Boy Scouts on the Range, Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  NEWS OF THE MOQUIS.

  "Wow!" yelled the onlookers, as Clark's body struck the floor with aresounding thwack.

  Jess was in an agony of excitement over the sudden downfall of hisfriend. He was just about to hurl himself upon Rob when a suddendetaining arm fell on his with a heavy pressure.

  "Hold on there. We want fair play."

  It was Merritt Crawford who spoke, and Jess sullenly dropped hisbelligerent look. Somehow, the happenings of the last few seconds hadaltered the aspect of the tenderfeet materially in the eyes of the twoyoung cow-punchers.

  "I'll fix you," growled Clark furiously, scrambling to his feet.

  "Why did you let him get up?" asked Tubby, his round cheeks glowing withexcitement.

  "Because I want to give him plenty of rope," said Rob, a grim lookcreeping over his usually pleasant face.

  A sudden furious onrush on the part of Clark prohibited furtherconversation.

  "Go in and eat him up, Clark!" shouted a lanky, long-legged cow-puncher,one of several who had been attracted by the rumpus.

  "Looks as if your friend had developed a sudden attack of indigestion,"grinned Tubby delightedly, as Rob's fist collided with the advancingClark's jaw, much to the latter's astonishment.

  "Never seed nothing like it," commented the landlord, somewhat lessmelancholy now. "Clark's the champeen round here."

  "He may be when he's got a gun to back him up, but not when he has tofall back on his fists," retorted Merritt.

  "Look out!" he yelled suddenly, as the young cow-puncher, finding thatfair methods seemed to have failed, attempted a foul blow below Rob'sbelt.

  But there was no need of the warning. Rob had seen the blow cominghalfway, swiftly delivered as it was. The cowardly attempt at foultactics thoroughly enraged him.

  "I thought Westerners fought fair," he gritted out, gripping theastonished cow-puncher by the wrist of the offending hand. Before Clarkcould gasp his astonishment, his other wrist was captive.

  Then a strange thing happened. Before any one had time to realize justhow it occurred, Clark's body was describing a sweeping arc in the air.His heels rushed through the atmosphere fully five feet from the floor.Like the lash of a whip, his powerless body was straightened out as hereached the limit of the aerial curve he had described. At the sameinstant a dismayed yell broke from his pallid lips as Rob let go.

  Over the veranda rail, and out into the dusty road the young cow-puncherfollowed his revolver. He landed in a heap in the white dust, while Robyelled triumphantly:

  "Now pick up your gun and profit by the lesson in manners I've givenyou."

  So saying, the boy calmly seated himself once more in the disputedchair, only a slight, quick movement of his chest betraying the greatphysical effort he had been through. After all, surprising as it hadseemed, there was nothing very amazing about Rob's achievement. At theHampton Academy athletics had always been a boast. The trick Rob hadjust put into execution he had learned from his physical instructor,who in his turn had picked it up from a Samurai wrestler of Japan. Butto the cowboys, and other loungers about the Mesaville Hotel, the feathad been little short of marvelous.

  They eagerly thronged about the boy as he took his seat once more, andthis time he remained in undisputed possession of it.

  "Whip-sawed, that's what Clark was," exclaimed one of the group.

  Another, the same tall, lanky fellow who had just been urging the youngcow-puncher on to what he thought would be an easy victory, approachedRob.

  "Say, stranger," he asked eagerly, "will you teach me that tharcontraption?"

  "Couldn't do it," rejoined Rob soberly, although a smile played aboutthe corners of his lips.

  "Why not?"

  "Because, then, you'd know as much as I do," responded Rob. Theassemblage burst into a loud roar of laughter, in which you may be sure,however, there were two voices which did not join. Those two were ClarkJennings' and Jess Randell's. The former had just picked himself up andstuffed his gun in his pistol pocket. A malevolent scowl marked his faceas he did so. Nor did Jess smooth over matters by remarking audibly:

  "Say, Clark, what was the matter with you?"

  "Chilled feet, I guess," chortled Tubby, who had overheard the remark.

  "Get away from me, can't you?" snarled Clark irritably, facing round onhis well-meaning crony, "why didn't you help me out?"

  "Help you out--how?"

  "Why, trip that tenderfoot up when I rushed him."

  "Oh, shucks, I thought you fought fair," said Jess, a little disgustedin spite of himself.

  "So I do," snorted Clark, "when I'm winning."

  "Well, come on round and see to the ponies. We'll think up some way toget even with these grain-fed mavericks before very long," comfortedJess.

  "You bet, and in a way they won't forget, either," Clark Jenningspromised himself, as he followed his companion to the corral.

  Not long after this, the boys perceived, far out on the sultry plain, asudden swirl of dust.

  "Something coming," shouted Tubby, who, strange to say, had been thefirst to notice the approaching column of dust.

  "Team," briefly grunted the landlord, "did I hear you fellers say youwas waiting for some one from the Harkness range?"

  "Yes, you did," said Rob.

  "Waal, I guess that's them now. Must have a bear-cat of a team in tokick up all that smother."

  Closer and closer grew the dust cloud, and presently, from its yellowswirls, emerged the heads of the leaders of an eight-mule team. Behindthem lumbered a big, broad-tired wagon, from the bed of which a highseat was reared like a watch tower. By the driver's side was a long ironfoot brake. As the team approached the bank of the sandy little dried-upriver, where the road took a dip, the driver placed his foot on thebrake and a loud screeching and groaning resulted, as the big wagon,with the hind wheels locked, slid down the far bank. As the front wheelsthundered across the rough bridge above the thin thread of luke-warmwater, the heads of the first mules emerged over the top of the banknearest the hotel.

  "Mountain style," commented the long, lanky cow-puncher admiringly, asthe driver, a tall, sun-burned lad of about Rob's age, whirled a longwhip three or four times round his head and concluded the flourish witha loud "crack" as sharp and penetrating as a pistol shot.

  An instant later the heavy wagon and its eight, dust-choked, sweatingmules swept up in front of the hotel porch. The driver, flinging thesingle line with which he drove to his companion, clambered from hislofty perch and was immediately surrounded by the three tenderfeet.

  "Well, you certainly come into town with a flourish of trumpets,"laughed Rob, after the first salutations between the Eastern boys andHarry Harkness, the rancher's son, had been exchanged.

  "Sorry to have kept you waiting so long," responded the other, who inorder to speak had pulled down a big red handkerchief which had bundledup the lower part of his face and kept it dust-proof while he drove;"but the fact is, we had some trouble on the way. A bunch of Moquis areout, and----"

  "Indians!" gasped Tubby, with round eyes.

  "Yes, regular Indians," laughed Harry; "the Moquis' reservation is offa hundred miles or more to the northwest, near Fort Miles, but----"

  "They're off the reservation," cut in Tubby, proud of his knowledge.

  "Out fer a snake dance, I reckon," put in the long, lanky cow-puncher,who had been an interested listener.

  "Why, hello, Lone Star," exclaimed Harry. "I didn't know you were intown. Yes," he went on, "there's a secret valley in the Santa Catapinaswhich has been used by them for centuries for their festivals, andalthough they are supposed to be kept within the limits of thereservation, every once in a while a bunch of them get over here andhold a snake dance."

  "I've read about them," said Rob; "they do all kinds of weird thingswith rattlesnakes, don't they?"

  "Well, no white man has ever seen them--or, if he has, never lived totell about it," said Harry, "so of course nobody knows exactly what theydo. But
anyhow, when we camped last night we had eight mules, and whenwe woke this morning there were only six. Jose, there--hey, Jose, wakeup!" He prodded the Mexican who still sat on the wagon seat, with theend of his long whip. "Well, as I was saying, Jose trailed them andfound them tethered in a arroyo about a mile from camp."

  "The Indians took them?" asked Merritt.

  "Yes, Jose, who's as good a trailer as he is a sleeper, foundunmistakable tracks of Moquis. I suppose they took the mules in thenight and then got scared at something and hitched them in the arroyo,meaning to come back for them."

  "Whereabouts did the Injuns cut into you, Harry?"

  A new voice had broken into the conversation. That of Clark Jennings. Henursed above his right eye a rapidly swelling "goose egg," marking thespot at which he had collided with the roadway. At his elbow was thefaithful Jess Randell.

  "Why, hello, Clark, you in town, too? Every one from the Santa Catapinasseems to be in to-day--you, too, Jess. Well, the Indians paid us theirlittle call just this side of the Salt Licks,--why?"

  "Oh, jes' wanted to know. Me and Jess has got to ride home that wayto-night, for it's better riding when it's cool; and I thought I'd liketo know whar to expect the varmints."

  "Well, that's the best information I can give you," said Harry, "butwhat have you been doing to your eye?"

  "Oh, nothing," muttered Clark, turning away, while a loud guffaw wentup.

  "What's all the joke,--what is it?" asked Harry. It was soon explained,and the young rancher burst into a laugh.

  "Say, Rob, you must mean to clean the country of bad men. Trimmed ClarkJennings! Ho, ho, ho!"

  "Has he much of a reputation?" inquired Rob innocently, but with atwinkle in his eye.

  "I should say so. He won't forgive you in a hurry. He's going to be yourneighbor, too, for a while."

  "How's that?"

  "His father owns the next ranch to us. Jess Randell is Clark's cousin,an orphan, you know. He lives there, too. The two are great cronies, andthink a lot of their reputation as tough citizens. The whole bunch havea bad name."

  As the team from the Harkness ranch was tired out by the long, hardjourney across the hot desert, it was decided that the boys should spendthe night at the Mesaville House, and start for the ranch the nextmorning while it was cool. This would bring them into the mountains bydusk. Over supper they laughed and talked merrily, recalling the lasttime they had met, which was in a wet, dripping fog off the Long Islandcoast. How differently were they now situated!

  After the meal Merritt and Harry sat down to a game of checkers, whileTubby, seated in a big chair, indulged in his favorite occupation--namely,taking a quiet doze. As for Rob, he wandered about the little town awhile, but found nothing to interest him. Small as Mesaville was incommon with most towns of the same character, it boasted several lowdens in which the cow-punchers, miners and sheepmen gambled and dranktheir hard-earned money away. From these dens, as usual, there came thesame blasts of foolish talk and loud laughter, as their swing doorsopened and closed. A glare of light poured from their blazing interiorsto the quiet, moonlit desert outside.

  As Rob, rather sickened, turned away from this section of the town, thedoors of one of the places swung open, and the forms of Clark Jenningsand his crony, Jess, emerged; with them was a third figure, that of atall, stoop-shouldered young man. The eyes of all three fellsimultaneously on the figure of Rob as he walked away.

  "Talk of the train and you hear her whistle," grinned Jess. "There he isnow."

  The companion of the two young cow-punchers nodded.

  "That's him, all right. I recognize him. It'll be candy to me to geteven with him."

  "We can trust you, Jack?"

  "I'll fix him, never fear."

  "All right, then, we're going to start. We'll ride into town ag'in in afew days and fix you up."

  "All right. I need the money. How's Bill and Hank making out?"

  "Oh, doing odd jobs around the ranch. You know, Cousin Bill has turnedout to be quite a cow-puncher; guess he rode horses back East?"

  "Yes, his father owned some in Hampton," rejoined the stoop-shoulderedyoung man. (It will be recalled that when Bill Bender left Hampton hespoke of stopping a while with relatives in the West.)

  After a little more talk, the three bade each other good night. Soon theclatter of two ponies' hoofs, growing fainter and fainter in thedistance, marked the departure from town of Clark Jennings and hiscrony. In the meantime, Rob had looked into the hotel, and finding Harryand Merritt still engrossed in a hotly contested fifth game, and Tubbysnoring contentedly, had set out on another stroll. This time hisaimless footsteps took him in the direction of the desert. By therailroad bridge he paused, gazing down at the moonlit water. Where thebridge abutments projected, the thready current of the San Pedrocollected and formed quite a deep pool.

  "If this was the East, there'd be fish in there," mused Rob, whensuddenly behind him he thought he heard a furtive footfall. He turnedquickly. But, even as he did so, an irresistible shove was given him.Blindly extending his arms, Rob plunged forward down the steepembankment.