George at the Fort Part 24

"That sounds better," said Bob, who was greatly relieved. "When you spoke of Mr. Wentworth's neighbors, I was afraid that our pleasure-excursion was about to be brought to an end, for he doesn't live so _very_ far from the fort, you know."

"It's just over there," shouted Mr. Wentworth at this moment. "I see cattle, and that proves that the raiders didn't scoop Taylor as they did me. Now look sharp; we've got rounding out enough to do already."

"What does he mean by that?" asked Bob.

"He means that we mustn't allow our cattle to mix in with Mr. Taylor's, for if we do we shall have to round them all out again. By 'rounding out' we mean separating the different herds from each other; and that is something that none but good herdsmen can do. It requires skill and a big stock of patience, I tell you. Just let a few green hands try it, and see how much they would make at it. Why, they would scare the cattle so that they would run clear out of the State."

Although Mr. Wentworth had declared that Mr. Taylor's ranche was "just over there," our friends did not reach it that day, nor until late in the afternoon of the next. Before they got there they knew just what Mr.

Taylor's experience with the Kiowa raiders had been, for they had pa.s.sed two or three of his herds, whose keepers had told them all about it. The Indians had suddenly made their appearance, coming from the south, and driving before them a large number of cattle; and although they had not come within five miles of Mr. Taylor's ranche, they had picked up one of his small herds which happened to be in their path.

Our friends camped that night close by Mr. Taylor's ranche, which proved to be a perfect little fort. It was built of heavy stone, was well supplied with provisions, and defended by five stalwart fellows who were armed with Winchester rifles. The raiders would have had a nice time of it if they had come there. The owner listened in great surprise to Mr.

Wentworth's story, made much of his boys, and would not let him and George "round out" the stock that bore his brand.

"You're welcome to the steers, neighbor," said he. "I've got more left than I can take care of if the Kiowas bounce me as earnestly as they did you, and you will need them to help you start a new herd."

This same thing was repeated by every one of the half a dozen other ranchemen to whom Mr. Wentworth offered to surrender their stock. They all sympathized with him, and wanted to aid him by every means in their power. The result was, that our friends arrived within one day's march of their journey's end with just as many cattle as they had when they left the Staked Plains. Although Mr. Wentworth had been "completely cleaned out," he was still worth something like twenty thousand dollars.

George and his party made their last camp a short distance from the cabin of a squatter, who rode over to see them during the evening. He went home about ten o'clock, and George and his companions lay down on their blankets, leaving the herd to the care of four mounted troopers.

The latter, who during the journey had exhibited the greatest eagerness to learn something of the mysteries of cattle-herding, had so far progressed in knowledge and skill as to be able to stand guard at night, and to give George and Mr. Wentworth an opportunity to obtain the rest of which they began to stand so much in need. About midnight George mounted his horse and rode around the herd to a.s.sure himself that everything was just as it should be. He went on horseback, because everybody rides while working about Texas cattle. If a man should venture among them on foot during the daytime, his life would be in danger; and if he went around them at night, he would probably stampede the whole herd.

"All serene," said Loring, who was the first guard George encountered during his rounds. "The moon shines so brightly that I can see the movements of every steer in the drove."

"If we were a little nearer the river perhaps things wouldn't be quite so serene," answered George. "The Mexicans take just such a night as this for their raids."

About an hour after George had retired to his blanket Loring noticed that the cattle began to show signs of uneasiness. Those that were standing up began to move about, those that were lying down arose and moved about with them, and presently the whole herd was in motion. The cattle did not attempt to run away, but walked restlessly about, as if they were unable to find a place that suited them.

"Suke, thing! suke, thing!" said Loring coaxingly.

The travelled reader would have said at once that Loring was a Southerner; and if he could have heard Phillips on the other side of the cattle trying to soothe them with "Co-boss! co-boss!" he would have said that Phillips was from the North. But the cattle did not understand either of them, or if they did they paid no attention to them. Their restlessness increased every moment, and finally Loring, good soldier though he was, deserted his post and started for camp as fast as he could make his horse walk.

"Ackerman," said he in an excited voice, "get up. There is something wrong with those cattle."

George was on his feet in an instant. One glance at the herd was enough.

"I should say there was something wrong!" he exclaimed. "How long has this thing been going on?"

"Not more than five minutes."

"Which way are they looking," continued George.

"Every way, but the most of them keep their heads in that direction,"

said Loring, waving his arm toward the south.

"Call everybody in camp while I speak to Bob and Mr. Wentworth. No noise now. I am afraid we are going to have trouble."

In less than two minutes all the troopers had been aroused, and George was holding an earnest consultation with Mr. Wentworth and the corporal.

"I've seen cattle act that way before," said he, speaking as rapidly as he could make his tongue move, for time was precious; "and if we were a little nearer the river I could easily tell what is the matter with them; but I never heard of the Greasers coming so far into the country as this, and it may be nothing but nervousness that's troubling them.

My advice would be to mount the men and move them quietly in line on the north side of the herd, and perhaps by making such a show of numbers we can keep them within bounds until they are quieted down.--What do you say, Mr. Wentworth?"

"It is the only thing that can be done," replied Mr. Wentworth, who seemed to be greatly excited and alarmed; "and even that is a slim chance.--Make haste, corporal. Do all you can for me, for if I lose this herd I shall be ruined, sure enough."

"Catch up!" commanded Bob.

"Look here," said George, seizing his friend by the shoulder and speaking with all the earnestness he could throw into his tones: "if you get in line in front of those cattle, and they start to run toward you, don't try to stop them, for you can't do it, any more than we could stop those buffaloes the other night. Run before them, and gradually draw off to the right or left of them, and you will get safely off; otherwise they will certainly run over you. But I am afraid it is too late to do anything," added George as he noted the increasing restlessness of the cattle.

"It is too late! it is too late!" exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, rubbing his hands nervously together. "There they go!"

Even as he spoke a noise like the rumbling of distant thunder sounded in their ears, and instantly the whole herd made off at the top of its speed. Looking over the ma.s.s of horns and tails that was tossed wildly in the air, the troopers were horrified to see Phillips standing directly in front of it. Being fully determined to do his duty to the utmost, the brave fellow sat in his saddle, swinging his arms about his head, and no doubt shouting at the top of his voice to stop the advance of the frightened herd, which was bearing down upon him with the resistless power of an avalanche.

"The man is crazy!" cried George in great alarm. Then, raising both hands to his face and using them as a speaking-trumpet, he yelled, with all the power of his lungs,

"Run! run for your life!"

Phillips afterward said that he did not hear what George said to him--in fact, he couldn't hear anything but the noise of those hoofs--but, seeing that if he remained where he was his death was certain, he wheeled his horse and fled with the speed of the wind. The last his friends saw of him was as he dashed over the top of a ridge, with the stampeded cattle close behind him. When they were all out of sight and the rumble of their hoofs had died away in the distance, the troopers turned to look at Mr. Wentworth. He stood with his hands in his pockets gazing disconsolately in the direction in which the herd had disappeared, but had nothing to say.

"Now, here's a go!" whispered Bob, giving George a nudge in the ribs with his elbow. "What am I to do? This is something Captain Clinton didn't think to provide for, isn't it? I was ordered to go to Holmes's ranche with Mr. Wentworth, but I wasn't told to follow up and collect his cattle if they were stampeded."

"You mustn't think of following them up," said George decidedly. "There is no man in the world who could get that same herd together again, for it will join others as soon as it gets over its fright; and how could we tell these cattle from others bearing the same brand? They are gone, and that's all there is of it. You must mount at once and see if you can find anything of Phillips."

"All right!--Mr. Wentworth," said Bob, "we are very sorry for the loss you have sustained, but we have done all we could for you."

"I know it, corporal, and I am very grateful to you and to the captain, who was kind enough to send you with me. Such things as these will happen sometimes, in spite of everything. Now I hardly know what to do."

Neither would anybody else have known what to do under the same circ.u.mstances. Mr. Wentworth had no home, no property except his rifle and the horses he and his boys rode, no work to do, and but little to eat in his haversack. It was a trying situation for a man who but a few days before had been worth a fortune, and almost any one would have been disheartened.

"I'll tell you what you can do," said George. "You can easily find your way to the Ackerman settlement, and if you go there and give Mr. Gilbert a note of introduction which I will write for you, he will take care of you until you can decide upon something."

George did not feel at liberty to tell Mr. Wentworth all he had on his mind. As soon as he returned to the fort he intended to write to his guardian, asking him if he might furnish Mr. Wentworth with a sufficient number of cattle from his own herds to give the impoverished man a new start in life. Of course Mr. Wentworth had a few cattle of his own among those that had just run off, but it would take some time to gather them up; and as he would not want to be troubled with his boys while he was engaged in the work, George intended to ask Mr. Gilbert to take care of them during their father's absence, and to lend Mr.

Wentworth a few good herdsmen to a.s.sist him in getting his stock together. While he was thinking about it, and before Mr. Wentworth could thank him for his generous offer, something happened which told them very plainly that the stampede that had just taken place was not owing to the nervousness of the cattle, but to the presence of those of whom George Ackerman had every reason to stand in fear.

Their attention was first attracted by some unusual sound. They could not have told what it was or from which direction it came, but they all heard it, and waited for it to be repeated, that they might locate and define it. There was a moment's silence, and then a chorus of wild yells arose on the night air, accompanied by the rapid discharge of firearms.

The troopers looked at one another in blank amazement, and then at George, who was not long in a.s.signing a cause for the disturbance.

"The Greasers are attacking the squatter," he exclaimed; and he was quite as much astonished to be called upon to say it as the troopers were to hear it. It must be a strong and daring band that would venture so far into the country, and almost involuntarily George whispered the name of Fletcher. Bob was quick to decide upon his course. He knew just what Captain Clinton would expect of him if he were there.

"Mr. Wentworth," said he, "we must lend that man a helping hand. As you can't go with us on account of your boys, you will have to look out for yourself and them."

"And I am just the man who can do it," replied Mr. Wentworth. "Good-bye and good luck to you! Shoot hard, and shoot to hit."

"How cool and confident he is! I wish I had half his courage," thought Bob as he ordered his men into their saddles, following it up with the commands, "Forward! Trot! gallop!"

The troopers fell into line as they moved off, and a few yards in advance of them rode George and Bob. The former could easily have taken the lead if he had desired to do so, but, knowing that he did not command the squad, he curbed his impatience as well as he could and kept close by his friend's side. The troopers unslung their carbines, George made ready his Winchester, while Bob, who believed as firmly in the virtues of "cold steel" as did the gallant officer whom he afterward accompanied on his last memorable march, drew his sabre. All on a sudden the firing ceased, and when the troopers rode over the brow of a ridge a few minutes later, they saw a thin blue smoke arising from the squatter's cabin, and that told them more than they wanted to know.

George was both astonished and enraged at the sight--astonished to know that the raiders would stop during one of their marauding expeditions, when haste was so necessary, to attack and burn so humble a dwelling as the abode of the squatter, and enraged to see that they had been successful enough to do even that. There was a crowd of Mexicans around the building, and others with horses were standing close by.

"Gobble the horses, Bob," said George, who was so highly excited that he could scarcely speak, "and then you can ride down and capture the raiders at your leisure."

Bob caught the idea in an instant. Turning in his saddle, he waved his sabre over his head, but instead of giving the command "Charge!" he effectually closed the mouths of his followers, who had already opened their lips and drawn in a long breath preparatory to giving vent to their favorite yell, by saying in a low tone, "Silence!"