Larry O'Hara rode up to Sydney's camp late one afternoon, some two or
three weeks later, and finding the place deserted went in the cook-tent
and made himself at home. It had been a long, hot, dusty ride from
Hathaway's home-ranch. He had experienced some difficulty in finding the
place, and, having at length reached it, proceeded with his natural
adaptitude to settle himself for a prolonged stay.
He was a great, handsome, prepossessing young fellow, overflowing with
high spirits and good-nature. Though a natural born American, he was
still a typical Irishman, retaining much of the brogue of his Irish
parents, which, being more of an attraction in him than otherwise, he
never took the trouble to overcome. All the girls were in love with
Larry O'Hara, and he, in his great generosity of heart, knew it, and
loved them in return.
His affection for Hope Hathaway was something altogether different, and
dated two or three years back when he first saw her skimming across the
prairie on an apparently unmanageable horse. He proceeded to do the
gallant act of rescuing a lady. For miles he ran the old cow-pony that
had been assigned him, in hot pursuit, and when he had from sheer
exhaustion almost dropped to the ground she suddenly turned her horse
about and laughed in his face. It was an awkward situation. The
perspiration streamed from his forehead, his breath came in gasps. She
continued laughing. He mopped his face furiously, got control of his
breath, and exclaimed in deep emotion:
"Sure and is ridicule all I get when I have followed you for ten miles
on this baist of a horse, to offer you a proposition of marriage?"
Their friendship dated from that moment, and though Larry had renewed
his proposition of marriage every time he had seen her, yet there had
never been a break in their comradeship.
He looked about the well-appointed camp with a sigh of contentment. This
was something like living, he thought. His enforced confinement at the
ranch had been slow torture to him. He missed the presence of Hope and
Sydney, for to him they were the very spirit of the place, and he was
filled with anxiety to get away from it and join them.
After washing the dust from his face and hands he went through the
cook's mess-box, then, having nothing else to do, laid down for a nap on
one of the bunks in the second tent and was soon sleeping peacefully.
He never knew just how long he slept, though he declared he had not
closed his eyes, when a whispered conversation outside the tent brought
him to his feet with a start. It was suspicious to say the least, and he
tore madly at his roll of belongings in search of his revolver, which he
found in his hip-pocket, after he had scattered his clothes from one end
of the tent to the other.
It was not yet dark. The whispers came now from the opposite tent.
O'Hara's fighting blood was up. He gloried in the situation. Here was
his opportunity to hold up some thieving rascals. It was almost as good
as being a real desperado. It flashed upon him that they might be the
real article, but he would not turn coward. He would show them what one
man could do!
He peered cautiously out of the tent. Two horses with rough-looking
saddles stood at the edge of the brush not far away. Larry O'Hara would
not be afraid of two men.
He moved cautiously up to the front of the cook-tent, and throwing open
the flap called out in thundering tones: "Throw up your hands, ye
thieving scoundrels, or I'll have your loives!"
A pair of arms shot up near him like a flash, while a choking sound came
from the farther side of the mess-box. Two startled, pie-be-grimed boys
gazed in amazement into the barrel of Larry's gun, which he suddenly
lowered, overcome with surprise as great as their own.
"May heaven preserve us!" he cried. "I thought you were murdering
thieves! But if it's only supper you're after, I'll take a hand in it
meself!"
The soft-voiced twin recovered first.
"Say, where'd you come from? I thought that was the cook sleepin' in
there an' we wasn't goin' to disturb him to get our supper. What're
_you_ doin' 'round here, anyhow?"
"I'm a special officer of the law, on the lookout for some dangerous
criminals," replied Larry. "But I see I've made a great mistake this
time. It's not kids I'm after! I'll just put this weapon back in my
pocket to show that I'm friendly inclined. And now let's have something
to eat. You boys must know the ins and outs of this place pretty well,
for I couldn't find pie here when I came, or anything that looked loike
pie. Where'd you make the raise?"
The boys began to breathe easier, although an "officer of the law" was
something of which they stood in mortal terror. Yet this particular
"officer" seemed quite a jovial sort of a fellow, and they soon reached
the conclusion that he would be a good one to "stand in" with. The
soft-voiced twin sighed easily, and settled himself into a familiar
position at the table, remarking as he did so:
"Oh, we're to home here! This camp belongs to a friend of ourn." He
pulled the pie toward him. "Here, Dave," he said to the other, who had
also recovered from his surprise, "throw me a knife from over there. I
reckon I ain't a-goin' to eat this here pie with my fingers! An' get out
some plates for him an' you. No use waitin' for the cook to come in an'
get our supper. Ain't no tellin' where he's gone."
"You're a pretty cool kid," remarked O'Hara, helping himself to the pie.
"I'll take a piece of pie with you for company's sake, though I'm
inclined to wait for the cook of this establishment. A good, warm meal
is more to my liking. Where do you fellows live?"
"Over here a ways," replied Dan cautiously.
"Know of any bad men that wants arresting?" continued O'Hara. "I'm in
the business at present."
"I reckon I do," replied the boy, lowering his voice to a soft, sweet
tone. "There's a mighty dangerous character I can put you onto if you'll
swear you'll never give me away."
"I'll never breathe a word of it," declared O'Hara; "just point out your
man to me; I'll fix him for you!"
"What'll you do to him?" asked Dan, in great earnestness. O'Hara
laughed.
"I'll do just whativer you say," he replied. "What's his crime?"
"Well, I'll tell you," said the boy deliberately, while Dave listened in
open-mouthed wonderment. "He's a bad character, a tough one! He gits
drunker'n a fool and thinks he runs the earth, an' he licks his children
if they happen to open their heads! I never seen him steal no horses, er
kill anyone, but he's a bad man, just the same, an' needs lockin' up for
'bout six months!" Dave, finally comprehending his twin, jumped up and
down, waving his arms wildly above his head.
"You bet you! Lock him up, that's the checker! Lock the old man in jail,
an' we can do just as we want to!" he exclaimed.
"But you know," said O'Hara impressively, his eyes twinkling with
suppressed merriment, "it's like this. There's a law that says if a
man--a _family_ man--be sent to jail for anything less than cold-blooded
murder, his intire family must go with him to look after him. Didn't you
ever hear of that new law? Now that would be a bad thing for his boys,
poor things! It would be worse than the beating they get. But you just
give Larry O'Hara the tip, and the whole family'll get sent up!"
"Not much you don't!" roared Dave to his twin, who for the instant
seemed dumfounded by this piece of news from the "officer of the law."
"I reckon," said the soft-voiced schemer after a quiet pause, "his boys
'ud rather take the lickin's than get sent up, so you might as well let
him alone. You're sure there ain't no mistake 'bout that? Don't seem
like that's quite right."
"Sure!" replied Larry, enjoying the situation to its full extent.
"Well, I ain't," decided the boy finally. "I'm goin' to ask the teacher.
Mebby you're loadin' us. You bet she'll know!"
Larry O'Hara became suddenly awake to a new interest. "Where is
she--your teacher?" he inquired.
"I dunno," answered the boy. "Mebby home."
At this juncture the flap of the tent was pushed open and in bustled the
little English cook.
All three of the occupants started guiltily, while William looked from
his visitors to the remnants of pie upon the table with some
astonishment.
"Well, Hi'll be blowed!" he ejaculated. Then noticing that O'Hara was
not an ordinary specimen of Westerner, he changed his expression and
began wagging his head, offering excuses for his tardiness.
"I had orders to get a warm bite at eight o'clock, so I went out 'untin'
a bit on my own account. Did you come far, sir?"
"All the way from Hathaway's ranch," replied Larry. "And the way I took,
it couldn't have been a rod less than a hundred moiles. Sure, every bone
in me body is complaining!"
"Too bad, that," condoled William. "Hit's no easy road to find. I missed
hit once, myself. I think I seen you about the ranch, didn't I? What's
yer name?"
"I'm O'Hara," he replied. "If you haven't seen me, you've heard about
me, which amounts to the same thing. I'm glad to see you, my good man,
for I began to suspect that everyone had deserted camp. I was just going
to question these young natives here, as to the whereabouts of the
owners of this ranch, when you came in."
The twins were sidling toward the front of the tent with a view to hasty
retreat when the cook fixed his sharp little eyes upon them.
"Ain't I good enough to yous but you must come an' clean out all my
pastry when my back is turned? Hi'll overlook hit this time, if you get
out an' chop me some wood. 'Urry up now an' get to work! for they'll all
be along directly!" The boys made their escape from the tent, while the
cook continued: "They all went out 'untin' after some antelope, way up
there on the big mountain. They'll be in after a bit for a bite to heat,
so if you'll excuse me, Hi'll start things goin'."
The little cook put on his apron and hustled about, while O'Hara went
out and watched the boys break up some sticks of wood which they brought
from the nearby brush.
"Here, give me the job," the young man finally remarked. "It belongs to
me by rights for keeping you talking so long. If it hadn't been for me
you'd got away without being seen. Here, hand over your ax, and get
along home with you!"
"Say, you're all right, if you do belong to the law," said Dave, gladly
giving up the ax. They speedily made their escape, and none too soon,
for as they disappeared a group of riders came in sight on the opposite
side of the brush and soon surrounded the wood-chopper with hearty words
of welcome.