Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Tiffany Vergon, Charles
Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
THE BOY RANCHERS ON THE TRAIL
OR
_The Diamond X After Cattle Rustlers_
By WILLARD F. BAKER
CONTENTS
I THE ROUND-UP
II A CURIOUS INSTRUMENT
III STARTLING NEWS
IV THE SCRATCHED SAFE
V THE BROKEN BOTTLE
VI MISSING STEERS
VII FOUR EYES
VIII THROWING THE ROPE
IX THE FIRE
X SERIOUS QUESTIONS
XI THE WATCH TOWER
XII IN SPITE OF ALL
XIII THE SIGNAL
XIV FOUR EYES-NO EYES
XV A BIG RAID
XVI ON THE TRAIL
XVII WILD COUNTRY
XVIII THE BOILING SPRING
XIX IN A MAZE
XX A SURPRISE
XXI IN PURSUIT
XXII BUD'S DISCOVERY
XXIII THE FIGHT
XXIV A DESPERATE CHANCE
XXV LIEUTENANT WAYNE
THE BOY RANCHERS ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER I
THE ROUND-UP
"Come on, Nort! It's your turn to cut out the next one!"
"S'pose I make a mux of it, Bud!"
"Shucks! You won't do that! You've roped a calf before!"
"Yes, but not at a big round-up like this. If I make a fizzle the
fellows will give me the laugh!"
"What if they do? Everybody knows you haven't been at it long,
and you've got to make a start. Besides, anybody's likely to make
a mistake. That's why they put rubbers on the ends of pencils.
Ride in now and snake out the next one, Nort!"
"All right, Bud! Here goes!"
Blaze, the pony Nort Shannon was riding toward the bunch of
cattle gathered at Diamond X ranch for the big, spring round-up,
leaped forward at the sound of his master's voice, and in
response to the little jerk of the reins and the clap of heels
against his sides. Into the herd of milling, turning and twisting
cattle the intelligent animal made his way, needing hardly any
guidance from Nort. The lad, by a mere touch, corrected the
course of Blaze slightly, and in a moment he was heading for a
calf which bawled loudly.
"Get him, Nort!" cried a voice from among the cowboys looking on.
"Don't get me fussed, Dick!" Nort shouted back to his brother,
who sat astride his pony near Bud Merkle. "It'll be your turn
next!"
Into the herd he wormed his way on Blaze, dodging here and there,
but with his eyes ever on the calf he hoped to cut out so it
could be branded. Nort leaned forward in his saddle, and then his
cousin and brother, eagerly watching from outside the herd, saw
the boy rancher's hand shoot up.
Through the air the rope went, turning, twisting, writhing and
uncoiling like a snake. In an instant it had flipped around the
hind legs of a calf.
"Good!" yelled Dick.
"Even Babe couldn't 'a' done better!" complimented Bud,
enthusiastically.
"'Tisn't over yet!" gasped Nort, for he had hard work ahead of
him, and the dust raised by thousands of hoofs was choking. "Wait
'till I get it to the branding corral!"
He leaned over in his other stirrup, causing the lariat to pull
taut and, the next instant the calf flopped on its side.
"Snake him out, Blaze!" cried Nort to his pony, and the animal
turned and dragged the prostrate calf along over the ground, an
operation not as cruel as it sounds as the surface was inches
thick in soft dust, like flour.
"That's the boy, Nort!" called his cousin Bud. "I knew you could
do it! Now then, Dick! Let's see how you'll make out!"
"I can't throw a rope as good as Nort," answered the stouter lad,
as he urged his pony, Blackie, into the herd. "But here goes!"
Meanwhile Nort had dragged the calf he had cut out to the corral
where the branding was going on. Two cowboys, stationed there for
the purpose, leaped forward and threw the calf over on its side,
for it had managed to struggle to its feet when Nort ceased
dragging it. One man twisted a front leg of the struggling
creature back in a hammerlock and knelt on its neck. The other
took hold of the upper hind leg, and with this hold prevented the
calf from sprawling along on the ground.
"Sit on him!" called Mr. Merkel, owner of Diamond X and other
ranches. He was superintending the round-up of his herds and
those entrusted to Bud, Nort and Dick in the first business
venture of the boy ranchers. "Sit on him!" yelled Bud's father.
Accordingly the men sat on the calf, thus, with the holds they
had secured, keeping it under restraint with the least possible
pain to the small creature.
"Branding iron!" sang out Slim Degnan, foreman of the ranch.
A little blaze was flickering on the ground, not far from where
the calf Nort had cut out was thrown and held. In a moment the
fire-tender had seized the branding iron, and, a second or two
later, it was being pressed on the calf's flank.
The creature bawled loudly, and kicked out, thereby nearly
throwing off the men who were sitting on it. But the branding was
all over in a moment, and the men leaped up, releasing the
animal.
The calf stood, dazed for the time being, after it had scrambled
to its feet, and then trotted out of the corral, lashing its side
with its little tail. Plainly branded on it now, never to be
completely effaced, was the mark of the ownership of Mr. Merkel--an
X inside a diamond.
"Next!" called the branders:
"Here comes Dick!" shouted Bud, as Nort rode up beside him. "And
he got his calf!"
"Good!" exclaimed the brother. "I guess we're learning the business!"
"Surest thing you know!" asserted the son of the owner of Diamond
X. "I told you it wasn't so hard, and you've done the same thing
before."
"But not at such a big round-up," remarked Nort, as he prepared
to ride in again and cut out another calf.
"Yes, it is big," admitted Bud, as he made ready for his share in
the affair--his task being the same as that of his cousins--to
cut out the calves for branding purposes. "It sure is a big
round-up."
It had been in progress for days. Twice a year on the big,
western ranches, the cattle are driven in from the outlying
ranges, to be tallied, inspected, marked and shipped away. The
spring and fall round-ups are always busy seasons at any ranch.
During the times between round-ups the new calves attained their
growth, but they needed to have branded into their hides the
marks of their owners. Then, too, some yearlings escaped branding
at times, either by remaining out of sight at the round-up, or in
the attending confusion.
Unbranded calves who had partly attained their growth, were
termed "mavericks," and when the herds of different owners
mingled, there was, usually, a division of the mavericks, since
it could not be accurately told who owned them.
The title maverick was derived from a stock man of that name,
whose practice was to claim _all_ unbranded calves in a
herd. His cowboys would ride about, cutting out the unmarked
animals, with the cool statement:
"That's a maverick," meaning that it belonged to their "boss."
And so the name has commonly become associated with any
half-grown, unbranded calf.
Mr. Merkel was the owner of several ranches, Square M, Triangle B
and Diamond X, not to mention Diamond X Second, or Flume Valley,
of which his son Bud, and the latter's cousins, Norton and
Richard Shannon, were the nominal proprietors.
The cattle from Flume Valley, or "Happy Valley" as Bud called it
after the mystery of the underground water was solved, were in
the round-up with the others from his father's ranches.
For days preceding the lively doings I have just described, the
cowboys, called in from distant ranges, had driven the cattle
toward the central assembling point--the corrals at Diamond X.
Slowly the longhorns, the shorthorns and cattle with no horns at
all, had been "hazed" in from their feeding grounds toward
Diamond X. The cow punchers had galloped hard all day, and they
had ridden herd at night, to keep the animals from straying. At
night this was not so hard, for the animals were glad to rest
during the darkness.
But during the day there was always some steer--often more than
one--that wanted to run away from the herd. As this might start a
stampede it was necessary to drive the "striker" back, and this
was, often enough, a difficult task.
Bud, Nort and Dick had borne their share of this difficult round-up
task, and now, when the thousand or more of steers, calves and
mavericks had been gathered at Diamond X, the work of tallying
them, branding those that were without marks and shipping away
the best was well under way.
In and out of the herd rode the boy ranchers, doing their best
alongside of more seasoned "punchers." Calves were cut out,
thrown and branded, to be quickly released and again mingle with
the herd.
"Oh, I'm Captain Jinks,
Of the Horse Marines!"
One of the cowboys, wiping the dust and sweat from his face, with
his big, red silk handkerchief, or, rather, neckerchief, started
this song. It was taken up by half a score of loud voices.
"Yi-yippy!" came in stentorian tones from Yellin' Kid. "This is
the life!"
But as, just then, his pony slipped and he missed the throw he
made for a calf, it is doubtful if Yellin' Kid felt as gay as he
sounded.
"Hot work; eh, boys?" asked Mr. Merkel, when Dick, Nort and Bud
rode past to get drinks of water.
"But it's great, all the same!" answered Dick, with shining
eyes--eyes that gleamed amid a face dark with the tan of the
western sun and grimy with the dust of the western plains.
"Glad you like it!" commented the proprietor of Diamond X as he
kept on with his tallying. "How they coming, Slim?" he asked his
foreman.
"Couldn't be better! Old Buck Tooth is doing a heap sight more
than I ever dreamed a Zuni could."
"Bud said that his old Indian helper was up to snuff!" commented
Mr. Merkel. "I'm glad to know it. Heard anything from Double Z?"
he asked, and there was an anxious note in his voice.
"No, Hank and his gang seem to have quieted down after what I
told 'em!"
"Well, I hope he doesn't make trouble for Bud and the boys.
They're going back to Happy Valley to-night."
"So I understand. Oh, shucks! Don't worry about Hank! He's all
talk--he and that blustery foreman of his, Ike Johnson!"
There had been a dispute between the cowboys of Diamond X and
those of Double Z, a ranch owned by the notorious Hank Fisher, a
few days before the round-up, the subject of dispute being the
ownership of certain mavericks. It had ended with the triumph of
Slim Degnan, foreman of Mr. Merkel's holdings.
And so the round-up went on, the heat, the dust, the noise and
confusion increasing as calf after calf, maverick after maverick,
was branded, and the steers to be shipped were cut out, to be
hazed over to the railroad stock yards.
And yet, with all the seeming confusion, there was order and
system in the work.
"Well, I guess this is the last," remarked Mr. Merkel to his son,
as Bud, with his cousins, rode slowly up to the ranch house, when
the final calf had been cut out and the tally made. "You boys
going back after grub?"
"Yep," answered Bud, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
He, like his cousins, was too tired. For the day had been a
grueling one, with the heat and hard work.
"You sure did make out a whole lot better than I ever thought you
would," said Mr. Merkel, as he rode along with his son and
nephew's. "Putting water into that valley made a big difference."
"I should say so!" exclaimed Bud. "Our stock will lay over
anything you will ship from any of your three ranches, Dad!"
"I wouldn't wonder but what you are right, Bud! Well, let's wash
up and eat."
One by one the cowboys drifted in, some singing ranch songs in
spite of their weariness. Bud and his cousins were through with
their meal first, and, having persuaded his sister, Nell, to pack
a basket of doughnuts, pie and cheese for him, Bud signalled to
his cousins to join him out at the pony corral.
"Let's get an early start back to Happy Valley," he urged. "It's
a long enough ride, anyhow."
"You said it!" commented Nort.
"Well, there's one thing we don't have to worry about, and that
is not finding any water running into the reservoir," added Dick,
as he slipped in through the gate and caught one of his ponies--not
Blackie, who was tired out from the round-up. Each cow puncher,
including the boy ranchers, had several animals in his "string."
"No, I guess, since we solved the mystery of the water supply,
we'll have no more trouble," agreed Bud.
The boy ranchers rode over the trail to their own camp--it was
actually a camp, for permanent ranch buildings had not yet been
erected in Happy Valley, though some were projected. Tents formed
the abiding place of our heroes, and as they were only there
during the summer months the canvas shelters served very well,
indeed.
The moon rose, shining down from a starlit sky, as the rough but
faithful and sturdy cow ponies ambled along. Now the boy ranchers
would be down in some swale, or valley, and again topping one of
the foothills which led to Buffalo Ridge or Snake Mountain,
between which elevations lay Happy Valley, where the cattle of
Diamond X Second were quartered.
"There she is--the old camp," murmured Dick, as they started down
the slope which led to the collection of tents erected against
the earthen and stone bank of the reservoir.
"And maybe I won't hit the hay!" exclaimed Bud, with a yawn. "We
don't have to get up to-morrow until we're ready."
"Oh, boy!" cried Nort in delight.
They rode forward, and were almost at their camp when Bud, who
had trotted ahead, pulled his pony to a sudden stop and cried
out:
"Hold on there! Who are you and where are you going?"
At the same moment his cousins saw the moon gleaming on the .45
gun which Bud drew from his holster.