SAFE IN THE CORRAL.
"Well, I feel some easier now that they're getting in closer, and no
signs of a pack of rough riders anywhere in sight beyond!" announced the
rancher, after a little while had elapsed, which counted anxious minutes
for both himself and Billie.
Even Mr. Thomas had deigned to limp out, and offer to assist in any sort
of work he might be able to do; but the stockman, after taking one look
at his shrinking figure, told him he need not bother, since everything
had been done looking to the safety of the corrals.
And so the pilgrim of the trail hung around; but as before, he impressed
Billie as a very timid sort of a fellow, and ready to run or dodge at
the first sign of any trouble.
Now the first herd was well in, and the punchers could be seen waving
their hats as they darted this way and that on their active ponies,
cutting off the dash of an obstreperous cow that took a sudden notion
she did not want to head for the corrals, when the grass was so sweet
away out on the hills, and under the trees growing along the
watercourse.
"I'm glad to see that all the boys are working with a vim," Billie heard
the late manager of the ranch say to himself, as he took note of the way
the punchers carried on their business, every one seeming to be actively
employed; and the boy could easily understand what he meant by those
significant words.
In each party, it will be remembered that there were several of the men
who secretly sided with the sister of Hatch Walker, the rustler, Uncle
Fred's wife; and apparently the stockman had been uneasy lest these
fellows do everything in their power to create discord in the ranks, and
delay the drive until their friends the rustlers came along.
It seemed however, that from some cause or other they could not have
deemed it good policy to attempt this tricky play. Perhaps they saw from
the way things were working that they were outnumbered in both bands;
and the belief that this must have been done for a reason caused them to
go slow about provoking trouble. Doubtless Fred Comstock may have given
orders to the faithful few to keep their eyes on the alert and at the
first sign of treachery to use their guns freely. That was the sort of
reputation he used to have before the widow came into his life, and
changed its current; and there were signs that Mr. Comstock might be
getting near the point where he would assert his manhood once again, and
break away from "petticoat rule."
The two herds arriving at nearly the same time there was a scene of
tremendous excitement around the ranch buildings, with cowboys dashing
this way and that, whooping at the top of their voices, and shouting out
orders to one another.
Billie wanted to be with them, but that injured knee gave him a nasty
wrench now and then; so he concluded to forego that pleasure. He could
see that both of his chums were doing as fine work as any one belonging
to the Bar-S Ranch; and more than once a fellow whom Billie suspected
might be under the ban would follow the flying form of Adrian with his
eyes, as though trying to figure out what difference the coming of the
real owner of the ranch might make in the final outcome.
By degrees the cattle were being separated as Mr. Comstock wished, and
driven into the separate corrals. During this period of intense
excitement those who were not engaged in the work watched operations
with more or less interest. Even Charley Moo, the Chinese cook, could be
seen leaning on the rail of a corral taking it all in; and there in the
doorway of the ranch house stood Mrs. Comstock, apparently laughing
scornfully to herself at all this confusion, just because a few of her
relatives might be expected to make an evening call on her.
The day was not far from done when the last of the cattle had been
chased through the jaws of the big corral, and the bars placed in
position that made them prisoners, until such time as the stockman
deemed it wise to let them out again. Meanwhile they would have to be
fed from the store of hay that was kept on hand in big stacks, over in
one of the fields away from the buildings, and intended for just such
emergencies as this, or a bitter spell during a wintry blizzard, when
forage could not be found by the herds in the sheltered places.
Once more Mr. Comstock was making use of his glasses to look anxiously
toward a certain quarter. But now he was not anticipating the coming of
the rustlers, who, upon finding that the stock had slipped through their
hands, and were safe in the corrals, were likely to remain aloof until
late in the night, when they might with impunity approach close to the
ranch, and try some of their sly games looking to effecting a breach in
the stockade, and the release of the herds.
"Will they come from that direction, Uncle Fred?" asked Adrian, halting
beside the other, as he mopped his steaming face with his red bandana
handkerchief, which of course he carried, cowboy fashion, knotted about
his neck, with the loose folds hanging in front, so that while riding
swiftly along they could be utilized to wipe his eyes free from dust,
without releasing his bridle hand.
"Well, you see, son," replied the other, as he lowered the glasses, and
showed by his disappointed look that he had failed to glimpse some
object he had been hoping to discover; "I'm not bothering about the
rustler crowd just now. Since they didn't get along in time to stop the
drive, and run off the cattle, chances are they'll hold off till
midnight, or along about there. But I did hope to pick up a little dust
over yonder. That's about where the sheriff and his posse'd be apt to
show up, when they do come along."
"No signs of them yet, then, Uncle?"
"I'm sorry to say not, Adrian; but then, as the officer is a new hand he
might find it a little difficult to gather a posse. You see, these
Walkers have a lot of friends scattered around, and that's going to make
it hard to knock 'em out; but the new sheriff was elected for just that
purpose, I was told, and they say he's a nervy man. Reckon he'll need
all the grit he's got to tide him over; but at last the stockmen around
this county have made up their minds this wholesale robbery has got to
stop, no matter what sort of war comes along. And I'm going to join
hands with them, in spite of what the rest of the house says."
He made this assertion boldly; but habit caused him to give a quick
glance over his shoulder when speaking, just as though he half feared to
discover Mrs. Comstock standing there, with upraised hand, and a bitter
smile on her strong features.
But from the sigh of relief that broke involuntarily from the lips of
Uncle Fred it was apparent that the coast was clear. Really, Adrian
believed that if things kept going on in this way much longer, his
relative would presently turn out to be as timid as some other men he
had known, for instance that pilgrim of the trail, who gave his name as
Mr. Thomas, and who acted as though he might be dodging a threatening
hand most of the time.
Having completed their work the punchers were grouped together,
exchanging many remarks after the manner of their kind; while the
sweating ponies stood around, each with his bridle rein trailing on the
ground.
As yet the loyal workers did not know the full extent of the opposition;
they seemed to sense something unusual in the air, and as they already
knew the sentiments of the men who were in touch with Mrs. Comstock and
her relatives, perhaps they could give a good guess that mighty
interesting developments were bound to come about in the near future,
and that a change in the way things were run up in that section of
country was imminent.
This was shown to Donald by the way the four loyal punchers kept in a
bunch, and rubbed elbows with the three new hands, whom the young owner
of the ranch had employed to help out.
The night was not far away, and from indications it promised to be one
calculated to be marked with a red star in the history of the Bar-S
Ranch.
Adrian wondered how his father would have handled such a situation. The
thought caused him to grit his teeth, and determine that come what might
he would never knuckle down to those greedy Walkers; if forced to the
wall he would give up trying to run the ranch, and leave a barren desert
behind him when he retired; but not one dollar of tribute would he ever
knowingly pay in order to purchase immunity.
Presently he saw Donald beckoning to him, and went over to where the
other chum was standing, leaning on the bars of the nearest corral.
Donald seemed to be amused over something, and of course Adrian was
immediately curious to know what it meant.
"Tell me, so I can laugh with you, Donald," he remarked; "things look so
serious all about us that it'd do me a heap of good just to have one
little chuckle, if only I knew of anything funny. What's been happening
around here?"
"Why, it's this way," replied the other, looking to right and left
first, as though he did not want any one to overhear what he meant to
say, for Donald never hurt anybody's feelings if he could avoid it;
"your Uncle Fred came along here, and chancing to see Charley Moo, he
made all sorts of gestures until he caught his eye, and then beckoned
him over."
"Sure," Adrian went on to say, "to give him orders for supper, I reckon;
because there's a raft of hungry punchers to feed tonight; and they tell
me that Aunt Josie never bothers her head about what the boys get to
eat, because her supper is cooked privately, and as a rule she eats it
alone, uncle preferring to mess with his hands."
"Well, I guess this night Uncle Fred's a little mite afraid your aunt
might take a notion to eat with the boys, like lots of women folks do on
ranches down our way, so as to civilize the savages, they say. Anyhow, I
heard him give the Chink his orders all right, and after he was through
he called Charley Moo back; and what d'ye think he told him?"
"How do you expect me to guess?" demanded Adrian.
"Well," continued the amused boy, "he explained that he wanted the cook
to fetch some supper for him out to the corral, when all the rest were
busy working their jaws--said that he felt that some one should be on
guard _all_ the time, and knowing how hungry the hard-working punchers
were, he didn't have the heart to keep any one of them away from his
feed. What do you think of that; a poor excuse is better than none at
all, ain't it, Ad?"
"So they say," chuckled the other, who of course knew full well just why
Uncle Fred did not care to enter the long room where the men took their
meals, lest he see the figure of his wife at the head of the table, and
be made to appear small in the eyes of the punchers.
"There, look at Mr. Comstock now!" exclaimed Donald, suddenly; "he seems
excited, and keeps looking through his glasses as though he had sighted
something or other. I wonder whether it turns out to be the sheriff's
posse, or the rustlers?"