A CRY FOR HELP
Together, Dave and Pocus Pete examined the posts of the corral fence.
There was no doubt but that some of them had been partly sawed through, in
order to weaken them so that only a moderate pressure was required to
break them off short, close to the ground.
"So that was his game; eh?" exclaimed Dave in a justifiably angry voice.
"Whose game?" asked Pocus Pete.
"Len's! That's why he wouldn't stop to help me. He had been here sawing
through the posts so our best bunch of cattle would get out and be
spoiled. The hound! Wait until I get hold of him!"
"Better go a bit slow," advised Pocus Pete, in his drawling tones.
"Slow! What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean it isn't a good thing t' go around makin' accusations like
that, without somethin' t' back 'em up. In this country you've got t' back
up what you say, Dave."
"I know that, but--"
"An' what evidence have you got that Len did this mean trick? For mean
trick it is, as shore as guns is guns. What evidence have you?"
"Why, didn't I see him riding away as fast as his horse could gallop just
a little while ago?"
"Well, s'posin' you did. That's no evidence in a court of law. You didn't
see him saw the posts; did you?"
"No, of course not. But look! Here's some fresh sawdust on the ground! The
posts have been sawed within a few hours--perhaps even inside an hour.
Maybe just before I came." Dave pointed to the moist earth under some of
the splintered posts and boards. There was the fine sawdust where it had
been preserved from the trampling hoofs of the steers.
"Yes, th' job's been done recent," admitted Pocus Pete, "but that doesn't
prove anythin'. Now if we could find a saw with Len's name on it, that
might be some law-evidence. But I don't see any; do you?"
There was no saw in sight. The cattle had retreated to the far side of the
corral, leaving the part next the broken fence free for examination. But
as Pete had said, there was no saw lying about.
"He could easily have carried it away with him when he rode off," Dave
said, following up his suspicion.
"Yes, he could, an' he'd be foolish if he didn't--provided it was him as
did this," agreed Pete.
"Well, I'm sure he did," Dave insisted. "And I'll take it out of him for
trying to spoil dad's best bunch of cattle."
The word slipped from Dave almost before he knew it. But he did not care.
As he had told Pocus Pete he was going to regard Mr. Carson as his
father--he had thought of him so many years in that relationship that it
was difficult to think otherwise.
"Well, you be careful of what you do, Dave; that's my advice t' you," said
Pete.
"Why so? I'm not afraid of Len Molick," was Dave's quick response.
"No, maybe not. Yet Len trails in with a middlin' mean crowd, an' though
you are pretty good, you're no match for Whitey Wasson an' his bunch of
cowpunchers."
"But my quarrel is with Len, for I'm sure he did this."
"That's all right. I have a sneakin' suspicion that way myself, but Len is
a coward, as well as a bully, an' he'd howl for help if you went at him.
An' Whitey is just th' kind t' pitch in on you if he saw you givin' Len a
drubbin'. So you take my advice, an' go a bit slow."
"I will. I won't have it out with Len until I can get him alone somewhere,
and then I'll put it up to him."
"Well, maybe that's a good way, though I don't approve of fightin' as a
rule."
"Oh, no! You don't!" laughed Dave, for it was a well known fact that Pocus
Pete was considered the best man with his fists in that section of the
country.
"Oh, of course I'll fight when I have to. But I'm not goin' out of my way
t' look for trouble."
This was strictly true, and Dave knew it. Pocus Pete would never
needlessly quarrel with any one, but once he had started on what he
regarded as a right course, nothing would turn him aside until he had
either vanquished or been beaten. And the latter was seldom the outcome.
"Well, that's my case," said Dave. "I'm not going to put this on Len until
I give him a chance to defend himself. But now, Pete, what are we going to
do? We can't leave these choice cattle here in a broken corral. They'll
stray all over the range."
"That's right. We've got to fix that fence, and we'll need help. Some new
posts will have to be set, and it's got to be done before dark. Tell you
what to do. You ride back to the ranch, and get some of the boys."
"What will you do?"
"I'll stay here and guard the cattle. It won't take long, and your horse
is faster than mine."
"All right, I'll go. But first let's make what repairs we can. That will
make it easier for you to hold in the cattle."
There was some wire at the corral, and with this, and by using some of the
broken posts and boards, the gap in the fence was made smaller so the
cattle would not be so likely to try to rush through it.
This done, Pete prepared to mount guard while Dave leaped to the back of
Crow and started for the ranch on the gallop, to bring help and to tell
the story of the broken corral.
"I wonder if I'd better mention Len?" thought Dave, as he rode on. "I'm
pretty sure he did the trick, but I don't want to accuse any one unjustly,
even him."
After thinking it over Dave decided that it would be better not to say
anything about Len just yet. He would let matters take their own course.
"But I'll be on the watch for him," he made up his mind.
Dave's mind was busy with many thoughts, and his body was weary with the
exertions through which he had just passed. But there was a certain sense
of exhilaration after all. He had done a good piece of work, and he
realized it. Of course Pocus Pete had helped, but Dave was in a fair way
to stop the stampede when the old foreman came along.
"I'll get to be a regular cowboy after a while," thought Dave, not without
a little smile of gratification.
To get to the ranch more quickly the young cowpuncher took a trail that
led through a patch of rocky woodland. It was a curious formation in the
midst of the flat cattle country, being a patch several miles square,
consisting of some rocky hills, well wooded, with a number of deep gullies
in them. More than once cattle had wandered in among them and been lost.
And it was said that at one time a noted band of cattle rustlers, or
thieves, had made their headquarters in this wood, and had held out a long
time against the attacks of the cattlemen.
Dave rode through this not very cheerful place. He had been keeping his
eyes open for a sight of Len Molick, but had caught no further glimpse of
the bully whom he suspected.
"Hit it up, Crow! Hit it up!" Dave called to his black horse, who was
going along a not very safe trail amid the rocks and stones.
Dave was about half way through the place when the silence, undisturbed
save by the rattle of Crow's hoofs, was suddenly broken by a cry.
"Help! Help!" Dave heard uttered in somewhat weak accents. "Help!"
The young cowboy was startled for a moment. He reined in his horse
sharply, and looked about. He could see nothing, and the silence seemed
more pronounced after the echo of the appeal for aid had died away.
"Hello!" Dave called. "Who are you, and what do you want? Where are you?"
he asked, for he could see no one.
"Over here. To your right. I can see you, but you can't see me. I'm down
behind a rock. I'm caught, and hanging over a gully. Wait, I'll toss up my
handkerchief. Watch for it!"
Dave looked as nearly as he could tell in the direction of the voice. An
instant later something white flashed up in the air, and fell down softly.
Crow started violently.