TWO BOYS STRANGELY MISSING
"No use. He's been picked up by those dastardly cowmen," growled
Luke after he and Tad had searched until daybreak. "We must go back
to the camp and then turn out the outfit. We've got to find him,
that's all. Mr. Simms will be crazy when he hears that the boy has
strayed away from us."
"What do you think he'll do?" asked Tad in a worried tone.
"Heaven only knows. If it's those cow fellows who have done it,
he'll never rest till he's settled with them for good and all. I'll
plan out a hunt for the kid, but it has got to be each man for
himself. We must cover every inch of the territory to the north,
west and south of us. He couldn't have gone the other way. Come,
let's be hustling back to camp."
"Perhaps they have not taken him at all. I should not be surprised
if he were only lost."
But Luke shook his head. He was convinced that the rancher's son had
not strayed away of his own accord. He believed that the cowmen had
picked the lad up and carried him away for sheer revenge on
Mr. Simms. Having seen Philip at Groveland Comers, some of them knew
him, argued the foreman.
When Mr. Simms was informed of the loss of Phil, he was well-nigh
beside himself.
"Do something! Why don't you do something?" he exclaimed in agony.
"We have," answered Luke. "And we have returned to get the rest of
your men started on a daylight hunt."
"Did he take his pony with him?" asked Tad, as a thought occurred to
him.
"Yes," replied Luke.
"Then, if the pony has not come back, it is pretty good evidence
that Philip is still on his back, it seems to me."
"Then turn out; everybody turn out!" shouted Mr. Simms. "Don't come
back till you get him or bring me some tidings."
"You will want some one to round up each scattered band of sheep,
Mr. Simms. You do not want to lose your herd, do you?" asked the
foreman.
"I don't care for the herd. Let two men and the dogs remain with the
sheep that did not stampede. All the rest go out on the search. I'll
take a turn myself. What's your plan, Luke?"
The foreman explained that he proposed to send the searchers out
alone, so that all the territory might be covered. He had planned to
lay his party out in the shape of a fan. The fan closed, he would
push up into the foothills, then open it in a wide sweep. As he
expressed it, "not even a jack rabbit could get away from them if he
were within the semicircle covered by their formation."
Mr. Simms bore the strain as well as a father could be expected to
bear it.
Without the loss of a moment Luke gathered the men about him,
explaining briefly what was to be done and assigning to each man the
part he was to play in the day's search.
Foremost among the party were the Pony Rider Boys. Even Stacy Brown,
serious-faced and impatient to be off, had saddled and bridled his
pony and sat awaiting the order to move.
At last all was ready.
"Right!" announced the foreman, whereupon the sheepmen, headed by
Luke and Tad Butler, started up at a brisk gallop, headed straight
across the mesa, taking a course that would lead them to the
foothills, a short distance ahead of them. Beaching the foothills,
they continued on for some two or three miles. Here the foreman gave
the order to open the fan, he taking the lead on the left and Tad on
the right. The searchers were now moving with a space of about a
quarter of a mile between them, shouting out the name of Phil Simms
now and then, these calls running down the line to the lower end of
the fan-shaped formation.
After a time Tad found that he could no longer hear the shouts of
his companions, yet from the position of the sun, which he consulted
frequently, he felt sure that he was following the right course.
On and on he rode, until the sun lay on the western horizon. The
others of the party were making a thorough search, investigating
every gully and draw that lay in their course, shouting for Phil,
hut not shooting their guns, as this was to be the signal that the
lost boy had been found.
"I'm afraid we are going to miss him," mused the foreman. "If we
fail to find him, then they've got him, sure."
At last he had completed his half of the sweep of the fan, and his
face wore a troubled look as his pony emerged from the foothills
onto the open mesa again. The sun was setting.
Luke rode out and waited a few moments, and when joined by the rest
of his section, started back to the camp.
Old Hicks had prepared the hated mutton for supper by the time the
right side of the fan formation got in. Not a trace had one of them
found of the missing Philip Simms.
The rancher said nothing when told that they had failed. He strode
away to his tent and they saw him no more for hours.
They had just gathered about the table for the evening meal, all
unusually silent, when Ned Rector, glancing about, made a sudden
discovery.
"Where's Tad?" he demanded.
"Didn't he come in?" asked the foreman, pausing in the act of
sitting down to the table.
"That's what I should like to know? Where is he?"
No one seemed to know.
"Now, he's gone, too," breathed the foreman anxiously. "That's one
more mystery on the old Custer trail."
"We--we'll have to go hunt for Tad now. You don't suppose he and
Phil are together, do you?" asked Walter.
"I don't know. I hope they are. But, boy, it's useless to go out
looking for them now. All we can do will be to wait until morning,
then take up the search again"----
"That's what comes from taking kids out on a man's job," growled Old
Hicks, as he served the mutton.
"Hicks, no one asked you for your opinion," snapped the
foreman. "These boys have done men's work ever since they
joined. Had it not been for Tad, Boss Simms would have been out of
business entirely now. Don't let me hear anybody casting any slurs
on these boys. I won't stand for it."
Old Hicks grumbled and hobbled away to his black kettle, while the
others ate their supper in silence. But, somehow, the meal was far
from satisfying, and one by one they rose from the table, leaving
plates half filled, and strolled away to spend the evening as best
they could until bedtime. Ned and the foreman remained up, for they
were to go out at midnight and take their trick at watching over the
herd.
"I've just got an idea," said the foreman, calling Ned to him.
"Yes; what is it?"
"I'm going to put some one on the herd in my place and ride over to
Groveland. Want to go along?"
"Yes, if it has anything to do with our friends."
"That's what I mean."
"All right, I'm ready; but it is pretty late."
"Makes no difference. We'll wake them up if they are in bed. I want
to see Cavanagh, who keeps the store. I have one or two questions to
ask him."
Without saying anything to the others as to their intention, the two
quietly saddled their ponies and rode off. The foreman made
arrangements to have others take their trick, after which they
headed across the mesa toward the place where Tad had whipped the
mountain boy.
Though the night, like the one that had preceded it, was intensely
dark, Luke rode on with perfect confidence, never for one instant
hesitating over the course.
Ned did not know that they had reached the little village until the
foreman told him.
"We're here," he said quietly.
"Where's the town?"
"In it now."
"I don't see it, if we are."
"You hold my horse. I'll wake up Cavanagh," announced the foreman,
dismounting and tossing the reins to his companion.
Luke thundered on the front door of the store, above which the owner
had his quarters. After an interval, during which the foreman had
pounded insistently with the butt of his revolver, an upper window
opened and a voice demanded to know what was wanted.
"Come down here and I'll tell you."
"Who are you? What do you mean prowling around this time of the
night?"
"I'm Luke Larue, of the Simms's outfit, and I want to see you."
"Oh, hello, Luke. Thought there was something familiar about your
voice. I'll be down in a minute. Anybody with you?" "Yes,
friend. Hurry up." Cavanagh opened the front door, peering out
suspiciously before he permitted his caller to enter.
"Wait a minute. I want to call my friend in. Ned, tether the ponies
and come along."
After the lad had joined them, the two ranchers entered the store,
the proprietor taking them to the back of the store and lighting a
lantern, which he placed behind a cracker barrel, so that the light
might not be observed from the outside.
"Now, what is it?" he demanded. Luke told him briefly of the battle
with the cowboys, of which Cavanagh had already heard. Then he
related the story of the mysterious disappearance of the two boys.
"What do you want of me?" asked the storekeeper, when the story had
been finished.
"To know whether you had heard any of the boys say anything that
might lead you to believe they knew anything about the matter?"
"No," answered Cavanagh after a moment's thought. "Hain't heard a
word. Don't believe they know anything about it. They'd a said
something if they'd heard of it."
"Don't you know anything about the boys yourself?"
"No, don't know nothing about them."
"Sure?"
"Surest thing, you know."
"Very well. I believe you. One of my reasons for coming over here,
however, was to tell you to keep your eyes and ears open to-morrow."
"I'll do that for you----"
"If we fail to find them to-morrow, I'll ride over at night after
the crowd has left here and hear what you have learned. When any of
the cowmen come in, I want you to bring up the subject and try to
draw them out. You'll get something that will be of use to us, I
know, for I'm dead certain that they've got both of those boys."
"Do you think they would dare do a thing like that?" asked Ned.
"Dare?" Luke laughed harshly. "They'd dare anything, especially
about this time. Oh, did you hear whether any of them got hit last
night!"
"Two or three is laid up for repairs," grinned the storekeeper.
"I'm glad of it. I wish the whole bunch had been trimmed."
"Lose many sheep?"
"Yes; too many. But that isn't what's troubling us now."
"No, I understand. It's the kids."
"Exactly. Don't forget what you have got to do, now."
Ned had been leaning against the counter listening to the
conversation, when his hand came in contact with a soft object that
lay on the counter. He carelessly picked it up and looked at it.
What he had found was a sombrero. This of itself was unimportant,
for the store carried them for sale. A broad, yellow band about it
was what attracted Ned Rector's attention, causing him to utter a
sharp exclamation.
"What is it?" demanded Luke quickly.
"Look. Did you ever see this before?" he asked excitedly.
"It's Philip Simms's hat," answered the foreman, fixing a stern eye
on the old storekeeper.