THE RUSTLERS
Diamond X ranch was one of the largest in that part of the country.
Mr. Merkel's holdings were in one of our western states, not far from
the Mexican border, which fact was not altogether pleasing to him. It
made it too easy for cattle thieves to operate, and more than once
Diamond X had suffered from depredations of the "rustlers," as they
were called, doubtless from the fact that they "rustled" or "hustled"
cattle that were not their own, off lawful ranges.
But it was all part of the day's work, and Mr. Merkel's ranches were
too valuable to be disposed of easily, even though their proximity to
Mexico, the home of lawless "Greasers" and half breeds, was too close
for ease of mind.
Diamond X, like many other western ranches, took its name from the
brand used to mark the cattle that fed on its succulent grass and drank
its abundant water. The brand was a diamond with the letter X in the
centre, a mark easily recognized, even at a distance. Other marks were
used on other and adjoining ranches, Mr. Merkel owning two others, one
of which went by the name Square M, from the fact that the
distinguishing brand was a square with the letter M inside. The
other's mark was a triangle with a B in it, that ranch being known
among the cowboys as the Triangle B.
Double Z was a ranch adjoining that of the Diamond X on the north, Hank
Fisher being the proprietor, while to the west was the Circle T ranch,
its cattle being marked with a large circle, in which the letter T
appeared, it being owned by Thomas Ogden, a friend of Mr. Merkel.
"Gosh! But your father has a lot of cows!" exclaimed Nort, as he and
his brother rode along through the early evening, beside Bud. "Must be
a million of 'em," added the city youth as, from a rise, he caught a
glimpse of many herds, some restrained from wandering by fenced ranges,
and others being slowly driven along by cowboys, who waved to Babe,
Bud, and the city lads.
"Not quite a million!" laughed Bud. "And we don't call 'em _cows_,
though some of 'em are, of course. They're cattle, or steers. Mother
keeps a cow or two for the sake of the milk, and of course our men are
called cowboys, or punchers, and this is cow country. But we don't
speak of 'em as herds of cows."
"Glad you told me," murmured Nort. "I'm going to be a ranchman some
day, and I want to learn all I can."
"Same here!" commented his brother.
It was a wondrously beautiful night, calm and clear, with the stars
shining overhead more brightly than Nort and Dick had ever before seen
them. It is the clearness of the atmosphere in the West that renders
objects so plain at a distance, that brings out the beauty of the stars
and which also enables such wonderful moving pictures to be made. In
the East the day is rare when there is not some haze. It is just the
reverse in the West.
Through the silent night rode the boy ranchers, for Nort and Dick were
beginning to think of themselves in that class. The cousins rode
together, with Babe in the rear, lugging the bottles of antiseptics
that were destined for the injured men.
"What are those cowboys riding around the cattle for?" asked Nort, as
they turned aside from a large herd restlessly moving amid a constant
dull rumble.
"They're driving 'em over to the railroad, to be shipped," explained
Bud. "That's what dad raises cattle for--ships 'em away for beef.
This bunch has been fattened up on a range we keep specially for that.
This is a good time to sell now, prices are high, so we're disposing of
as many as we can.
"The cowboys will drive 'em to the railroad, taking their time, so as
not to run all the fat off the steers. The heavier they are the more
money we get for 'em. I guess they won't go much farther to-night,
though," he added, with a look back at the herd they had passed. "This
is the first day they've been driven, and we always go a bit slow at
first."
"Say, but it's great! Wonderful!" exclaimed Nort, half rising in his
stirrups and breathing deep of the pure, keen air, for it was now
chilly.
"You said an earful!" commented his brother. "I wouldn't have missed
this for anything!"
"Glad you like it," murmured Bud.
"What's that--a wolf? A prairie wolf?" asked Nort, suddenly as a sort
of whine broke the silence of the night, punctuated otherwise only by
the soft footfalls of the horses.
"Wolf? No!" chuckled Bud. "Don't let Babe hear you say that. It's
him--singing! Lots of the men do it."
As Bud's whisper died away, the assistant foreman let his voice soar
from a whine into a more or less of a roar, as he intoned:
"Oh, sing to me not of the joys of a city
Where innocent cowboys are left in a trance.
Give me a hoss, an' some room to do ridin',
When I am daid bring me back to the ranch!"
"Does he get that way often?" asked Dick in a whisper, as the cowboy
began on the second verse of what promised to be a lengthy song.
"More or less!" answered Bud. "The cowboys sing a lot, and some
haven't half bad voices. The songs, too, are corkers, some of 'em.
They sing 'cause it's lonesome ridin' line, and then, too, it seems to
sort of soothe the cattle. Dad has told us, lots of times, where a
stampede has been stopped just by the bunch singing songs."
"Good idea," commented Nort. "Oh, but this is the life for me!" he
chanted.
"Only this ride isn't lasting long enough," said Dick. "That's the
camp, down in there; isn't it?" he asked his cousin, pointing ahead
toward where, in the light of the newly risen moon, could be observed
some white objects.
"Those are the professors' tents," declared Bud. "We got here sooner
than I expected. Talking to you chaps made the time pass quickly."
"What do you think of those fellows, anyhow?" asked Nort, in a low
voice of his cousin. It was evident he referred to the two scientists
who had been attacked that afternoon.
"I don't know what to think," admitted Bud, frankly. "I never heard of
anything in this part of the country, more valuable than gold, that was
worth prospecting after. There hasn't even any gold been found, as far
as I know, though there were rumors that once a prospector made a lucky
strike about ten miles from here. But these men do seem to have
something they're afraid will be taken from them."
"Well, it needn't worry us," commented Dick. "We're going to be cow
punchers--not miners."
"You said it!" declared Nort.
By this time they were within the range of several fires gleaming in
the midst of the camp of the scientists, and a moment later Professor
Blair emerged from the tent that had been so jealously guarded during
the day.
"Oh, it's you; is it?" he asked as he recognized the boys and Babe.
"It is very kind of you, to take this trouble."
"'Sall right," remarked the assistant foreman, as he handed over the
bottles of medicine. "Tell th' boss to use it just as it is--don't
need any dilutin' with water."
"Oh, you mean Professor Wright," said the other, so translating the
cowboy's use of the word "boss."
"Yep," answered Babe. "Tell the boss to use it straight."
"Well, he isn't here just now," said the other. "The men who were shot
seem to be doing well, however. I'll attend to them myself. Thank you
again."
His voice was cultured and his manner pleasant. But it was evident
that he invited no confidences.
Little could be made out, even in the moonlight and the gleam of the
fire, save the usual scattered camp outfits, and the white tents.
The boy ranchers and Babe had done what they set out to do--deliver the
medicine, and no incident had marked their trip, unless the singing of
the assistant foreman can be called such.
"Some of us'll ride over to-morrow," promised Babe, as he and the boys
turned to take the trail back to the ranch.
"Thank you, but we may not be here," remarked Professor Blair. "We may
move on. But thank you, just the same."
"Don't mention it," begged Babe, slightly sarcastic of the other's
cultured accent and words. "We aim to please, an' be neighborly."
"Of which you have given ample evidence," was the rejoinder.
"Guess that'll hold him for a while," murmured Bud to his cousins.
"Good-nights" were called and the outfit from Diamond X ranch was on
its way again. Nort and Dick were eagerly questioning Bud about
western matters, learning to their delight that there would be chances
to go hunting and fishing after the big round-up, and Babe was
beginning on about the forty-seventh verse of his favorite song, when
Bud suddenly stopped in the midst of telling some incident, and gazed
intently across the rolling range.
"What's the matter?" asked Dick in a whisper, for the silence of the
night, and the strangeness of their surroundings, seemed to call for
whispers.
"I thought I saw cattle moving," said Bud. "Yes, I do!" he went on,
quickly. "Look, Babe!"
Babe broke off his song at a point where a dying cowboy was begging to
be "toted back to the chuck house," and looked to where the boy rancher
pointed.
"That's it, shore as rattlers!" the assistant foreman said. "It's
about time they tried suthin' like this! Got your guns, boys?"
"What for?" asked Nort, a thrill of excitement leaping through his
veins. "What is there to shoot?"
"Rustlers!" said Bud, grimly. "Somebody--Greasers, likely--are trying
to run off some of our fat steers! Come on, we'll ride 'em down!" He
clapped spurs to his horse, an example followed by Nort and Dick, but,
quick as they were, Babe had shot ahead of them, and in the moonlight
the city lads caught the gleam of his gun as he pulled it from the
holster.