that he could cope with the situation. His life on the plains, and amid the perils of the range had made him resourceful, and quick to take advantage of all the chances for safety.

Dave looked at the man's foot. It was firmly wedged in between two rocks that came together in the form of a large V. Considerable pressure must have forced the man's foot there, for Dave could see that the stout leather of his riding boot was cut and sc.r.a.ped. The foot was twisted, and Dave remarked, in a low voice:

"If you haven't a badly sprained ankle I'll miss my guess!"

"Watch yourself now," David cautioned the man. "You can't fall, even if you slip over, for the rope's strong enough to hold you; but you may get a bad jerk when you bring up suddenly if you fall after I release your foot."

"I'm ready," said the man.