THE SIGNAL
"What's the matter?" cried Dick, hastening from the tent where he
had been making a new loop on his lariat, in preparation for
practicing some of the stunts worked by Four Eyes.
"Have you discovered something from the tower?" asked Nort.
"Yes, I've discovered that the tower isn't any good!" exclaimed
Bud with emphasis. "Oh, it isn't your fault, Dick," he went on,
as he saw that his cousin looked a bit crestfallen. "The tower is
all right."
"Then you saw some rustlers from it?" asked Nort.
"No, that's the trouble," said Bud, ruefully. "We didn't see them
but they were here all right--last night. Tell us about it,
Billee," he requested.
"Well, there isn't an awful lot to tell," said the veteran cow
puncher. "I was just prospectin' around, over on that new growth
of Johnson grass, like you told me to, an' I saw where a steer
had been killed, an' they had eat most of it, too, by th' signs."
"You mean the rustlers?" asked Nort.
"Rustlers, Greasers, Del Pinzo's bunch--anything you like t' call
'em," asserted Billee. "Somebody, that hadn't any right t' do it,
druv off our cattle!"
"And I say it's about time it was stopped!" declared Bud with as
great positiveness as before. This time he picked up the hat he
had dashed to the ground and dusted it off. "I'm going to do
something desperate!" he declared.
"What, son?" asked Old Billee mildly. "They's allers been
rustlers in this cow country, an' they'll allers be some, I
reckon. Course if you can git 'em in th' _act_, they's nothin' t' do
but shoot 'em up. But when you can't git 'em--"
"That's what I'm going to do!" declared Bud. "I'm going to get on
the trail of these rustlers and clean 'em out! Tell us more about
it, Billee. No use getting up in the watch tower now," he added,
gloomily enough. "We've got other work cut out for us. Go ahead,
Billee! Shoot!"
"Let me give you a word of advice first, Buddy boy," spoke the
veteran cowboy as he slowly got off his pony, an act of grace for
which the animal was, doubtless, duly thankful. Billee was no
featherweight, though he was as active as need be, in spite of
his bulk.
"What's the advice?" asked Bud good-naturedly. His first hot
anger was beginning to cool.
"Well, my advice is to leave these rustler alone," said Old
Billee. "They's allers been rustlers here an' they'll allers be
here. Every cow country has 'em. They're like th' old pirates
that used t' hold up th' ships. Taking tribute, so t' speak."
"But our country didn't pay that tribute long!" exclaimed Dick,
remembering the brilliant exploits of Decatur against the
corsains of Algiers, Tunis and Tripoli. "'Millions for defense,
but not a cent for tribute'!" quoted Dick in a ringing voice.
"That's what I say!" chimed in Nort.
"Well, it _is_ tribute, in a way," admitted Old Billee. "I
was going t' say if you'd let th' rustlers make off with a few
steers now an' then it would save trouble. They're used t' takin'
a few. But if you fight 'em then they'll make a big raid with a
big gang, an' mebby, take all you got, Bud!"
"I'd like to see 'em try it!" cried the western lad. "And I won't
sit by and have my cattle stolen; will we, fellows?" he appealed
to his cousins.
"Not on your life!" declared Nort and Dick.
"Well, I shore do like t' hear you talk that-a-way," said Old
Billee. "I didn't think you'd do it. Course it ain't no fun t'
sit still an' let these onery Greasers walk off with your cattle.
But, as I say, it's sometimes easier'n 'tis t' fight 'em. Lots of
th' ranchmen do pay tribute in a way. Your father was one of th'
fust t' fight 'em, Bud, but even he has sorter give up now, an'
he don't raise no terrible row when a few of his steers get hazed
off."
"Well, dad has more, and losing a few doesn't put a crimp in
him," said Bud. "It's different with us, and I'm not going to
stand it. Zip Foster wouldn't and I'm not going to!" and again he
dashed his hat on the ground, thereby startling Billee's horse.
"Say, why don't you get Zip Foster over to help chase the
rustlers?" asked Dick, slyly nudging Nort. They had long been
trying to get Bud to a "show down" on the identity of this
mysterious personage.
"Oh, I reckon we can do it ourselves," and Bud seemed to regret
mentioning the name of his favorite.
"Just what are you aimin' t' do, son?" asked Billee, as Snake and
Yellin' Kid rode up, ready for their day's work out on the range
among the cattle.
"I don't exactly know, but it's going to be something and
something hard!" asserted Bud. "Are there any clues over there,
Billee, to give us a lead?"
"Not many, Bud. Just th' usual. They come onto a few scattered
steers, killed one roasted what they wanted of it, slipped off
the hide an' left th' rest t' th' buzzards. Then they druv off
th' remainder. I didn't foller th' trail, for I could see they
was half a dozen rustlers in th' bunch, an' it ain't exactly
healthy for one man t' trail a crowd like that even if he was a
two-gun man, which I don't lay no claim t' bein' no how,"
concluded the veteran modestly. They all knew he would be brave
enough in an even fight. But they all recognized the fact that it
would have been foolish for him, alone, to have attempted to
trail a gang of desperate men.
"Well, I'm going to see what we can do," Bud declared. "If you've
sized up all there was to see over there, Billee," and he nodded
in the direction of the latest raid on Diamond X Second, "there's
no use in me going over. I think I'll go have a talk with dad,"
he concluded. "I want action!"
"So do we!" added Dick.
"Then come along!" invited his cousin.
A little later the boy ranchers were riding out of the valley, on
their way to the main ranch of Diamond X. They would not be back
until late that night, or, possibly, until the following morning,
for Bud wanted to have a good, long talk with his father, and
decide on some plan of action, that would drive out the rustlers
and keep them away.
As Old Billee had said, probably an older and more experienced
rancher would have put up with a few losses for the sake of peace
and quietness. But Bud, like most lads of his age, was impulsive.
And, as he had said, the loss of even a few steers meant possible
failure to him and his cousins, just starting in the ranch
business as they were.
"Was that a black one?" suddenly asked Bud, as Nort's horse shied
at something.
"A black what!" Nort wanted to know.
"A black jack rabbit that ran across the trail in front of you
just now," Bud resumed. "If it was, it will bring bad luck, as
Old Billee would say," and he laughed.
"No, it was a sort of gray one, part white," Nort answered, for
it was one of those immense hares that had leaped across the
trail, almost under the feet of his pony.
"That means we'll have part bad luck and part good," declared
Dick.
And some hours later, when they had reached Bud's home, and Nell
was serving peach pie and glasses of milk to the boy ranchers,
Nort paused long enough in his eating to remark:
"_This_ is the good luck, Bud."
"You declaimed something that time!" agreed his brother.
Mr. Merkel listened to what Bud and his cousins told them of the
raids on Happy Valley.
"Well, you haven't suffered any more than the average ranchman,
just starting in," said Bud's father. "The rustlers always seem
to pick on a newcomer."
"Well, they'll find I'm a sort of prickly pear to pick on!"
asserted Bud. "Dad, can't we clean out these rascals?"
"Well, it's your ranch, Bud! You can do anything you like, within
reason, but I wouldn't like to see you take any foolish risks."
"There's got to be some risks," declared Bud. "I'm not looking to
get out of 'em. But don't you think it would be a good thing if
we could get rid of this Del Pinzo gang for good?"
"Sure, Bud. I'll give you all the help I can, and I'll spare you
one or two more men if you need 'em--for a time, that is, as
we're pretty busy here."
"All right. When we're ready I'll call on you," said Bud, as
though he had great plans in preparation. As a matter of fact, as
he admitted later, he really did not know what he was going to
do, but he was not going to admit that to his father. In other
words he was "putting up a bluff," and I have some reason for
suspecting that Mr. Merkel knew this. However he gave no sign. In
spite of the pie, cake and other good things set out by Nell and
Mrs. Merkel, Bud and his chums decided to ride back to their camp
that night. It was dark at the start, but the moon would be up
later, and the trail was well known.
The boy ranchers rode leisurely along, for there was no special
hurry in getting back. It might reasonably be supposed that the
rustlers would not again make a raid within a few days at least.
And Old Billee, Yellin' Kid, Snake Purdee and Four Eyes, to say
nothing of Buck Tooth, were well able to look after matters in
Happy Valley.
And thus proceeding at a foot pace, it was well after midnight
when the boys started down the last slope that led into the
valley proper. In daylight it would have been possible, from this
part of the trail, to have observed the tents and the reservoir.
But now all was shrouded in darkness.
No, not altogether darkness, for as the boys rode forward there
suddenly glimmered in the gloom a light, high up in the air. At
first Bud thought it was a star, but a moment later as it moved
from side to side, and then up and down, he exclaimed:
"Look, fellows! A signal!"
"Signal!" repeated Dick.
"Yes. Over at our camp! See! There's a light on our watch tower."
"Maybe there's been another raid!" said Nort.
"Or going to be one!" spoke Bud, grimly.