The Boy Ranchers Part 8

"A maverick gets its name from an old Texas ranchman named Sam Maverick," answered Bud. "He didn't brand his cattle, and one day, during a stampede, his steers mixed in with a lot more that were branded. He and his men cut them out and hazed over to his range all cattle that weren't branded. Every cow, calf or steer that didn't have a brand on was called one of Maverick's, and so we call, now, any unbranded animal a 'maverick.' Anybody who finds it can brand it and claim it as his, though; in some places all the mavericks are bunched together and divided. But say, I wonder what Babe's doing, anyhow? I haven't heard a shot, and he must be up to that bunch of rustlers now, if that's what they were."

"What else could they be?" asked Nort.

"I don't know," Bud replied. "Anyhow, here's some of the cattle. Look out you don't run into 'em!" he called sharply, as he pulled in his pony.

He spoke just in time to warn Nort and d.i.c.k, for, in another instant, they found themselves among the tail-enders of a bunch of cattle that had run from them at first.

No men were in sight--not even Babe--and there was a haze of clouds over the moon now, and a sort of fog close to the ground, that prevented clear vision.

"Are these your cattle?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Tell you in a minute," responded the young cattleman. He rode up alongside one of the animals and focused on its rump the gleam from an electric flash light. Bud carried one of these mighty handy pocket articles, which are much more effective than matches for making observations at night. In the bright gleam of the little light the boy ranchers saw, plainly branded in the hide of the animal, a large diamond, with the letter X in the centre.

"Dad's stock--all of 'em, I reckon!" exclaimed Bud, as he flashed his torch on others in the bunch, revealing more of the Diamond X brand.

"But where are the rustlers?" asked Nort, in a tense whisper, and his hand sought the holster where his newly-acquired weapon rested.

"I don't know," began Bud. "They may have ridden off, or it may be that----"

He stopped suddenly and listened. d.i.c.k and Nort heard, as did Bud, the rapid approach of a horseman. In an instant Bud had switched off his pocket electric light, and then in the half hazy light of the partly obscured moon he and his cousins peered forward. Nort and d.i.c.k had drawn their guns, an example set them by Bud.

"Don't do any shooting until you hear me," ordered Bud. "There may be no need of it!"

The rider, unseen as yet, was coming nearer and nearer, the thud of his horse's feet pounding hard on the turf. He seemed to be approaching from the direction in which Babe had disappeared.

In another instant the rider was pulling his horse to a quick stop beside Bud's animal, and when a beam of misty moonlight flashed out from beneath a cloud it was seen that the a.s.sistant foreman of Diamond X ranch had returned.

"Oh!" exclaimed Nort, and there was almost a note of disappointment in his voice because the rider did not develop into a cattle rustler.

"Did you see any of 'em?" asked Bud eagerly.

"Not a hair," answered Babe Milton, who proved that he could be active enough when occasion called for it, in spite of his size and weight.

"But I heard some one riding off down the gully, and if it was any of our boys, or any of the fellows around here, they wouldn't have run.

Besides, these steers belong to the bunch Happy Day is hazin' over to the railroad. They didn't get cut out by themselves."

"Not much," agreed Bud, while Nort and d.i.c.k listened eagerly.

"So I'm going on a little farther," said Babe. "You fellows stay here, and if I don't get back in an hour--well, you'll know something happened."

"Can't we come?" asked d.i.c.k, eagerly.

"You'd better stay here," advised Babe. "Somebody'll have to ride herd on these steers, and I can deal with those rascals better'n you boys--though I may need your help later. Anyhow, Bud, you stay here, and herd 'em in till I get back--if I do."

"And if you don't?" asked Bud. There was a world of meaning in those few words, for cattle rustlers were desperate men.

"If I don't, ride back to the ranch an' tell the boss," spoke Babe simply, as if it was all in the day's work--or night's.

"All right," agreed Bud. He realized that though he was the son of the owner of Diamond X ranch, in this case the word of Babe exceeded even his heritage.

Turning his horse quickly, after a brief examination of his saddle girths, Babe spurred away into the haze of the cloudy moonlight, leaving the boy ranchers to guard the cattle. The animals, after their run, were content to remain quiet now, moving about a bit uneasily, and rumbling as if in protest now and then. They were all full-grown beasts, ready for the market, and valuable.

"S'pose he'll get any of 'em?" whispered Nort.

"Can't say," answered Bud, briefly. "Babe generally does get what he goes after, though." This was significant.

In silence, broken only by the occasional lowing of the cattle, the boy ranchers waited--waited for they knew not what. And then, as suddenly as an explosion, came a cry in the night--and such a cry!

An unearthly noise of long drawn out howling notes, mingled with roars, the crescendo effect ending in a peal of weird yells that were like the cries of a laughing hyena, mingled with the sardonic wails of a baboon.

CHAPTER VIII

"THE PROFESSOR!"

Loud and long drawn out was that weird cry of the night. It sent s.h.i.+vers down the spines of Nort and d.i.c.k, and they both confessed, afterward, that if they had not been wearing the heavy range hats, supplied them by Bud, that their hair would surely have risen and stood up straight.

Then, as suddenly as it had come to them out of the half darkness, the fiendish noise ceased, dying away in what seemed to be sobbing, insane laughter. With a swallow or two, to wet his parched lips and fear-dried throat, d.i.c.k asked in a whisper:

"What--what was that?"

Like an echo came his brother's question:

"Was somebody killed?"

Bud's hearty laugh relieved the tension.

"It was only a coyote," said the boy from the ranch.

"A _coyote_!" repeated Nort and d.i.c.k in unison.

"Yes; you'll see plenty of 'em, and you must have heard of 'em. Little animals, sort of half wolf, half dog. They hang about for something to eat, and they sure can howl!"

"_Howl!_" exclaimed Nort. "If that's a _howl_ I want to know it! Of all the infernal noises----"

"You said it!" exclaimed his brother. "Was that his death cry, Bud?

Did Babe shoot one?"

"No, of course not. It isn't as easy to shoot one of the pesky coyotes as you'd think, and it isn't much use. They don't do any particular harm around here. Besides, you didn't hear any shooting; did you?"

d.i.c.k was forced to admit that he had not, and he reproved himself for not using his faculties to better advantage. He was beginning to realize that if he was to be a westerner, an outdoor lad and a rancher, he must learn to observe, something that Bud had already acquired in large measure.

"Do they always howl that way?" asked Nort, as he shoved back into his holster the gun he had half drawn again.

"Not always--lots of times it's worse!" chuckled Bud.

"_Worse!_" cried d.i.c.k. "I don't see how it could be. What do they do it for?" he asked, as, once again, that strange cry welled forth on the night.