The Boy Scouts On The Range Part 31

Ranger snorted violently and then, trembling in every limb, came to a dead stop.

"Why, Ranger, I----" began Mr. Mayberry, when, with hideous yells, several dark forms rushed from the surrounding gloom. As their soul-chilling yell burst from those hideously painted faces, distorted with the vilest of pa.s.sions, a terrific blow was dealt the Indian agent from behind, and he fell forward, almost beneath the trampling hoofs of the maddened Ranger.

His a.s.sailants were the same Indians who had been trailing him all the previous night, and who had lain in wait for him outside the settlement.

The taste of blood is said to trans.m.u.te a hitherto peaceful sheep dog into a creature more dangerous to his flock than even a marauding wolf.

In like manner, the Moquis' dash off the reservation had converted them into a ferocity of mind which had speedily wiped off the varnish civilization had applied so painstakingly.

While one of the Indians, seemingly the leader of the band, possessed himself of the agent's fine rifle, another hastened to seize the plunging Ranger's bridle. But the animal, beside himself with rage and fear, reared straight upright. Angered, the Indian dealt him a blow with a heavy rawhide quirt. With a squeal of rage, Ranger struck with his iron-shod forefeet at the redskin, and striking him on the head, toppled him over in the road beside his master.

The fellow, however, was not badly hurt, and was soon on his feet again.

Meanwhile, the other red men hoisted the agent's unconscious form over the back of one of their ponies.

Jeffries Mayberry lay as if he were dead. Blood flowed from the wound that the weapon with which he had been struck had inflicted on the back of his head. Only the regular rising and falling of his deep, ma.s.sive chest showed that he still lived.

Glancing furtively about them, the Indians, including the one who had been felled by Ranger, remounted and prepared to proceed. The chief, however, on whose pony the still form of Jeffries Mayberry lay, found himself thus without a mount, and essayed to ride Ranger. Splendid rider as the fellow was, he met more than his match in the Indian agent's steed. Time and again he attempted to mount, only to be driven off by Ranger, who rushed at the member of the hated race, with bared teeth and ears wickedly set back.

With a laugh that acknowledged his defeat, the Indian finally gave up the attempt, and mounted his pony, sitting far back on the animal's rump. In the glance he threw at the fiery Ranger there was an expression of admiration and respect. There are few horses that an Indian cannot master.

Attempts to lead Ranger proved equally hopeless, but as he seemed to be inclined to follow his master's form, they allowed him to trail behind.

And so the procession wound on, sometimes following a trail and sometimes striking off through the trackless wild. Never once did the redskins falter, but kept on as unhesitatingly as if following a beaten track.

Occasionally, as they journeyed on, poor Ranger gave vent to a pathetic whinny, but the master he loved so well lay still and motionless on the back of the Indian pony that bore him.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE MAVERICK RAID.

"Hark!"

Through the dark, low-lying ma.s.s that marked the feeding maverick herd, a sort of convulsive shudder suddenly ran. The movement, somewhat like the undulation of a long wave, had not been lost on the keen eyes of the Boy Scouts lying crouched under the night sky behind a chaparral-covered rise.

It was Rob who voiced the warning. Since we last heard of him at Red Flat, the boy had arrived at the ranch, and been welcomed with--well, let each one of my readers imagine for himself how he would greet his chum if he had been separated from him under such trying circ.u.mstances, and if, for a time, he had even feared that his friend might be dead.

Suffice it to say that it was fully half an hour before Rob could be released from his chums and tell his story to Mr. Harkness, including confirmation of the Indian's story, that Clark Jennings and his evil companions meant to steal the mavericks while the rancher's attention was diverted by the hunt for the missing boy.

A hasty supper had been dispatched soon after, and then the Boy Scouts, Mr. Harkness and the cow-punchers had set out for the Far Pasture. They reached there at nightfall, and found everything apparently in orderly shape. Owing to the uncertainty from which quarter the cattle thieves were likely to make their attack, Mr. Harkness had decided to distribute his little force in two wings, so to speak. To the south of the feeding bunch of mavericks he had deployed his cow-punchers under his own leadership. The northern flank of the feeding band was placed under the guardianship of the Boy Scouts.

"Now, boys," had been Mr. Harkness's parting words, as he rode off, "the signal that they have arrived will be two shots in quick succession.

Remember, don't fire at the raiders unless you have to. Concentrate your efforts on saving the cattle. If Jennings and his outfit once succeed in getting them headed up toward the mountains, they are as good as lost. Jennings has some sort of secret pasture where he can keep them till he finds time to clap his brand on and dispose of them in the open market."

"But in the meantime you can have him arrested," objected Rob.

"That is true, but a bunch like that always has secret agents. If all the men whom I know to be implicated in the Jennings' escapades were in jail, there would still be men on the outside of the prison walls to carry on their nefarious work."

For an hour or more no sound had come to disturb the great silence which brooded above the grazing grounds. The herd moved easily and steadily over their feeding places, displaying no symptoms of alarm as they cropped the half-dry gra.s.s.

Rob had enjoined perfect silence among the Boy Scouts of the Ranger Patrol, and the boys, composed, lay like veterans to their arms behind their shelter.

Suddenly a maverick that had been lying down on the outskirts of the herd lumbered heavily to its feet, and raising its head, sniffed the air for a moment. Then it emitted a shrill bellow. A thrill ran through the boys as the young steer gave its alarm.

Simultaneously, almost, with the maverick's cry had come marked restlessness among its mates. They stopped feeding and moved uneasily to and fro. They huddled together as cattle do before one of the electric storms of the Southwest breaks over them.

"They hear something coming," whispered Merritt, who lay next to Rob.

"Must be scared, to stop eating," put in Tubby, from his position alongside Harry Harkness, on Rob's other side.

"Hush!" breathed the young leader. "Listen!"

"I don't hear anything," said Merritt.

"Yes, you do. Listen again. Off there to the north."

"You mean that sort of trampling sound?"

"Yes."

"I thought that was the cattle," put in Merritt.

"No. I hear what Rob means," whispered Harry. "It's riders, and they're coming this way."

The slight sound that had first attracted Rob's keen ears now grew in volume till it resolved itself into the rattle of ponies' hoofs approaching at a smart gallop.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Rob, half unconsciously clasping his rifle.

"Well, they don't seem to be anxious to disguise their approach,"

commented Harry.

"No, why should they? They figure that only three or four punchers at most are guarding the herd. With the force they have with them they suppose, I guess, that they can scare the punchers off."

"I reckon that's it," agreed Merritt.

Closer and closer drew the galloping, and Merritt began to shift uneasily. The others, too, began to stir about, eager for the word to advance and mount their ponies, which were concealed behind a high rampart of chaparral a few paces off. At last Rob gave the word.

"Crawl over to your ponies, boys. Don't show a head."

Silently as so many snakes, the Boy Scouts retreated, and managed to gain their little mounts without making any suspicious sounds.

"Ready for the signal yet, Rob?" asked Merritt, noticing that the young leader had slipped his revolver from its holster.

"Not yet. Give them a little more rope. We want to see what their plans are before giving the alarm."

"All right. But don't let them give us the slip."

"Not likely. Remember, I've got a few scores to even up with Master Clark Jennings and Company myself."