TRAPPED
For some minutes the boys listened to the details of the deputy's
scheme. It involved danger, there was no doubt of that, but it also
gave a chance for success. If luck held in their favor--and Kid said
after the run of misfortune they had met with it was time for a change
of weather--they might hope for a rich prize--possibly Delton
himself--though this last did not seem likely. The whole success of
the plan depended on fooling the smugglers into thinking the ranch was
still held by Delton.
"And there we are," finished Hawkins. "Any questions, boys? You-all
know what to do?"
"All set!" Yellin' Kid answered. "Now that's over with, guess I'll
mosey down to town."
"Rather you stayed around, Kid, if you don't mind," said the deputy.
"Anything particular you wanted?"
"Well, just to see about that bronc you mentioned. And we got to get
hold of a sheepman soon."
"I'll fix that up for you," Hawkins offered. "Dick, how about you
riding back with me?"
"Glad to, Mr. Hawkins. Anybody want anything?"
"Better find out about food," suggested Nort. "And we could all stand
a clean shirt or two. Before you go, Dick, we all better take
inventory. Didn't bring much, you know. What do you say, boys? Speak
up, and Dick can collect your stuff while he's in town."
"Where's that Mex?" the Kid asked. "Wait a minute while I head for the
kitchen."
He bounded up the steps and flung open the door. To his surprise a
figure stumbled away and ran back. But Yellin' Kid was faster, and in
a moment he had collared the man. It was the Mexican cook.
"Hey, what the mischief you doin' here? Huh? Listening weren't you?"
The Mexican shook his head.
"What, then? If you weren't listenin' what were you doin'?"
The cook pointed toward the kitchen and then to his mouth. He spread
both hands, palms upward.
"No more grub? Oh, I see. An' you was comin' to tell us?"
"What's the matter, Kid?" the deputy called. "Who you talking to?"
The Kid dragged the Mexican out into the yard.
"This bird," he said. "Cook. The one we found here. He was hidin'
behind the door--wants me to believe he came out to tell us there was
no more eats. Why you run, hey? What's the idea of that?" He
tightened his grip on the Mexican's collar.
"Oh, let the poor Greaser alone, Kid," Bud objected. "He's all right.
Just scared, that's all. The way you jerked open the door was enough
to scare anyone."
"Yea? Maybe. Anyway, I don't like this coot's looks. Back you go,
Mex. Next time don't be snoopin' around like that. We'll get your
stuff for you." He released his grasp, and the Mexican slunk back into
the house.
"Funny gink," commented Billee Dobb in a drawling tone of voice, as he
stared at the door through which the cook had disappeared. "Queerest
Mex I ever saw."
"The old detective still on the job," the Kid laughed and grinned.
"Well, Mr. Hawkins wants to get started. Guess you can order a whole
stock of food, Dick. The store got a buckboard, deputy?"
"Believe it has."
"Then you can tell 'em what you want and they'll cart it over. Flour,
bacon, bakin' powder, canned tomatoes, some yellow clings--don't forget
them, Dick--and whatever else you can think of. Shirts can wait. All
right, boys. Stay here, Dick, I'll bring your bronc."
"The Kid wants to handle a pony again," Nort said, when the Kid had
left. "He hated to lose that one of his."
"Mighty fond of it," declared Bud. "While you're gone, Dick, I think
I'll take a look around and see what I can find."
"Wouldn't go too far," Hawkins cautioned. "Here's your bronc, Dick.
Let's be on our way. See you fellers later. So long."
The two--Dick and the deputy--rode toward the town. Billee Dobb
resumed the smoking of his pipe. The effect of the exciting plan they
had just heard seemed to have departed with the deputy, for the minds
of those at the ranch turned again to the business of sheep farming.
Billee spoke of "washes," and "dips," and of buying a few "hurdles."
These terms were Greek to the boys, being experienced as they were only
in cattle and not sheep raising, but Billee explained to them some of
the peculiarities of the "woolies." He in a varied career had seen
most of the life of the range, and it was no surprise to the boys to
find he had once herded sheep.
As the morning wore on, the ranchers busied themselves in the doing of
many tasks about the place. The Kid made a thorough inspection of the
roofs and sides of the several shacks, to check up on the repairing
needed. Nort investigated the state of their living quarters--the bunk
and cook house. Bud decided to ride a bit through the surrounding
country, to observe the extent of their range, and to see to the fences.
Bud was not exactly "fence riding." This means following the fence
until a break is seen, repairing it, and going on to the next break.
It is difficult and tiresome work, no task to occupy an idle morning
with. As Bud rode along, his mind was busy with the thoughts of all
that had happened in the short time the boys had been on the Shooting
Star. The plan that the deputy had outlined for the capture of the
smugglers called for work, and it had only a fair chance of success.
Nevertheless there seemed no other way to achieve results, and the
advantages of the control of the Shooting Star had to be realized early
in the game.
"I'd like to run across Delton," thought Bud, feeling unconsciously for
his gun. His hand encountered no holster, and he suddenly realized
that he had not bothered to arm himself before starting out.
"Just as well that I don't see Delton," he said to himself a trifle
ruefully. "Wouldn't do me a lot of good to meet him when I haven't a
ghost of a show of bringing him in. Yet I might take a chance on him
if I saw him first." The pony he was riding stepped carefully so as to
avoid prairie dog holes, which would throw him and his rider if he
stepped in one suddenly.
"Might be a good idea to turn around," thought Bud aloud. "Don't want
to leave the work of the ranch to Nort and the Kid and Billee, though
there isn't an awful lot to do yet. When those sheep come in we'll
have our hands full. Oh, well, guess I'll ride a bit farther. See how
much more work this fence needs."
He was riding slowly now, looking carefully about him. The country
appeared vaguely familiar. Certain bushes looked as though he had seen
them before--there was a small tree that he had certainly passed some
time before. The cowboy's sight is so trained by years on the prairie
that even the shape of a bush will be remembered subconsciously. There
is so much land in the west that it is necessary to have some means to
guide oneself about, else a rider could very easily get lost along a
trail that should be familiar.
"Seems to me I've been here before," Bud said. "Let's see now--that
bush. Know I saw that sometime. That little hill there--why--I'll bet
that is--" he spurred his mount to a faster gait and made for a small
knoll that rose in front of him. As he reached it he gave a yell.
"I know now! This is where we got in that fight with the hidden
gunman! And over there ought to be--sure enough! The water hole! I
didn't think we were so near it. I must have come further than I
thought. Well--might as well take a look around. Right here is where
the bird that did all the shooting must have lain. Come here, bronc!"
The boy dismounted and slipped his horse's bridle rein on his wrist.
Then he threw himself down on the sand in the position their antagonist
might have taken when he fired at them.
"Here I am with a view of the water hole, and in a good place to shoot
from without being shot. Now I want to get away quick. What do I do?
If I roll to the left, I expose myself to fire. If I roll to the
right, I--" there was a little clump of mesquite by his right elbow.
Bud pulled himself toward this. "That would afford protection, but
once I get in here how can I get out? Now--" The boy was rolling to
the center.
With a "Hold it, bronc!" he released the reins and his hand slid off
the clump. Suddenly a queer thing happened. Bud felt the ground below
him give way, and the next moment he found himself in a hole just large
enough to admit his body, and about four feet deep. Above him the
bushes had closed again, effectively screening him from the view of
anyone above ground. He had accidentally solved the mystery of the
gunman's strange disappearance.
For a few seconds Bud lay still, so sudden was the shock of the fall.
He was not really stunned, however, and as soon as he recovered from
his surprise he struggled to his feet and parted the brush above him.
His horse was near by, moving slowly and cropping grass.
Then he saw how easily it would be to escape observation by falling
into the small pit. The bush was certainly not large enough to conceal
a man, and for this reason no one would imagine it could serve to
screen a hole. It afforded a perfect hiding place. On either side was
flat prairie, and no one would suspect the presence of a hidden person
in that country.
"So that's how it all happened!" Bud gave a low whistle. "No wonder
we missed the fellow. Say, this is one bird of a hiding place! All a
man has to do is to roll in it, like I did. Anyone who can tell this
hole is here without being in it is a better detective than I am.
"But what a crazy spot for a hiding place! Surely whoever dug it
didn't know he'd use it to fire on us and then escape. Must have been
some other reason for making it, and then it came in handy when whoever
shot at us wanted to get away. He must have just lain quiet while we
looked around, then, when we left, he just came out and walked away.
Clever, all right. Now who'd think of a stunt like that?"
He looked more closely at the hole. It was well walled up, and had
evidently been dug some time ago. By parting the bushes and kneeling
on a mound of earth at the bottom, a perfect sight of the surrounding
territory could be obtained. A gun could be poked through the bush and
all the ground, except a very small part directly in front of the hill,
would be covered. The person who dug it evidently had in mind the
advantages of firing from a hidden spot.
"Well, no use in staying in here any longer. Hope that fool bronc of
mine is still there. Don't want to lose her like the Kid did his.
Won't the rest be surprised when I tell them about this! The Kid will
want to come right out and see it, and try it out. And Billee Dobb
will say 'I thought there was sumpin' like this!' Gosh, this thing is
pretty deep." Bud put both hands on the sides and pulled himself
toward the top.
He threw one leg over the edge and was just about to spring out when
that unconscious something which often warns us of the presence of
another caused him to look up. What he saw almost caused him to fall
back into the pit again.
Looking down at him was a man. In his hand he held a gun, the muzzle
pointed at Bud's head. And as the boy saw the man's face he uttered a
cry.
"Delton!"
"The same! I see you decided to visit us. Well, buddy, you're in for
a good long visit!" Delton's lips curled in a sardonic smile.