SERIOUS QUESTIONS
Some time before the boy ranchers reached the scene of the grass
fire toward which they were riding, they caught the smell of the
burning fodder. That it was only grass which was aflame they had
known before this, for that was all there was to ignite in that
section of the valley. There were no buildings as yet, tents
taking their place. Though Bud and his father planned to erect
substantial structures if this year was successful.
"A lot of good fodder going up in smoke, Bud!" yelled Nort, as he
rode beside his cousin.
"If it isn't any worse than that we're lucky," was the answer.
"How do you mean?" asked Dick.
"I mean if we don't lose any cattle. The grass isn't any good
after it dries up on the ground, the way this has. But if the
fire starts a stampede of cattle--that will mean a loss."
"Do you think that's what the game is?" asked Nort, encouraging
his pony, Blaze, by patting the animal's neck.
"I can't see what else it is, unless the fire started when some
one threw down a burning match or cigarette, and most cow
punchers aren't that careless. Our fellows wouldn't do it, and I
don't believe any other ranchers around here would, except on
purpose."
"You mean the Double Z bunch?" asked Dick.
"Sort of heading that way," replied Bud, significantly.
Together the boy ranchers rode on toward the fire, silently for a
time, the only sounds being the thud of their ponies' feet and
the creak of saddle leathers and stirrups. The smell of the
burning grass was more pronounced now, and the pall of black
smoke was rolling upward in a larger cloud.
"It's a big fire!" exclaimed Nort. "How can we stop it, Bud?"
"It will soon burn out," the western lad replied. "I happen to
know where this grass is. It's a place where we couldn't very
well bring water to, and if it doesn't rain much, as it hasn't
lately, the fodder gets as dry as tinder. There's a sort of
swale, or valley, filled with this dry grass and it's just
naturally burning itself off."
"Then no very great harm will be done; will there?" asked Dick.
"Not much, unless the cattle get frightened and start to
stampede. That's what I'm afraid of, and why I'm riding over
there. We can't hope to put out the fire." Owing to the fact that
the grass was so dry that no cattle would feed on it, there were
no steers in the immediate vicinity of the blaze Had the fodder
been cut it would have made excellent hay, but it would need to
be cut green to bring this about. As it was, the tall grass had
just naturally dried up as it attained its growth.
"It doesn't take even as much as a blaze like this to start a
stampede," said Bud, as he and his cousins rode nearer to the
burning grass, They could feel the heat of it, now. "It's queer
how frightened animals are of fire," went on the rancher's son.
"There must have been some wonderful sights out here, years ago,
when there were millions of buffalo, and when there were prairie
fires, miles in width, driving them before it."
"I should say so!" chimed in Nort. "I've read some of those
stories in Cooper's books. He's great; isn't he!"
"You delivered the goods that time!" remarked Bud.
"I wish the west was like that now," voiced Dick. "With Indians
and buffalo all over."
"There are a few Indians left yet," said Bud. "They're mostly on
reservations, except when they make a break, ride off and act up
bad. I guess we stock raisers are better off without the wild
Indians.
"As for the buffalo, they were mighty valuable, and if we could
raise them as well as cattle, we'd make a lot of money. The
government is trying to get several herds started, but it's no
easy task. Why, there are almost as many buffalo in New York city
as there is out west now."
"Where!" asked Nort, not thinking for the moment.
"In Bronx Park," answered Bud. "I haven't seen 'em but I've read
about 'em."
"Oh, yes. So have I," agreed Nort. "I forgot about them. Whew!
It's getting hot," he added, as a shift in the wind brought into
their faces a wave of heated and smoke-filled air.
"We'd better not keep on any nearer," decided Bud. "Let's ride
around to the other side, and see what we can see."
Accordingly they turned to the right, as the fire seemed less
fierce on that quarter, and continued on. They had been riding
over a stretch of the valley carpeted with rich, dark green and
fairly damp grass. Bud and his cousins knew that when the fire
reached this stretch it would die out for lack of fuel.
In fact the blaze, as they could see, was confined to an area
about a mile square, but of irregular shape. So far none of the
cattle in sight had shown more than momentary fear of the blaze.
They had run some distance from it and then stopped, sometimes
going on with their eating, and again pausing to look with
fear-widened eyes at the sight of the leaping tongues of fire.
"But we can't tell what's going on behind that smoke screen,"
declared Bud. "Some rustlers may have started it to hide their
work."
"Any of your men over in that direction?" asked Dick.
"They aren't supposed to be," Bud replied. "Of course some of 'em
may have ridden over when they saw the smoke, same as we did. But
I don't see how any of 'em could have reached here as soon as we
did."
Together they rode on, circling to the right to get around the
edge of the fire.
"She's dying out," observed Dick.
"Yes, it can't burn much longer," admitted Bud. "And no great
damage done, either, unless we find something we haven't yet
seen."
But when they had completed the circuit around the edge of the
blazing grass, and could ride across the fire-blackened area, and
behind what was still a thick screen of smoke, they saw something
which caused them great surprise.
This was not the sight of a bunch of stampeding cattle, though it
was what Bud and his cousins folly; expected to encounter. There
were some cattle on this side of the fire, but they had run far
enough away to be out of danger, and beyond where they could be
frightened into a frenzied rush.
"Look!" exclaimed Nort, pointing.
"Four Eyes!" exclaimed Dick.
"By the great horned toad and Zip Foster--yes!" agreed Bud, and
his cousins knew he must be stirred to unusual depths of feeling
to use this name. Zip Foster had not been mentioned in several
weeks. The mysterious personage, on whom Bud called in times of
great excitement, was almost a stranger, of late, in Happy
Valley. In fact Dick and Nort never could get Bud to talk about
Zip. But that is a story which will be told in its proper place,
and due season.
"It _is_ Four Eyes!" went on Bud, as he and his cousins
recognized in the form of a distant rider that of Henry Mellon,
the new cowboy. "And what he's doing here is more than I can
imagine. I'm going to find out, though!"
The spectacled cow puncher was riding swiftly along, on a course
that ran parallel to the direction of the fire. He was on the
edge of the burned area, and galloping-away from the boys. But he
was not beyond seeing or hailing distance.
"Hello there!" shouted Bud, dropping his reins and making a
megaphone of his hands.
Four Eyes heard the call--there was no doubt of that, for he
turned in his saddle and looked back. Then he must have seen the
boys, for he waved his hat at them. Next he pointed ahead, as if
to indicate that he was in pursuit of some one, and kept on,
never slacking his pace.
"Come on!" shouted the impulsive Nort. "Let's catch up to him!"
He was about to spur his pony forward, but Bud caught the bridle.
"No use," said the western lad. "He's too far ahead, and our
horses are too played out If he comes back well hear about it. If
he doesn't--"
"Why, don't you think he'll come back!" interrupted Pick.
"It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't," Bud answered. "There are
some queer things going on around here, and he may be one of 'em.
Though I haven't any reason to suspect him--yet!" he quickly
added.
"What are we going to do!" asked Dick, as he saw his cousin
slacking his pony's pace. "Shall we go on to the end of the
rustler's trail, or follow Four Eyes."
"Neither one," answered Bud. "At least not just yet," he added,
as he saw Nort and Dick look at him curiously. "Let Four Eyes go,
for the time being. He may have seen some cowboys he'd like to
interview about this fire, and be after them. Or he may not. As
for getting on the trail of the rustlers, we'd have to ride back
quite a distance to do that, and it would be dark when we picked
it up again. Too late to do anything."
"Are we going back to camp?" asked Dick.
"No, let's stay right here. We've got grub, and water isn't so
far off. We'll just camp out for the night."
"Suits me," assented Dick.
"Same here," agreed Nort.
It was something the boys had often done. They carried blankets
and tarpaulins on their saddles, ready for this emergency, and
they "packed" sufficient rations for several substantial, if not
elaborate, meals. They had a coffee pot, a frying pan, bacon and
prepared flour, and flapjacks were within their range of
abilities as cooks.
Pausing to note that the fire was rapidly dying out, that there
was no cattle stampede in their vicinity, and noting that Four
Eyes was now almost out of sight, the boy ranchers rode on to the
nearest water-hole, and there prepared to spend the night, though
it was still several hours until darkness should fall. But the
horses were tired, for they had been run hard after the fire, and
the boys decided to rest them. The lads, themselves, were fresh
enough to have kept on, had there been occasion for it.
"Well, I'm glad this was no worse," observed Bud, as they sat
down, having picketed their steeds, and looked at the receding
pall of smoke. "I only hope the fellows at camp won't be
worried."
"I guess they know we can take care of ourselves--at least we
have so far," spoke Nort.
"Yes," agreed Bud. "You fellows have done pretty well since you
came out here--you aren't tenderfeet any longer, not by all the
shots that ever broke bottles."
"Say, what do you think of that, anyhow?" asked Dick, as he
chewed reflectively on a bit of grass.
"I don't know what to think," asserted Bud. "There are a lot of
serious questions we have to settle if we're going to keep on
with this ranch."
"Why, we are going to keep on, aren't we?" asked Nort.
"I should say so!" cried Bud. "We're going to stick here,
rustlers or not! And those are the only fellows I'm worrying
about," and he tossed a lump of dirt in the fire which Dick was
starting.
"Are there always rustlers to worry about on a ranch?" asked
Nort.
"More or less," answered his cousin. "Especially when you have a
place so near Double Z. I don't accuse Hank Fisher of being a
rustler, exactly," he went on, "though I think Del Pinzo is.
That's been proved, but it didn't do much good, for he broke jail
and they can't seem to land him."
"What makes Hank Fisher and that Double Z bunch so sore at you?"
asked Dick.
"I guess it's because we're beating them at the cattle game,"
answered Bud. "And because dad dammed the Pocut River and took
some water for this valley. As if that hurt Hank!" he added. "But
he makes that an excuse. However, I'll fight him to the finish!"
"And we're with you!" added Dick and Nort.
After supper they sat around the fire, talking of various
matters. But ever and again the question troubled them of whether
or not they could get on the trail of the rustlers. And, too,
they wondered what could be the object of Four Eyes.
Night settled down, quiet save for the occasional snorting of the
ponies. The boys wrapped themselves in their blankets and crawled
between their tarpaulins with their feet to the smouldering fire.
They talked until drowsiness stole over them and then, having
decided to maintain no watch, they all three slumbered.
What time it was that Bud awakened he did not know. But awaken he
did, and suddenly.
And the cause of his awakening was the sound of a horse rapidly
ridden, and, evidently, approaching the place where he and his
cousins had camped for the night.
"Who's there?" cried Bud suddenly, and without preface. Under the
blanket his hand sought his weapon.
"Who's there!"