A RAID
The branding of the horses had drawn from ranches all about every
man that could be spared. There were upward of a hundred men,
including the camp workers and cooks, in the Rolling Spring Valley
for those three days.
And how they did work! From early morning until dark the fires in
the branding pens flamed. Roped horses and colts were being dragged
in different directions all the time. Those already branded, and
selected for training on the several ranches, were driven away in
small bunches.
The whistling outlaw went away after a day. None of the boys had
time to try to ride him down, although there was scarcely a man of
the lot who did not covet the beautiful creature.
Rhoda and her friends did about as they pleased while the branding
was going on; only they did not ride out of the valley. Nan began
to suspect that the reason Rhoda would not lead them far from the
riverside encampment could be traced to the appearance of the
Mexican riders whom they had glimpsed coming over the old Spanish
Trail in the Blue Buttes. Nothing more had been heard of those
strangers; but Nan knew Mr. Hammond had warned his men all to keep
a sharp lookout for them.
It was when everything was cleared up and the outfits were getting
under way for their respective ranches, the last colt having been
branded, that a cowboy riding from the south, and therefore from
the direction of the Long Bow range, came tearing across the valley
toward the encampment by the cottonwood trees.
"Something on that feller's mind besides his hair, I shouldn't
wonder," observed Mr. Hammond, drawlingly, as he sat his horse
beside the group of girls ready then to turn ranchward. "Hi! Bill
Shaddock," he shouted to the Long Bow boss, "ain't that one of your
punchers comin' yonder?"
"Yes, it is, Mr. Hammond," said Bill.
"Something's happened, I reckon," observed Mr. Hammond, and he rode
down to the river's edge with the others to meet the excited
courier.
The river was broad, but shallow. The lathered pony the cowpuncher
rode splattered through the stream and staggered on to the low bank
on their side. Bill Shaddock, who was a rather grimly speaking man,
advised:
"Better get off an' shoot that little brown horse now, Tom. You've
nigh about run him to death."
"He ain't dead yet--not by a long shot," pronounced the courier.
"Give me a fresh mount, and all you fellows that can ride hike out
behind me. You're wanted."
"What for?" asked Mr. Hammond.
"That last bunch of stock you started for our ranch, Bill," said
the man, in explanation, "has been run off. Mex. thieves. That's
what! Old Man's makin' up a posse now. Says to bring all the riders
you can spare. There's more'n a dozen of the yaller thieves."
Further questioning elicited the information that, a day's march
from the headquarters of the Long Bow outfit, just at evening, a
troop of Mexican horsemen had swooped down upon the band of
half-wild horses and their drivers, shot at the latter, and had
driven off the stock. Two of the men had been seriously wounded.
"Oh! isn't that awful?" Grace Mason said. "Is it far from here?"
"Is what far from here?" demanded Rhoda.
"Where this battle took place," replied the startled girl. "Let us
go back to the house--do!"
But the others were eager to go with the band of cowboys that were
at once got together to follow the raiders. Mr. Hammond, however,
would not hear to this proposal. He would not even let Walter go
with the party.
"You _young_ folks start along for the house," he advised.
"Can't run the risk of letting you get all shot up by a party of
rustlers. What would your folks ever say to me?" and he rode away
laughing at the head of the cavalcade chosen to follow the Mexican
horse thieves.
"No hope for us," said Walter, rather piqued by Mr. Hammond's
refusal. "I would like to see what they do when they overtake that
bunch of Mexicans."
"If they overtake them, you mean," said Bess. "Why, the thieves
have nearly twenty hours' start."
"But they cannot travel anywhere near as fast as father and those
others will," explained Rhoda. "Dear me! it does seem as though the
Long Bow boys ought to have looked out for their own horses. I
don't like to have daddy ride off on such errands. Sometimes there
are accidents."
"I should think there would be!" exclaimed Nan Sherwood. "Why! two
men already have been wounded."
"Just like the moving pictures!" said Bess eagerly. "A five-reel
thriller."
"You wouldn't talk like that if Mr. Hammond should be hurt," said
Grace admonishingly.
"Of course he won't be!" returned Bess. "What nonsense!"
But perhaps Rhoda did not feel so much assurance. At least she
warned them all to say nothing about the raid by the Mexicans when
they arrived at Rose Ranch.
"Mother will probably not ask where daddy has gone; and what she
doesn't know will not alarm her," Rhoda explained.
All the bands of horses for the home corrals had been driven away
before the lumbering chuck wagons started from the encampment.
Rhoda and her friends soon were out of sight of the slower-moving
mule teams.
They did not ride straight for Rose Ranch; but, having come out of
the valley, they skirted the hills on the lookout for game. Rhoda
and Walter both carried rifles now, and Nan was eager to get a shot
at something besides a tin can.
The herd of horses had gone down into the valley, of course;
therefore more timid creatures ventured out of the hills on to the
plain. It was not an hour after high-noon when Rhoda descried
through her glasses a group of grazing animals some distance ahead.
"Goodness! what are they?" demanded Bess, when her attention had
been called to them. "Chickens?"
"The idea!"
"They don't look any bigger than chickens," said Bess, with
confidence.
"Well," drawled Rhoda, handing her glass to the doubting one,
"they've got four legs, and they haven't got feathers. So I don't
see how you can make poultry out of them."
"Oh, the cunning little things!" cried Bess, having the glasses
focused in a moment on the spot indicated. "They--they are deer!"
"Antelope. Only a small herd," said Rhoda. "Now, if we can only get
near enough to them for a shot--"
"Oh, my! have we got to shoot them, Rhoda?" asked Grace. "Are they
dangerous--like that puma?"
"Well, no," admitted the Western girl. "But they are good to eat.
And you will be glad enough to eat roast antelope after it has hung
for a couple of days. Ah Foon will prepare it deliciously."
"Come on, Nan," said Bess, "and take a squint through the glasses.
But don't let Grace look. She will want to capture them all and
keep them for pets."
But Nan was looking in another direction. Along the western horizon
a dull, slate-colored cloud was slowly rising. Nan wondered if it
was dust, and if it was caused by the hoofs of cattle or horses. It
was a curious looking cloud.