The cow puncher who had rescued them was a fine looking, bronzed fellow,
with heavy sheepskin chaps on his legs, a shirt open at the throat, his
sleeves rolled up displaying muscular arms, and twinkling eyes under the
flapping brim of his great hat. While he "snubbed" the big steer to his
knees again as the bellowing creature tried to rise, he looked down with
a broad smile upon the sparkling face of the Western girl.
"Why, bless yo' heart, honey," he said, in a soft, Southern droll, "if
you want me to, I'll jest natwcher'ly cinch my saddle on Old
Trouble-Maker an' ride him home for yo'. It certainly is a cure for sore
eyes to see you again."
"And I'm glad to see you, Ike. And these are all my friends. I'll
introduce you and the boys to them proper at the ranch," cried the
Western girl.
"Git that bellowin' critter away from yere, Ike," commanded Mr. Hicks.
"I 'low the next bunch that goes to the railroad will include that black
and white abomination."
"Jest so, Boss," drawled his foreman. "I been figurin' Old Trouble-Maker
better be in the can than on the hoof. He's made a plumb nuisance of
himself. Yo' goin' on, Boss? Bud and Jimsey's got that bunch out o' the
way of your smoke-waggin."
"We've got to shift tires, Mr. Hicks," said Tom Cameron, who, with his
chum, Bob Steele, was already jacking up the rear axle. "That steer
ripped a long hole in this tire something awful."
Bashful Ike--who didn't seem at all bashful when it came to handling the
big black and white steer--suddenly let that bellowing beast get upon his
four feet. Then he swooped down upon the steer, gathering up the coils
of his rope as he rode, twitched the noose off the wide horns, and
leaning quickly from his saddle grabbed the "brush" of the steer's tail
and gave that appendage a mighty twist.
Bellowing again, but for an entirely different reason, the steer started
off after the bunch of cattle now disappearing in the dust-cloud, and
the foreman spurred his calico pony after Old Trouble-Maker, yelling at
the top of his voice at every jump of his pony:
"Ye-ow! ye-ow! ye-ow!"
"I declare I'm glad to see those cattle out of the way," said Helen
Cameron, with a sigh.
"I believe you," returned Ruth, who was still beside her on the front
seat. "I just didn't realize before that cattle on the range are a whole
lot different from a herd of cows in an eastern pasture."
Tom and Bob got the new tire in place and pumped up, and then the
automobile started again for the ranch house. Jane Ann was quite excited
over her home-coming; anybody could see that with half an eye. She clung
to her uncle's hand and looked at him now and again as though to assure
the old fellow that she really was glad to be home.
And Bill Hicks himself began to "fill into the picture" now that he was
back in Montana. The young folks had seen many men like him since
leaving Denver.
"Why, he's just an old dear!" whispered Ruth to Helen, as the latter
steered the car over the rough trail. "And just as kind and considerate
as he can be. It's natural chivalry these Western men show to women,
isn't it?"
"He's nice," agreed Helen. "But he never ought to have named his niece
'Jane Ann.' That was a mean trick to play on a defenseless baby."
"He's going to make it up to her now," chuckled Tom, who heard this,
being on the front seat with the two chums. "I know the 'pinanner' has
gone on ahead, as he promised Nita. And carpets and curtains, too. I
reckon this ranch we're coming to is going to 'blossom like the rose.'"
When they came in sight of Silver Ranch, just before evening, the guests
from the East were bound to express their appreciation of the beauty of
its surroundings. It was a low, broad verandahed house, covering a good
deal of ground, with cookhouses and other outbuildings in the rear, and
a big corral for the stock, and bunkhouses for the men. It lay in a
beautiful little valley--a "coulie," Jane Ann, or Nita, called it--with
green, sloping sides to the saucer-like depression, and a pretty,
winding stream breaking out of the hollow at one side.
"I should think it would be damp down there," said Madge Steele, to the
ranchman. "Why didn't you build your house on a knoll?"
"Them sidehills sort o' break the winds, Miss," explained Mr. Hicks. "We
sometimes git some wind out yere--yes, ma'am! You'd be surprised."
They rode down to the big house and found a wide-smiling Mexican woman
waiting for them on the porch. Jane Ann greeted her as "Maria" and Hicks
sent her back to the kitchen to hurry supper. But everybody about the
place, even Maria's husband, the "horse wrangler," a sleek looking
Mexican with rings in his ears and a broken nose, found a chance to
welcome the returned runaway.
"My! it's great to be a female prodigal, isn't it?" demanded Heavy,
poking Jane Ann with her forefinger. "Aren't you glad you ran away
East?"
The Western girl took it good-naturedly. "I'm glad I came back, anyway,"
she acknowledged. "And I'm awfully glad Ruth and Helen and you-all could
come with me."
"Well, we're here, and I'm delighted," cried Helen Cameron. "But I
didn't really expect either Ruth or Mary Cox would come. Mary's got such
trouble at home; and Ruth's uncle is just as cross as he can be."
Ruth heard that and shook her head, for all the girls were sitting on
the wide veranda of the ranch-house after removing the traces of travel
and getting into the comfortable "hack-about" frocks that Jane Ann had
advised them to bring with them.
"Uncle Jabez is in great trouble, sure," Ruth said. "Losing money--and a
whole lot of money, too, as he has--is a serious matter. Uncle Jabez
could lose lots of things better than he can money, for he loves money
so!"
"My gracious, Ruth," exclaimed Helen, with a sniff, "you'd find an
excuse for a dog's running mad, I do believe! You are bound to see the
best side of anybody."
"What you say isn't very clear," laughed her chum, good-humoredly; "but
I guess I know what you mean, and thank you for the compliment. I only
hope that uncle's investment in the Tintacker Mine will come out all
right in the end."
Mary Cox, "The Fox," sat next to Ruth, and at this she turned to listen
to the chums. Her sharp eyes sparkled and her face suddenly grew pale,
as Ruth went on:
"I expect Uncle Jabez allowed me to come out here partly because that
mine he invested in is supposed to be somewhere in this district."
"Oh!" said Helen. "A real mine?"
"That is what is puzzling Uncle Jabez, as I understand it," said Ruth
soberly. "He isn't sure whether it is a _real_ mine, or not. You see, he
is very close mouthed, as well as close in money matters. He never said
much to me about it. But old Aunt Alvirah told me all she knew.
"You see, that young man came to the mill as an agent for a vacuum
cleaner, and he talked Uncle Jabez into buying one for Aunt Alvirah.
Now, you must know he was pretty smart to talk money right out of
Uncle's pocket for any such thing as that," and Ruth laughed; but she
became grave in a moment, and continued:
"Not that he isn't as kind as he knows how to be to Aunt Alvirah; but
the fact that the young man made his sale so quickly gave Uncle Jabez a
very good opinion of his ability. So they got to talking, and the young
man told uncle about the Tintacker Mine."
"Gold or silver?" asked Helen.
"Silver. The young fellow was very enthusiastic. He knew something about
mines, and he had been out here to see this one. It had been the only
legacy, so he said, that his father had left his family. He was the
oldest, and the only boy, and his mother and the girls depended upon
him. Their circumstances were cramped, and if he could not work this
Tintacker Mine he did not know how he should support the family. There
was money needed to develop the mine and--I am not sure--but I believe
there was some other man had a share in it and must be bought out. At
least, uncle furnished a large sum of money."
"And then?" demanded Helen Cameron.
"Why, then the young man came out this way. Aunt Alvirah said that Uncle
Jabez got one letter from Denver and another from a place called Butte,
Montana. Then nothing more came. Uncle's letters have been unanswered.
That's ever since some time last winter. You see, uncle hates to spend
more money, I suppose. He maybe doesn't know how to have the mine
searched for. But he told me that the young man said something about
going to Bullhide, and I am going to try to find out if anybody knows
anything about the Tintacker Mine the first time we drive over to town."
All this time Mary Cox had been deeply interested in what Ruth said. It
was not often that The Fox paid much attention to Ruth Fielding, for she
held a grudge against the girl of the Red Mill, and had, on several
occasions, been very mean to Ruth. On the other hand, Ruth had twice
aided in saving The Fox from drowning, and had the latter not been a
very mean-spirited girl she would have been grateful to Ruth.
About the time that Ruth had completed her story of the Tintacker Mine
and the utter disappearance of the young man who had interested her
Uncle Jabez in that mysterious silver horde, Jane Ann called them all to
supper. A long, low-ceiled, cool apartment was the dining-room at Silver
Ranch. Through a long gallery the Mexican woman shuffled in with the hot
viands from the kitchen. Two little dark-skinned boys helped her; they
were Maria's children.
At supper Mr. Hicks took the head of the long table and Jane Ann did the
honors at the other end. There were the Cameron twins, and Madge and
Bob, and Jennie Stone and Mary Cox, beside Ruth Fielding herself. It was
a merry party and they sat long over the meal; before they arose from
the table, indeed, much shuffling and low voices and laughter, together
with tobacco smoke, announced the presence of some of the cowboys
outside.
"The boys is up yere to hear that pinanner," said Mr. Hicks. "Jib's got
it ready to slip out o' the box and we'll lift it into the other
room--there's enough of us huskies to do it--and then you young folks can
start something."
Jane Ann was delighted with the handsome upright instrument. She had
picked it out herself in New York, and it had been shipped clear across
the continent ahead of the private car that had brought the party to
Bullhide. The jarring it had undergone had not improved its tone; but
Helen sat down to it and played a pretty little medley that pleased the
boys at the windows.
"Now, let Ruth sing," urged Jane Ann. "The boys like singing; give 'em
something they can join in on the chorus like--that'll tickle 'em into
fits!"
So Ruth sang such familiar songs as she could remember. And then Helen
got her violin and Madge took her place at the piano, and they played
for Ruth some of the more difficult pieces that the latter had learned
at Briarwood--for Ruth Fielding possessed a very sweet and strong voice
and had "made the Glee Club" during the first half of her attendance at
Briarwood Hall.
The boys applauded from the veranda. There was at least a dozen of the
ranchman's employes at the home corral just then. Altogether Mr. Hicks
paid wages to about sixty punchers and horse wranglers. They were coming
and going between the home ranch and the ranges all the time.
The girls from the East gave the Silver Ranch cowboys a nice little
concert, and then Jane Ann urged Jib Pottoway to come to the piano. The
half-breed was on the veranda in the dusk, with the other fellows, but
he needed urging.
"Here, you Jibbeway!" exclaimed Mr. Hicks. "You hike yourself in yere
and tickle these ivories a whole lot. These young ladies ain't snakes;
an' they won't bite ye."
The backward puncher was urged on by his mates, too, and finally he came
in, stepping through the long window and sliding onto the piano bench
that had been deserted by Madge. He was a tall, straight, big-boned
young man, with dark, keen face, and the moment Tom Cameron saw him he
seized Bob by the shoulder and whispered eagerly:
"I know that fellow! He played fullback with Carlisle when they met
Cornell three years ago. Why, he's an educated man--he must be! And
punching cattle out on this ranch!"
"Guess you forget that Theodore Roosevelt punched cattle for a while,"
chuckled Bob. "Listen to that fellow play, will you?"
And the Indian could--as Mr. Hicks remarked--"tickle the ivories." He
played by ear, but he played well. Most of the tunes he knew were
popular ditties and by and by he warmed the punchers up so that they
began to hum their favorite melodies as Jib played them.
"Come on, there, Ike!" said the Indian, suddenly. "Give us that 'Prayer'
you're so fond of. Come on, now, Ike!"
Bashful Ike evidently balked a little, but Jib played the accompaniment
and the melody through, and finally the foreman of Silver Ranch broke in
with a baritone roar and gave them "The Cowboy's Prayer." Ike possessed
a mellow voice and the boys hummed in chorus in the dusk, and it all
sounded fine until suddenly Jib Pottoway broke off with a sudden
discordant crash on the piano keys.
"Hel-lo!" exclaimed Bill Hicks, who had lain back in his wicker lounging
chair, with his big feet in wool socks on another chair, enjoying all
the music. "What's happened the pinanner, Jib? You busted it? By jings!
that cost me six hundred dollars at the Bullhide station."
But then his voice fell and there was silence both in the room and on
the veranda. The sound of galloping hoofs had shut the ranchman up. A
pony was approaching on a dead run, and the next moment a long, loud
"Ye-ow! ye-ow!" announced the rider's excitement as something
extraordinary.
"Who's that, Ike?" cried Hicks, leaping from his chair.
"Scrub Weston," said the foreman as he clumped down the veranda steps.
Jib slipped through the window. Hicks followed him on the jump, and Jane
Ann led the exodus of the visitors. There was plainly something of an
exciting nature at hand. A pony flashed out of the darkness and slid to
a perilous halt right at the steps.
"Hi, Boss!" yelled the cowboy who bestrode the pony. "Fire's sweeping up
from Tintacker way! I bet it's that Bughouse Johnny the boys have chased
two or three times. He's plumb loco, that feller is--oughtn't to be left
at large. The whole chapparel down that a-way is blazin' and, if the
wind rises, more'n ha'f of your grazin'll be swept away."