THE CAPTURE OF BOB
“Traitor!” repeated Bob and then pulled his horse’s head around and
struck hard with his quirt. In a flash his little horse was flying in
the direction of home. It was a desperate chance he was taking, for
he had read in the faces of the two men as he turned that they were
determined that he should not get back to the dam with his suspicions
confirmed. He knew that in running he braved possible death, for he had
noticed that both men were armed. The sound of his horse’s hoofs and
the rushing wind drowned the noise that would have told him whether he
was being pursued or not. He was bending low in the saddle and it was
hard to turn and see what had become of Jerry and his companions. But
he managed it.
They were coming all right. But for the time he was holding his own and
even doing a little better. They had raced their horses from the ranch
in their endeavor to catch up with him, while he had only ambled along
over the same distance. He exulted as he realized the distance was
rapidly growing greater between them.
“Why don’t they shoot?” he thought. Hardly had the thought flashed
through his brain when a bullet whistled by him. Then came another and
another.
“Guess I’m too far,” he thought. “Out of range!” But he guessed wrong,
for a moment later his pony stumbled and fell. He rolled clear and
staggered to his feet and started to run on. But a moment later he was
jerked to earth. One of the men had roped him.
When his captors came up he realized that Jerry was not with them and
he turned to look back over the way they had come. No Jerry was in
sight. Evidently as soon as real trouble started the men had decided it
was better for Jerry to keep out of it.
“Thought you’d get away, did you?” said Wesley with an ugly laugh.
“Swell chance.”
Bob kept quiet. They tied his arms to his sides with the lasso and
then one of the men went over to the pony Bob had ridden and, putting
a revolver to its head, fired. Bob realized that no matter how mean a
citizen a cowboy might be, he would not let an animal suffer. The shot
which had dismounted him had hit the pony in one of the hind legs and
had broken it.
Little was said as they took Bob and hoisted him into the saddle of
one of their horses. Harper got up behind him and handled the reins on
either side of his body. He turned the horse’s head away from the trail
into the low brush that here covered the ground. The other man followed.
Bob was not gagged. Probably his captors were certain that no matter
how hard he yelled there would be no one near enough to hear. That
being the case, the boy decided that it was useless to wear out his
lungs. So he kept his tongue still and suffered in silence.
After the little procession had been going for some time, Harper began
to taunt Bob.
“You figgered you was goin’ to git clean away an’ dust it for the dam,
huh? Goin’ to tell ’em that we-uns up here was aimin’ to play thunder
with that ol’ bunch o’ masonry that’s a-goin’ to take the bread out o’
our mouths, huh?”
Bob paid no attention to this outburst, letting it go past his ears.
Wesley’s voice from behind took up the refrain.
“_And_, if it’ll do you any good, which it ain’t, you might know that
we are not only _aimin’_ to bust up that dam down yonder, but we’re
_goin’_ to do it, sure. It’ll all be over by the time you get back
there, though, so I reckon the information won’t help you much.”
They both laughed.
“This li’l’ rooster thinkin’ he could come along up this here way an’
fool us! But Jerry’s got the hand all dealt with Miguel. The Greasers
will turn the trick any night now. Then it’s good-bye ol’ dam for some
time.”
“Yep,” boasted Harper, “an’ mebbeso we can keep a-puttin’ it off
ontwell they git plum tired of tryin’ to buck us cowmen.”
“You can’t do it!” flared out Bob, unable to restrain himself any
longer. “The Service will beat you, and don’t you forget it!”
“Shut up!” roared Harper in his ear. “Children should be seen and not
heard!” And to emphasize his remark he fetched the boy a ringing clip
on the side of the head. Not having the use of his hands, Bob lost his
balance and fell out of the saddle.
A short dash for freedom was all he got, for Wesley on the other horse
caught him before he had gone many steps. This time they tied his feet
by means of a rope under the horse’s belly.
“Reckon you won’t try _that_ again,” grunted Harper when once again
they were proceeding towards what the boy imagined would be some sort
of prison.
His captors began talking about the situation at the Mexican border
and Bob drank in every word they said. It was just now that he began
to realize what depth of feeling there was about the way the situation
was being handled and to what lengths the ranchers and cattlemen would
go to force the United States to make war on the other country. Wesley
and Harper undoubtedly were “bad men,” but Bob was convinced by their
talk that they had started on this particular piece of villainy for
reasons which they thought were right. Probably when the thing began,
they never planned anything worse than a strike among the Mexicans in
order to delay for a year or two longer the flooding of the rangeland.
Then had come the chance to induce the Mexicans to commit worse crimes
in order to strengthen the feeling against Mexico and thus bring on
war. Holman, the boss of these men and Bob’s host, had said that he
wanted to move his stock to his ranch in Mexico when the dam was
finished--but it would be foolish to do that while the country was
still so unsettled. Presumably, there were a lot of men in the same fix
as Holman, and these, naturally, wanted the United States to step in
and make the unsettled country peaceful.
As he was revolving these things in his mind they came to an opening
in the thick brush. It lay right on the edge of the river, close to
which they had been traveling. Evidently it was the place that had been
decided upon as his prison, for, almost screened by the encroaching
scrub oaks, was an adobe hut. Bob could not imagine what it had been
used for. As they approached it in the gathering gloom of night, it
did not seem to have any opening except a door. No windows were visible
from the direction in which they came and Bob doubted if there were any
on the other side.
“I figger our bird will be pretty near safe in this li’l’ cage,” said
Dave Harper. “’Member when we holed up that hoss thief here?”
“Sure do,” was the answer. “’Specially safe as I elect myself a
c’mittee o’ one to stick here on guard.”
They unbound the boy and pulled him off the horse. They went rapidly
through his pockets and relieved him of everything they could find--his
watch, small change, and the jackknife he always carried. Then, before
he had a moment to limber up his cramped muscles, he was dumped
unceremoniously into the hut and the door was pulled to.
“It’s good we fixed up this door and put this bolt on,” Bob heard
Wesley remark as the bar fell into place. “Now both of us can go back
to the ranch so’s it won’t look suspicious. The kid is safe here till
doomsday.”
“Mebbeso, but I ain’t goin’ to take no chance on it! I’m goin’ to stay
right here till morning and then you can come down and do a spell o’
watchin’ too!”
Probably this last remark was meant only to impress him, Bob thought.
If the hut would hold him, Harper wouldn’t spend the night watching.
It would be too uncomfortable. Moreover, it would be all the same
if Harper was able to make his prisoner believe he would be outside
waiting for an attempt at escape. Once more he heard a voice. This time
it was directed at him. It was Harper.
“Listen, kid! Someone will let you out o’ there before you starve.
And I’ll be camped right here until the thing that’s goin’ to happen,
happens. You might jest as well make yourself at home and stop
worrying, ’cause it won’t get you nowheres. Good night and sweet
dreams!”
The murmur of voices came to him for a little and then all was still.