AT SPUR CREEK
Dick was dreaming that he was at a football game, and that his brother
Nort had hold of him and was trying to pull him through the line of
opposing players to make a touchdown. Then the dream seemed to become
confused with reality, and Dick felt some one tugging at the blanket in
which he had rolled himself so snugly.
Half awake and half asleep Dick's brain struggled to clear itself and
get the right impression of what really was going on. Then he became
aware that his blanket was actually being pulled--this was no dream.
"Here! Who's that? What you doing?" he cried, and instinctively he
began groping for his gun, which was in its holster in the belt he had
taken off for the night.
Something cold and clammy touched Dick on the cheek, causing a shudder
to run through him.
"Snakes!" he yelled. "Rattlers! Look out!"
His frantic cries roused the others, and Nort and Bud struggled to free
themselves of their enveloping blankets as they sat up near the
smouldering blaze of the camp fire.
"What is it?" cried Bud, who had only half heard what his cousin
shouted.
"Snakes!" again yelled Dick.
"Snakes nothing!" disgustedly grumbled Billee Dobb, who did not relish
having his slumbers broken. "It's too cold for snakes to be out
to-night." Then the plainsman tossed on the fire a bit of wood which,
when it blazed up, revealed the cause of the disturbance.
"It's your horse!" cried Nort with a laugh. And it was Dick's faithful
pony who, having slipped his tether, had wandered over near human
companionship, and had been pulling at Dick's blanket with his teeth.
Then the animal rubbed his cold and clammy muzzle on Dick's face,
giving the lad the impression that a scaly rattlesnake had tried to
crawl over him.
"Well, I'll be jiggered! Blackie!" gasped Dick, when he saw that it
was his horse. "Whew, but you gave me a fright!"
"You oughter look fust an' yell afterward," commented Billee as he
turned over to go to sleep again.
The boys laughed and again wrapped up in their blankets, after Dick had
secured his horse with the others. A dim light was now showing in the
east, indicating that morning was not far off. But it was cold and
cheerless, even with the fire, for it was not a very large blaze, and
Dick was glad to follow the example of his brother and cousin and roll
up for a final doze before daylight.
"Well, now we'll see what happens," commented Nort, as they were
preparing a simple breakfast, over the replenished campfire. "Think we
might catch 'em to-day, Billee?"
"It all depends," was the old cow puncher's answer. "We can't spend
too much time chasin' these scamps. There's work to be done at the
ranch. Hang that perfesser, anyhow!"
"Why?" asked Bud.
"Well, if he hadn't crossed the trail last night when we fust started
out, we'd a' had them as we was after by now!" declared Billee.
"Maybe and maybe not," remarked Bud. "It wasn't the professor's fault,
anyhow. He just got lost."
"Well, he picked a mighty inconvenient time to do it in," snapped Old
Billee, who was always a bit raspy before breakfast.
The sun soon shone warm and glorious, a little too glorious in fact,
for it was very hot after 9 o'clock when the trail was again taken up.
Daylight did not make the "signs" any more plain--in fact, there was
absolutely no trail to follow. All they could do was to keep on,
making inquiries here and there at different ranches about suspicious
characters.
"We haven't seen any signs of the professor's party," remarked Nort,
when they stopped at noon for a "snack."
"No, I fancy they're off in the other direction," remarked Bud. "They
will probably be at the ranch when we get back."
"Speaking of getting back, I don't see much use in keeping on,"
commented Billee. "Those rascals have given us the slip."
"Guess we might as well hit the back trail," agreed Bud. "Dad will
have to tell Hank Fowler about this, and Hank can rustle up a posse and
see what he can do."
Hank Fowler was the local sheriff and on him, and such men as he might
swear in as deputies, devolved the duty of looking after law and order
in that part of the west where Diamond X was located, not far from the
Mexican border.
The boy ranchers and Billee kept on for another mile, to top a certain
high piece of land, over which they could have a good view, as they
thought from this vantage point they might see some signs to guide
them. But from the eminence they only viewed an endless rolling
prairie with here and there a clump of trees. They saw bands of roving
cattle and a few horses--their own stock or that of some neighbor, and
Billee decided that nothing could be gained by going any farther along
the cold trail.
Turning their horses' heads, the members of the little party swung back
toward Diamond X. On the way they stopped at the ranch of Bud and his
boy partners in Happy Valley, learning that everything was in good
shape there, being in the efficient hands of a capable foreman and some
cowboys. News of the robbery of Mr. Merkel's safe had already been
telephoned to Happy Valley, but though the cowboys had ridden out for
several miles in a number of directions, they had seen nothing and no
one suspicious they reported.
"No luck, boys?" asked Mr. Merkel as his son and nephews turned their
weary horses into the corral and entered the house.
"No luck, Dad," answered Bud. "What's new here?"
"Nothing much. Professor Wright's party came up and he has taken them
into camp over near the place where they dug up the monster fossil
bones some time ago."
"You didn't hear anything about the fellows who took your papers then?
What are you going to do, Dad?"
"Well, I don't know what I can do. It isn't as if this was the east,
where such things are a matter of record, and where you have the courts
and judges right at hand to put a stop to anything unlawful. It's
almost as if an unregistered government bond was stolen. I've got to
prove my property against those that have it, and I can't do it very
easily, because the men I bought it of originally are all dead or moved
away. It's just as if the Spur Creek land was owned by no one, and the
first comer has a chance to take it, now that the government has thrown
open the tract."
"But you aren't going to sit down and let 'em frisk you that way, are
you, Dad?" cried Bud, surprised at what he thought was the supine and
non-combative attitude of his parent.
"I should say not, son!" was the vigorous answer. "I'm going to fight!"
"That's more like it!" cried Bud.
"Hurray! We're with you!" exclaimed Nort.
"When does the fighting begin!" Dick wanted to know, and almost
unconsciously he looked at his "gun."
"We're going to start a camp at Spur Creek right away, and keep some
one on guard there constantly," declared Mr. Merkel. "If signs and
past performances go for anything, some Mexicans, a few Greasers and a
bunch of sheep herders will pour in through the pass and pre-empt
everything along Spur Creek any time now. Certain land along Spur
Creek did belong to the Indians and as such the government can throw it
open to those whose other holdings don't bar them--as I am barred.
"But I don't intend any Greasers or sheep herders shall take the land I
bought and paid for, even if they have managed to steal my title deeds
and other papers, without which I can't prove my claim. I'm going to
fight!" said the ranch owner vigorously.
"And we're with you!" cried Nort, as he tapped his gun.
I do not wish you to understand that the boy ranchers were a blood
thirsty trio of "gun-men." As I have explained, you don't always need
a gun in the West, but when you do require it the need is generally
urgent. Nor are the "guns" (by which term are meant revolvers of large
caliber) used in desperate fights against human beings. In the main
the guns are used with blank cartridges to direct a bunch of cattle in
the way it is desired they should go. Frequently a fusilade of shots,
harmless enough in themselves, will serve to turn a stampede which
stampede, if not stopped, would result in the death of hundreds of
animals who would blindly hurl themselves over a cliff.
Of course there are bad men in the west now, as there used to be,
though perhaps not so many, and near the Mexican border roving bands of
Indians or half-breeds often try to run off bunches of cattle. In such
cases guns with bullets instead of blank cartridges are urgently needed.
Then, too, enemies other than human are occasionally met with. In
winter wolves may prowl about, driven desperate by hunger. There is an
occasional rattlesnake to be shot up, and so, all in all, a cowboy
without a gun would not fit in the picture at all. Though I don't want
you to get the idea that the boy ranchers were desperate characters,
willing to "pull a gun" on the slightest provocation. The guns were
for service, not for bravado.
"Are you going to start a regular camp at Spur Creek, Dad?" asked Bud.
"That's my intention," his father answered. "We've got to be ready to
fight these sheep herders who, I feel sure, will pour in here. They
have been waiting to get possession of some range near the water, and
this is their chance. But they shan't ruin my feeding ground. I've
got too much money invested in it to lose it."
"And though we're farther off, in Happy Valley, we might be harmed by
sheep, too," said Nort. "So we've got to fight also!"
"That's right!" chimed in his brother.
I have indicated to you, briefly, why the cattle men so hated the sheep
herders. Sheep are innocent enough in themselves, and are much needed.
Without them a large part of the world would go hungry and only partly
clothed.
"But let the sheep herders stick to their own pastures!" was the cry of
the cattle men and the horse breeders. "Don't let them foul our
streams and cut up our grass."
As I told you, no western horse or cow, unless under dire need, will
drink from a stream where sheep have drunk, or through which sheep have
passed. And there is no grass left, once a herd of sheep have fed over
a tract, while for years afterward there is only a stunted growth of
green, if, indeed, any.
So it is no wonder that those at Diamond X prepared to fight the sheep
herders, and Spur Creek was the natural place at which to make a stand.
Situated as it was near the Mexican border, the ranch of Diamond X was
near the head of a great valley--a natural pass between the two
countries. Through this pass flowed Spur Creek, branching out into one
or more streams in different places.
You probably know that to successfully raise cattle, horses or sheep
two things are needed--food and water. Food is supplied by the various
rich grasses that grow naturally on the western plains. Water is not
so plentiful in that sometimes arid region, and for that reason is
jealously guarded. A ranch with a natural water supply is worth ten
times what one is without fluid for the cattle to drink. Driving herds
long distances to quench their thirst runs off their fat, and as cattle
are now sold by the pound, instead of by the piece, as formerly was the
case, the heavier a steer is the more money he brings.
Spur Creek, then, was a valuable asset to Mr. Merkel, and he determined
to fight for it to the "last ditch," so to speak. This water was only
a part of the courses that were valuable to his ranch. As for the
boys, they had a water supply of their own in Happy Valley, though they
had had to fight to secure that, as related in the book named "The Boy
Ranchers in Camp."
"Well, if there's to be a fight, the sooner the better," commented Bud
as he and his cousins washed up at home after their night in the open.
They told of their experiences, which really amounted to nothing as far
as getting a trace of the fugitives was concerned, and then. Mr.
Merkel sent word to Sheriff Fowler of the theft.
"And now we'll build a fort at Spur Creek," said the ranchman.
"A _fort_!" cried Bud.
"Well, it will be a sort of fort," his father went on. "There is one
place there just right for defensive operations and we'll put up a
shack there and mount guard until the danger is over. Once the sheep
men see that we mean business they may throw up their hands and go back
where they belong--in Mexico."
There were soon busy times at Diamond X. The flivver was called into
requisition, and on it and on wagons was transported to Spur Creek
lumber to make a rough shack as a shelter for those who would be kept
on guard against the advance of the sheep herders.
"And we're going to form part of that guard!" declared Bud. "Our ranch
can run itself for a while. We've got to stick by Dad!"
"That's right!" agreed Nort and Dick. Secretly they rejoiced at the
chance of a coming conflict, even though they had so recently had a
hard time campaigning against the Yaqui Indians.
It did not take long to throw up a rough shelter at Spur Creek. This
could be improved upon as time passed, but it was necessary to make a
stand there at once. So, two nights after the alarm and robbery at
Diamond X, behold the boy ranchers, with some of their cowboy friends,
on guard at the edge of the stream which marked one of the boundaries
of the land Mr. Merkel claimed--but land to which he could not now show
a legal title because of the theft of his papers.
"Well, all serene so far," observed Bud, as night settled down on them
in their new environment.
"Yes, I don't reckon we'll be disturbed," observed Billee, who was
there with them.
"It'll give me a chance to pick up, an' get back in th' saddle again,"
observed Yellin' Kid in his usual loud voice. He had been allowed to
form part of the "fort" guard, as it was thought the duties there would
not be strenuous for a while, at least, and he could make a better
recovery than at Diamond X.
"Well, it's a good place for a fight, if one comes," said Nort, as he
looked about the place. It readily lent itself well to fortification,
and advantage had been taken of this by Mr. Merkel. The rough shack
was an outpost fort in the land that was destined to be battled for by
the sheep men on one side and the cattle men on the other.
Quiet evening was settling down, "grub" had been served and the ponies
were rubbing noses in the improvised corral when Yellin' Kid, who was
venturing to walk around a little to "exercise his game leg," as he
expressed it, came to a halt and gazed earnestly across Spur Creek in
the direction of Mexico distant several miles.
"What is it, Kid?" asked Billee, who was smoking his pipe.
"Somebody's comin'," was the answer, "an' he's sweatin' leather," which
meant that he was riding fast.
The boy ranchers looked in the direction indicated. A lone horseman
was approaching from the side of the creek where the enemy might be
expected first to appear.