The Boy Ranchers on Roaring River Part 27

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a-goin' up and have a look inside an' see what's happenin'."

"I don't know, Billee--they might spot you and let ride with some lead."

"Don't worry about that, d.i.c.k. They'll never know I'm there. Now you wait here an' I'll be right back."

"Well, for the love of Pete, be careful! We don't want anything to go wrong."

"Nothin's goin' wrong. Now you wait."

Billee Dobb moved softly in the direction of the ranch house, walking so easily it seemed as though he were stepping on wool. Unlike most other punchers, who spend most of their time on horseback, Billee was exceptionally surefooted. Much tramping about the country did that for him, and there were some who said he had been active in Indian warfare, long ago. He would be the first to deny this, however, as it would add too much to his age.

So while d.i.c.k waited impatiently, the rancher went toward the house, shoulders low, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. The distance between the house and where d.i.c.k was waiting was not far, but it was all open, and with the moon lighting up the scene almost like day, a person crossing might be easily seen.

Nearer and nearer Billee crept. d.i.c.k could see him picking his way like a dancer, so that he might step on no branch or twig which would break and give him away. Now he was almost at the side of the house.

d.i.c.k saw him lean forward and cautiously peer in the window.

Then it happened. d.i.c.k saw a flash of fire from within the room, and the roar of a gun awakened the stillness of the night. Billee staggered back. He fell to the ground, but was up in a moment, and ran swaying toward d.i.c.k. The door of the house flew open, and a man with a gun in his hand burst out on the porch. Like a flash d.i.c.k had his gun out and fired. The man ducked back as the bullet struck the side of the house with a resounding "ping!"

With a supreme effort Billee reached the shelter of the trees. d.i.c.k ran to him. The old man's face was twisted with pain, and he sank to the earth.

"d.i.c.k--d.i.c.k--" he gasped, "they got me! They got me! I'm down--and--out!"

CHAPTER XXI

CLOSING IN

Nort, Mr. Hawkins and Yellin' Kid rode as fast as they might toward the Shooting Star. It was their intention to reach the ranch and return as soon as possible, after having taken a bite to eat. The idea of resting was given up as the hours flew by. It seemed no time at all before the stars grew dull, and the gray fingers of dawn spread out in the east.

"Have to hurry," Hawkins commented as he fumbled around in the dark kitchen of the ranch. "Where in thunder is that lamp? Haven't you got one out here?"

"Sure--I think so," Nort answered. "Have to hunt for it, though. I'm not so certain of my ground here. It's all new to me, you know.

"Well, it's not in the corner, that's sure. Let's have another match, Kid. Ah, here we are!" The soft illumination of an oil lamp flooded the room. "Got any non-exploding sand in this machine, Nort?"

"What's that?"

"It's something the gold-brick artists used to sell to farmer's wives to keep lamps from exploding. Nothing hut plain, ordinary sand, but the directions that came with it said to always keep the lamp clean, not to put too much oil in it, trim the wick, and so forth. Then put the sand in and the lamp would never explode. Of course it wouldn't, if the directions were followed. But the sand didn't help any. It was the cleaning that did the trick. Yet the buyer bought peace of mind and security for ten cents, so the game wasn't so bad as it sounds."

"Pretty good!" the Kid laughed. "Never heard of that trick before, but a feller was out here last year sellin' an electric belt, guaranteed to take off ten pounds. All you had to do was to live on bread an' water for five days an' run two miles every morning, wearin' the electric belt. Didn't do no business here, though, 'cause most of the boys wanted to put on weight, not lose it."

"Some graft," Hawkins declared. "Well, that's neither here nor there.

Find that bread and meat, Nort?"

"Yep. Got it all fixed up. Say, by the way, I wonder where that Mex cook of ours went?"

"That's so too!" exclaimed Hawkins, as they hurriedly ate a lunch.

"Forgot all about him in the excitement. No use looking for him now, I suppose. He may turn up."

"Then again he may not," the Kid spoke grimly. "We're well rid of him, I think. Don't like them Greasers nohow, and this one was no prize beauty. Didn't Bud say he was one of Delton's men?"

"Said he might be. He's not so bad, Kid. He may be dumb, but I don't think he'd pull anything really raw."

"You seem right interested in him, Nort."

"No, it isn't that, but I just don't like to see you get him wrong.

Well, never mind. Let it ride. How about starting back, Mr. Hawkins?"

"Right. Blow out that lamp, Kid, and let's be on our way."

The three made their way toward the door, moving by sense of touch. As they reached their ponies, tied up near the house, the moon was a pale disc hanging on the edge of the horizon. The chill wind of dawn stirred restlessly, and the men s.h.i.+vered slightly. Though their wet clothes had nearly dried, they were still a bit damp, and not conducive to comfort on the open prairie.

"Just about make it if we step along," Nort said, looking up at the dimming stars.

"Takes a long while to get light out here," Yellin' Kid a.s.serted.

"We'll get there before dawn. But let's go. I'm frozen."

The three threw their mounts into a gallop and set out once more for Delton's ranch.

"I had an idea that Billee Dobb wanted to stay with Bud," Nort said as they sped along. "The old boy hates to miss any action."

"Well, I thought as long as he really wanted to go back, he might as well go," Hawkins declared. "He might be of some help, after all.

Never can tell what will happen when you're trailing a gang like Delton's."

"You mean pretty rough, hey?"

"Sure! They have to be, to get along in their business. It's no child's play, smuggling Chinese. And it's no picnic capturing them, either."

Over the darkened range the three rode, like avenging angels. No time now for hesitating, and seeking a sure footing for the horses. They must take their chance. And if one spilled--well--it was all in the game. They must reach Bud and d.i.c.k before dawn. To Nort, sticking tight to his galloping pony, it seemed to have been a waste of time to ride all the way back to the Shooting Star. But on second thought he realized that it was necessary for them to have food, for they might be gone some time. A man can neither fight nor ride well on an empty stomach.

"Nearly there!" commented the Kid. No one was wasting words now.

Breath was too precious. The only sounds heard were the even beats of the ponies' feet on the earth, and the creaking of the saddles.

Hawkins was riding well, the Kid saw, even though he did come from the east. To the cowboy all places not west are "east," and so it was that the Kid looked upon Was.h.i.+ngton.

"Make it?" Nort called to the Kid.

"Sure! Coming to the water hole now."

The Kid's thoughts were racing along, keeping pace with the horses'

flying feet. As is the case when one is engaged in work of a monotonous nature, such as riding, one's thoughts seem to whirl about in a circle, the same subjects recurring with regularity. The Kid was thinking about his lost bronco. Then Delton. Then the reward. Then back to the bronco again. And all the while the miles were disappearing behind him.

Suddenly the Kid pulled his mount to a stop.

"Wait!" he cautioned. "Isn't that where we left Bud, just ahead?"