ADRIAN HIRES MORE HELP.
"We didn't reckon we'd meet up with you so soon again," remarked one of
the cow-punchers, as, with his two companions, he drew in alongside
Adrian; Donald at the time was "keeping tabs" on the rustler at some
little distance away.
"And you're wondering your heads off right now," Adrian told him, with
one of his rare smiles that made him so many friends, "what under the
sun we're doing with this bunch of cattle. It's a long story, so I'll
just say that we saw a stampede with four rustlers managing it, and
chased after. We found them in camp at the mouth of Bittersweet Coulie,
up which they had chased the herd, where they could change the brands in
the morning, and drive the lot away to one of the Walker ranches. Well,
we managed to make the four punchers our prisoners; and leaving three
bound there, we're taking the other fellow part way along the back
trail. When we got a few miles from the ranch buildings we thought we'd
let him go back with the four ponies, so's to free his pards. That's the
yarn in a nutshell, boys."
They stared at him, as though hardly able to believe their ears. It
seemed incredible that three mere lads should have managed to get the
better of a bunch of the Walker rustlers, men whom all honest punchers
wanted as little to do with as possible.
Still, there were the cattle as positive evidence of the truth of
Adrian's story, and they knew Corney, as well as his reputation, well
enough.
"That beats anything I've heard tell of for many a day!" exclaimed one
puncher, looking as though he might be ready to shout, and swing his hat
in glee.
"First time them Walkers has been rubbed the wrong way for a hull year
or more," added the second fellow in chaps and flannel shirt, and boots
that sported enormous Mexican spurs; "fact is, ever since Fred Comstock
took water, and quit fightin' 'em, an' that was after he married that
sister of Hatch Walker's."
"He did used to be a fighter; but seems like his heart it's broke with
havin' her hands in his hair so often; and he never lets out a yawp
these days, no matter what happens. And say, them steers is got the
Bar-S brand on right now; seems like they must a come from his place,
the third lot he's lost in nine months."
"It's going to be the last, if I know anything about it!" declared
Adrian; at which suggestive words the three cow-punchers exchanged
significant glances, and then the lanky fellow remarked:
"We doesn't mean to be personal, you know, stranger, but might we ask
what that's got to do with you?" he went on to say.
"Only this," replied the boy, quickly; "they've been robbing me long
enough, and I think it's about time this Walker gang was broken up, in
the bargain. There's a new sheriff just come into office, I'm told, and
as soon as I can get word to him I'm going to demand that he come to the
Bar-S Ranch with a posse, to take some decided action. Perhaps, when
they find out that there's something on foot, the other ranch owners
around this part of the Wyoming range country will join in with me. Oh!
I forgot that I hadn't introduced myself yet. I'm Adrian Sherwood, and
it's my Uncle Fred Comstock you've been telling such queer stories
about."
"Put her there, Adrian!" shouted the lanky puncher, thrusting out his
hand. "I sure am proud to meet up with the son of a man that had such a
good name as your dad. And if what you've started in to do is a sign of
what's goin' to happen here, I reckons as how the Walkers'll hev to walk
purty soon, eh, boys?" and he turned to nod his head at his comrades.
These two were just as desirous of shaking hands with young Sherwood as
the lanky fellow had been; and Adrian liked them more than ever.
"I've been surprised at the bad returns I've been getting a long while
now, from Uncle Fred," he went on to say, "and made up my mind to run
along here from Arizona, where I was visiting my friend Donald Mackay,
on his father's ranch, just to find out for myself what was going on."
"Then Comstock nor his big wife don't suspicion that you're around, is
thet it, Adrian?" exclaimed the thin puncher, grinning as though vastly
pleased.
"The first they'll know about it," the other went on to say, "will be
this afternoon when we come driving this recovered herd back home. One
of the three men we left at the mouth of the coulie said he'd give
something to be on hand when that took place, just to see what
happened."
"You bet I would, too!" declared the lanky puncher; "and my pards here
would be tickled to death if they could see what _she_ looks like when
you kim aridin' along, drivin' your own cattle back home, which she
expects are carryin' the Walker brand by this time."
"Sure we would!" burst out the other two, eagerly.
"All right, then, you can see that sight if you'll engage with me for a
year at the regular wages, and agree to stand back of me!" observed
Adrian, thinking the time had come to strike while the iron was hot.
"D'ye mean that, Adrian Sherwood?" asked the other, after he had caught
affirmative nods from both his companions.
"Just what I do!" was the reply the ranch boy gave. "I expect there'll
have to be an overhauling of the pay roll when I take the reins in my
own hands; because of course some of the punchers at the ranch will be
Walker sympathizers, put there to cow the rest. My uncle will know those
he can trust, and the rest must go; so you see I'll need a few good
trusty fellows to back me up. What do you say?"
"It's a go!" exclaimed the lanky puncher, as he again thrust out his
hand; "for it happens just now that we're lookin' for a job, as our boss
sold out his ranch business, and the new man brought his own crowd along
with him. We even thought of hiking over to Bar-S to see what chance
there might be there; but since that Walker crowd has been runnin'
things up yonder none of us kinder like the idea of hitchin' up with Mr.
Comstock. But since you've come, and mean to do things like you say,
why, we'll throw in with you, sure we will, Adrian."
That pleased the other more than he could find words to say.
"Then let's call it a bargain, and first chance we get we'll put the
same down in writing so there'll be no mistake. And now tell me what
your names might be."
The lanky one gave his as George Hess; the little "sawed-off" announced
himself as Andy Hickenlooper; while the last puncher declared that he
would respond to any name, especially when the cook was pounding on a
frying-pan with a big spoon to announce dinner; but that if he had to
sign any legal document he believed he could swear to the fact that he
had once been called Septimus Green, shortened to plain Sep.
It was determined that they might carry the rustler along for a few more
miles and then send him about his business, with the other ponies in his
charge. To be sure, the news would thus be carried to the Walker
headquarters in due time; but long ere that could happen Adrian expected
to have reached the ranch with his cattle, so that it did not matter
much anyhow.
Of course Adrian felt it his immediate duty to inform his chums of his
good fortune in making arrangements with such a husky lot of punchers,
and ones they had particularly fancied when they met them before.
So he had George keep the rustler under his eye, while he called Donald
and Billie to him, to explain the situation. No doubt the boys had
partly guessed the truth as soon as they heard those yells, and saw the
three newcomers swing out to start driving the herd; but all the same it
sounded fine to them as Adrian spun the story.
"Great work, old chum!" exclaimed Billie, approvingly; "and already the
atmosphere up around these diggings seems different. The punchers think
so; and say, wouldn't it be a _stupendous_ thing now if our coming
started the ranchers to getting their pluck back, so that they'd rise
up, and chase this old Walker tribe out of Wyoming. Hope that's what's
going to happen, you hear me talking, boys!"
When Billie was pleased his round red face fairly beamed with the smile
that came so easily upon it. It was a catching smile, too, and many
times those who saw the same just had to chime in from sheer sympathy.
For some time longer the drive went on, and they must have covered more
than half of the territory over which the stampeded cattle had chased on
the preceding night. As yet there was not the first sign of any pursuit
on the part of the punchers connected with the raided ranch; as George
Hess said, they were "lying down, like whipped dogs, and letting things
go as they pleased, because it wouldn't do any good if they did want to
follow the thieves, with that woman holding her thumb on Fred Comstock
so that he didn't dare call his soul his own these days, without
dodging."
Adrian began to recognize numerous marks in the landscape. He knew that
in not more than another couple of hours they ought to arrive at their
destination, unless something not down on the bills happened to
interfere; which could only come from a meeting with a large bunch of
the Walker punchers, and consequent war.
Billie was eagerly waiting to hear one of his chums remark that it was
time they turned the rustler loose. He was beginning to get uneasy,
under the dreadful fear that this dismissal might be delayed so long
that they would have to feed the fellow again, and that Billie believed
would be a misfortune in many ways.
Finally he saw Adrian beckon the rustler, and head him toward where
Billie had the three ponies belonging to the prisoners of Bittersweet
Coulie trailing along after him. That could only mean one thing, the
sending of Corney about his business, and allowing him to gallop back to
release his unfortunate companions.
"Here's your ponies," Billie called out, after he had heard Adrian tell
the fellow he was at liberty to ride away; "and don't forget that we
treated you white on this trip. I only hope that if ever I have the
misfortune to be held a prisoner among your crowd that you'll see to it
I don't starve; because I always did say there was no death I dreaded
more than going without my regular allowance of grub."
But nobody was listening to Billie talk. The rustler had taken the
bridles of the ponies and without a word turned to gallop away. Once he
did turn in his saddle to shake his clenched fist back at the boys, and
then immediately duck down until he lay flat along the neck of his
mount, half fearing lest one of them answer his challenge with a shot
from his rifle.
But such a thing did not occur to any one of the three chums. They were
really too glad to see the ugly-faced Corney depart to think of trying
to detain him a minute longer than seemed absolutely necessary; and
least of all would Billie have put out a restraining hand, because it
was nearly noon, and lunch time.