THE BROKEN BOTTLE
Bud's opinion, expressed with such conviction, coupled with the
fact that Nell, his sister, was sure the safe had not been
scratched the day before the robbery, made it look as though men
practiced in the evil art of burglary had been at work.
"When I saw the fellow, bending over my safe," said Mr. Merkel,
"it appeared to me he was only trying to work the combination. I
have a hard job, myself, remembering how to do it, account of the
safe being a new one. And I was so surprised, at first, that I
just stood there, like a locoed steer, watching him. Then I let
out a yell, told him to throw his hands up, and things began to
happen."
"But, instead of just trying to open your safe, by working the
combination, same as I've heard of burglars doing by filing down
their fingers with sandpaper to make 'em sensitive, he was
getting ready to blow it open," declared Bud.
"Does look so. She sure is clawed!" commented Mr. Merkel again.
"Mercy! It's a wonder we weren't all blown up in our sleep!"
exclaimed Bud's mother. "You boys'll stay to dinner," she added,
as if glad to change the subject.
"We aimed to," said Bud with a grin at his cousins. "We manage
pretty well most times, with what we cook, and what Buck Tooth
hands out in the grub line. But we sure do like a home-feed once
in a while."
"Or twice!" added Nort, while Dick nodded his agreement.
But though it was evident that some professional burglar had
endeavored to open the Merkel safe, that was all the conclusion
which could be arrived at. No additional clues were found and,
for a time, matters settled down into the ordinary run at Diamond
X.
Summer was coming, with its heat, and Bud was glad there would be
no interruption in the water supply that flowed into Happy Valley
from the Pocut River, coming through the ancient underground
passage.
"For we'll need plenty of water in hot weather," he told Jus
cousins.
At Diamond X Second, as the outfit of the boy ranchers was often
called, was now a goodly herd of animals eating the rich, Johnson
grass and other fodder, getting fattened in readiness for sale in
the fall, when there would be another round-up.
Besides Bud, Nort and Dick, there was now, at the camp in the
valley, Buck Tooth the Zuni Indian, Yellin' Kid and Snake Purdee,
two efficient and veteran cow punchers who had been transferred
from Diamond X First, meaning by that the main ranch.
While Bud was a true son of the west, and while Nort and Dick
had, some time ago, passed out of the tenderfoot class, still Mr.
Merkel felt that his son and his nephews needed the aid and
guidance of cattlemen older than themselves. So the "outfit," as
the aggregation at a ranch is called, was quite a happy family.
"If we could only catch those burglars, and get back your dad's
money, I'd feel better, though," declared Snake Purdee, as he
rode in from the Diamond X ranch one day, to announce, among
other news items, that Babe, the fat assistant foreman, was able
to be about again.
"Yes," agreed Bud. "It isn't so much the money loss, as it is the
knowledge that such a bunch of men is loose in a neighborhood.
Del Pinzo and that Hank Fisher bunch are bad enough, but I don't
believe they had a hand in this."
"I wouldn't put it past them!" stated Yellin' Kid in his usual,
loud tones. "Th' skunks!"
"But dad said he didn't recognize the fellow he surprised at his
safe," spoke Bud. "Of course he didn't have much chance. But if
it had been Del Pinzo--"
"Don't worry!" broke in Snake Purdee. "That Greaser wouldn't do a
job like that himself; or Hank Fisher, either. They'd get some
one else to take the risk. However, what's th' use gassin' about
it? I guess the money's gone for good. But I'm glad they didn't
get th' safe open!"
"So'm I," chimed in Bud. "Some of our cash would have vanished
then." For he and his cousins had a share in the money received
from the sale of steers at round-up time.
So, following the robbery at Diamond X, matters quieted down. Bud
still kept the stethoscope, and word of the finding of the
strange instrument traveled to other ranches. It was called by
such a variety of names (the cowboys having twisted the original
and proper one) until the boy ranchers had difficulty, at times,
in understanding the reference when they were asked about it.
But no one claimed it, and no trace was found of the person who,
it was presumed, had dropped it the night our heroes saw some one
disappear near the boarded-up entrance to the ancient tunnel.
"Come on, let's try a bit of shooting!" proposed Nort one
evening, when grub had been served at the camp, and he and his
brother were left with Buck Tooth. Snake and Yellin' Kid had
ridden off on an all-night tour of duty, to a distant part of
the ranch. A choice bunch of steers had started to wander farther
off than Bud thought it was wise to let them. They were,
evidently, in search of another variety of fodder, but that could
not save them from some passing band of Greasers, or other cattle
thieves.
"Haze 'em back this way," Bud had requested his two cowboys.
"They'll be safer over here."
So Yellin' Kid and Snake had ridden away as the early evening
shadows were falling and, to pass the time until the hour for
seeking their bunks, the boy ranchers sought some amusement.
Shooting at a mark was one form, and Nort and Dick were
endeavoring to become as expert as their western cousin in the
use of the .45.
"Shooting suits me," agreed Bud. "I'll soon have to cut down my
handicap if you fellows keep on the way you're going," for in the
tests of skill Bud had always discounted his own ability in order
to be fair.
"Well, don't scale it down too much," begged Dick. "Nort hasn't
got me skinned, but I'm not up to you."
"Well, let's see how you'll do," suggested Bud.
As a mark a bottle was stuck on a stick which was thrust into the
ground at the foot of the sloping bank which enclosed the
reservoir. Shooting against this earthen bank insured that no
wild bullets would injure any one.
"You go first, Bud," suggested Dick. "We want to get a line on
you."
Accordingly Bud walked to the marked-off place, drew his heavy
revolver, raised it and brought it down on the mark--the bottle
on the stick. There was a sharp crack, followed instantly by the
tinkle of glass, and that bottle was no more.
"Busted it clean!" cried Nort. "I wish I could do that!"
Another flask was provided, and Nort shot at this. His aim was
fairly good, but he was allowed to go five feet nearer than Bud
had stood, that distance being the western lad's handicap. But
Nort only chipped away part of the bottom of the bottle with his
first shot, and it took three to shatter it completely.
"Watch me do better than that!" cried Dick, as he took his place
where his brother had stood, and raised his gun. "I'll crack it
first shot!"
His weapon was still in the air, and he had not brought it to a
level with the bottle when there sounded, from somewhere out in
the valley back of where the boy ranchers stood, the sound of a
shot.
The bullet zipped viciously over their heads, and, as they
instinctively ducked, they heard the crash of the broken bottle.