TREACHERY.
"Now, what's this all mean, Billie?" demanded Adrian, when they had
joined the fat chum, where the shadows were dense enough to fairly
conceal them from the view of any keen eyes nearer the fires.
"Yes," added Donald, "you've gone and coaxed us over here, and now I
hope it isn't just to tell us you've got a pain, after stowing all that
stuff away."
"Oh! you needn't ever bother about _me_ getting a bad feeling after I've
had my little share of rations," Billie replied, sweetly; "but then,
this don't have anything to do with eating. But all the same it's a
thriller."
"Well, speak up, and let us know what's doing," Adrian said.
"I was wondering whether Charley Moo could spare me just a teenty little
more of that delicious stew, when he came and bent down to whisper
something in my ear, while pretending to be taking my dish. And what do
you think he said, fellows? Only that one of that bad bunch of punchers
had been called in to talk things over with Mrs. Fred; and that if I
wanted to hear something of what they said Charley knew of a way it
might be done, providing I could crawl like a snake."
"This sounds real interesting, Billie," remarked Donald.
"And of course you said you could crawl better than any snake that ever
lived," added the other chum, desirous of hurrying things up; for it
always took Billie an everlastingly long time to tell a story.
"Well, I told him to show me the way, and I'd do the rest," Billie went
on to explain. "So he led me out of the mess room, and along a passage
that seemed to take us into the ranch house. Then he explained in his
heathen way that fortunately I was able to understand, how, by lying
down flat, and hunching myself along, I could get to where there was
only a thin partition, and even this had a knothole in the same through
which sounds would ooze."
"The cunning Celestial knew all about that, did he?" remarked Adrian.
"Chances are Uncle Fred had him hired to watch his wife, and notify him
if she seemed to be plotting with any of the punchers who sided with
her. But what else happened, Billie? You did the grand crawling act all
right, I reckon?"
"Well, I guess, yes," chuckled the fat chum. "I managed to get close up
to that same partition, and sure enough there _was_ a little blot of
light coming through the knothole Charley said was there. And while I
couldn't look through, because it was so low down near the floor I
wasn't able to crowd down that far, I could get my ear close to the
opening, and was able to hear the talk that was going on in the other
room."
"And one of those five unfriendly punchers was in there, was he,
conferring with Aunt Josie, when he ought to have taken his orders only
from Uncle Fred?" Adrian went on to say.
"He seemed to be the boss of the outfit of mean skunks," Billie
admitted; "and from the way he talked about your uncle I don't think
he's got much respect for him any longer. But the first thing I heard
was her asking what he'd done about sending word to her brother, which I
take it means that old rascal, Hatch Walker, the head of the rustler
gang."
"He's the man, Billie; and what reply did he make to that?" asked
Adrian.
"Why, he says as how he'd taken care of that job; because there was
already one of his boys on his pony and riding straight for where the
rustlers showed up before it got too dark to see 'em. And as he had
given the fellow the signal he reckoned that he'd get among the bunch
right soon."
"And what message did this puncher say he had sent out to our enemies?"
Donald inquired.
"Just this--that along somewhere about midnight, when the chance opened
wide up, the fellows left behind meant to bust open the fence of the big
corral, and let the heft of the long-horns loose. They'd depend on their
cronies to round 'em up, and make off with the lot."
Adrian muttered something to himself, that might have been a threat as
to what he would feel tempted to do should he have the opportunity later
on to use his repeating rifle on some of these bold cattle thieves. As
for Donald, he gave a low but significant whistle to indicate his
feelings.
"That sort of tickled the lady, didn't it, Billie?" he asked.
"I think it must have," was the ready reply; "because I heard her
laughing, and let me tell you, boys, it made a cold chill chase up and
down my spinal column to hear the way she laughed. My stars! but she's a
bad one; and I'm sorry Uncle Fred just has to put up with her the rest
of his natural life, because she's his wife, he says, and the law
compels him to support her."
"Well, go on, and tell us a lot more, Billie?" urged Donald.
"Wisht I could," replied the fat chum, "but I've about got to the end of
my string, you see, and'll have to halt, 'less you'd like me to make a
lot up."
"Never mind trying that, Billie," said Adrian, quickly.
"I should say not," added Donald; "you know how to keep everlastingly at
it now; when you're just telling real hard facts; and if you ever
started to inventing things, I can see our finish right away. I suppose,
then, the puncher went away after he told her about the messenger he'd
sent to the Walker crowd?"
"Yes, that's what he did," Billie admitted.
"It's just on a line with what Uncle Fred expected they'd try,"
suggested Adrian.
"Wonder if anything could be done to stop that game?" Donald ventured.
"We'll ask Uncle Fred," the other active chum went on to say. "P'raps,
now, he'll think up a plan."
"Huh! why not round the whole bad lot up, and make 'em prisoners?"
suggested Billie, boldly enough.
"That wouldn't be a bad scheme," admitted Adrian; "and I'm going to
propose the same to him right away, when I tell him about this messenger
who's gone off. Even if nothing else came of it, we'd really be reducing
the number of our enemies by four, and that'd count for something in the
long run."
"As for me," Donald declared, vehemently, "I can stand three open
enemies to one who hides in the dark, or pretends to be a friend, only
to stick a knife in your back when you're not looking. Yes, I'm in favor
of taking these fellows, one by one, and making them prisoners. We might
put them in the bunk house, and have Charley Moo guard them. I rather
think that moon-eyed cook can handle a gun, if one is put in his hand."
"I should think he could," mused Billie; "and if he's half as good a
hand with shooting-irons as he is with pot and kettle and frying-pan,
you'll find him a real wonder; because, of all the stews I ever tackled
that one we had at supper took the cake."
Once started on his favorite topic Billie would possibly have rambled on
at a great rate; but chancing to look around just then he found that he
was wasting his breath on empty space, because Adrian had tapped Donald
on the shoulder; and the two had slipped silently away, leaving the
other to talk to himself.
They found Mr. Comstock moving about briskly, as though determined that
there should not be a screw loose in the plan of campaign if it depended
on eternal vigilance on his part.
Of course Adrian felt it his duty to tell him all about Billie's latest
adventure, and Uncle Fred expressed himself as filled with admiration in
connection with the splendid work accomplished by the stout chum.
"He's a dandy, that Billie is!" he went on to say, energetically; "and
you'd never think it, to look at his build. Why, he made the neatest
getaway awhile back that I ever set eyes on. Yes, I know all about that
little knothole in the board partition. It really looks into my office,
you see, and on several occasions I've hired Charley Moo to listen there
when Mrs. Comstock had sent for one of the men to report to her; because
I knew it must be something in connection with another raid on the
stock."
"Now," Adrian went on to say, when the other paused, "we've been talking
it over, and both Donald and myself agreed with an idea Billie happened
to put out as a feeler."
"As to what?" demanded the ex-manager of the ranch, eagerly.
"Here are four punchers around," continued the boy, steadily, "who not
only don't mean to stand up with us and be counted, when trouble heads
this way; but they're only looking for a chance to do us a bad turn.
Now, we thought that it'd be a good thing if the whole four suspects
could be tied, neck and heels, and kept prisoners until the sheriff
comes."
Mr. Comstock rubbed his hands together as though pleased with the idea.
"That hits pretty close to the bull's-eye, let me tell you, son," he
observed. "I say it's a good thing, and we'll carry it out; that is,
unless the sneaky coyotes get wind of our intentions, and slope
meanwhile. If they do clear out why it's a good riddance of bad rubbish,
and we'll shake hands on seeing the last of the lot. I wouldn't cry my
eyes out, and that's a fact, if some other person, who shall be
nameless, took a similar notion to desert my bed and board, and go back
to her own kith and kin. Fact is, I'd be ready to sing hallelujah, and
dance a hornpipe. But that'd be too good luck for me, I'm afraid. I was
done, good and hard, but the law spliced us, and I have too great a
respect for law to try and break the bonds through the courts--though
running away is a different thing."
The boys were shaking with silent laughter to hear the fierce little man
going on in this manner. Like a good many other men he could be very
bold when out of sight and hearing of his spouse; but let her once call
his name, and the spirit seemed to be taken out of him.
It was now more than an hour after dark, and still they had seen and
heard nothing to indicate that there were enemies near by, bent on some
daring scheme whereby the coveted stock might be stampeded, and then
picked up far away on the open prairie, have the brands quickly changed,
and find lodgment in the corrals of the several Walker ranches.
The two boys took their turns at patrolling the corrals. Later on they
expected to hear from Mr. Comstock again, when perhaps he had formulated
his plans for the arrest of the suspects, providing they had not taken
French leave by then.
It was while they were at the further end of the big enclosure that
Donald called the attention of his chum to a suspicious light that
seemed to have sprung up over the field where the several haystacks were
scattered about.
"What d'ye think that can mean, Ad?" he asked, in an anxious tone.
"It's none of our men, I'm dead sure," replied the other, quickly; "tell
you what, Donald, it looks to me as though one of the suspects is going
to fire that stack of hay! Yes, there it goes, and nothing can save that
pile now!"