THE PRISONERS OF THE BUNK-HOUSE
That one yell was immediately followed by others from inside the cabin.
Then came a tremendous thumping on the door, accompanied by more
outcries.
The cowboys without, not being able to hold themselves in check any
longer, started to shoot; and the rattle of firearms was the first sign
that told the prisoners of the bunk-house something of the truth.
Colonel Haywood knew that he was dealing with desperate men. He realized
that nothing must be neglected in the effort to hold them prisoners,
until the cattle had been driven out of the mountains, and within the
zone of safety.
Upon the door of the cabin he pounded with the butt end of a revolver.
“Mendoza!” he called, in a tone of authority.
The clamor both within and without ceased as if by magic. The rustlers
were consumed with a burning desire to know what it all meant. On the
other hand, Scotty and the rest of the punchers knew that their employer
wished to give the leader of the rustlers warning.
“Who calls me?” came from within; and Bob knew that it was the chief
rustler who spoke, although bitter anger filled his voice.
“This is Colonel Haywood, Mendoza; you know me!” continued the stockman.
A laugh greeted the announcement.
“So you have come to reclaim your strays, is that it, Colonel Haywood?”
mocked the Mexican; “well, they are all safe, but a few heifers that
grew dizzy climbing along the trail, and dropped over. But you will
never take them out of this valley.”
“We’re going to make a big try for it, just as soon as daylight comes;
and mark my words, Mendoza, the men who try to oppose us are going to
get hurt,” the stockman continued, sternly.
“Wait and see who laughs last,” mocked the other. “You think you’ve got
us shut up here like rats in a trap. Perhaps you mean to keep guard over
us until the last of the steers has been safely run out of the hills;
those belonging to us as well as your own?”
“You are good at guessing, Mendoza,” replied the stockman; “for that is
exactly what we plan to do.”
“And you think we will tamely stay in here while you are robbing us of
our property, we who are armed, and do not know the meaning of the word
fear? Senor, you have another guess coming!” continued the man behind
the door.
“All the same,” Colonel Haywood went on, sternly; “not one of your men
will dare show his face outside that cabin, until those I leave here on
guard hear the signal that we have reached the plain with the herd. They
have orders to shoot, Mendoza, and to make every bullet count. It is a
long score they have to settle with you; and if you are wise you will
hesitate to give them the chance they have been waiting for these many
moons.”
The rustler chief laughed again.
“I don’t like the sound of that laugh,” Bob said to Frank, as the two
stood where no stray shot from the besieged cabin might reach them;
“somehow it makes me think of a hyena I once saw at a circus. When he
howled it sent the cold creeps up and down my back.”
“Same here,” admitted Frank. “They say Mendoza is as sly as any fox that
ever crept into a hen house, and carried off a fat prize, with all sorts
of traps set to catch him. Somehow I just can’t get rid of the notion
that while we seem to have him in a pickle right now, he’s got a string
he means to pull, that’s going to surprise us disagreeably.”
“Say, you make me feel bad, Frank,” declared the other; “I hope you’re
mistaken about that. But listen to the racket they’re kicking up inside
there! Do you think they’ll break out, and tackle our fellows?”
“Not much they won’t,” laughed Frank. “They know what cowboys are, once
they get their guns going. And remember, they have no idea how many of
us there are. How can they tell that there are not forty fellows here,
just waiting for them to break out?”
“Then that’s all put on for show, the pounding and shouting?” asked Bob.
“Huh!” snorted Frank; “they have to make a bluff of being hungry to get
at our crowd; but all the same, you mark my word, it’ll be some time
before the first rustler shows even the tip of his nose where Scotty or
any of our boys can get a crack at him.”
“Frank, am I right, and is that the first peep of dawn over yonder in
the east?”
“No mistake about that, my boy; morning is close at hand; and before
another hour I reckon we’ll be pushing the herd over the back trail,”
Frank replied.
“There will be several men left here to hold the rustlers in the cabin;
is that the programme, Frank?”
“Just what; and you can easily understand that they will be men chosen
for their staying qualities,” Frank answered. “For you know it’s going
to be something of a ticklish job; because when once they get the
signal, and quit here, the rustlers will burrow out in no time. And,
being wild for revenge, they’ll chase after the boys, and give them a
running fight all through the mountain trails.”
“How about them shooting now, through cracks or holes in the cabin
walls?” asked the Kentucky boy.
“They might,” replied his chum. “I reckon they’ve got some gun-holes
here and there for just that purpose. But if they know what’s good for
them, they’ll go slow about wounding any of our boys. Dad can hardly
hold the fellows in now, and it would only take one match to set off the
magazine; and there’s no telling what terrible things would happen
then.”
“There goes your father and Bart now, toward the corral,” Bob remarked.
“Yes, and some of the boys trailing after,” Frank added. “It looks like
they expected to get the herd in motion as soon as the trail can be
easily seen. Dad is just wild to drive his stock clear of this valley;
though some day I expect he’ll be wanting to use it on his own hook,
after the rustlers have been driven out of this part of the country;
because it’s a boss place to winter a herd.”
“We go with the punchers who will drive, I suppose, Frank?”
“Sure we do,” replied the other, a little regretfully. “I tried to coax
dad to let us stay back; but he just wouldn’t hear of it.”
“And for one I’m glad he didn’t say yes,” Bob spoke promptly. “I don’t
feel that I’d like to stay here, and have a hand in that game of hide
and seek you say will take place when the siege of the bunk-house is
raised, and the rustlers rush out like a swarm of angry bees. No, I
think I’d be happier driving the herd; though if they came up with us,
and tried to take the cattle back, I hope I’d fight like a true
Kentuckian ought.”
“Oh! once we strike the level with the herd we’ll see no more of the
rustlers,” Frank assured him confidently. “And, what’s more, you can
take it from me that as soon as dad gets home he’ll stir up all the
stockmen in this part of the State. It’s going to get too warm for
Mendoza and his crowd on this side of the border; and they’ll have to
vamoose, if they want to keep alive.”
Once at the corral the boys found that, as daylight came on, the cowboys
were getting busy indeed. They recognized the best part of the herd as
their property; but besides these there seemed to be fully as many other
cattle. Mendoza had claimed these as his lawful possession; but no one
believed him; for it was found that in every case the brands on
full-grown cattle had been altered. Only a few partly grown animals bore
the single star that seemed to be the trade mark of the hidden valley
ranch.
The last the boys saw of the bunk-house, all appeared serene there. No
doubt the inmates were watching through cracks and holes, to see what
the cowboys were doing; but thus far they had made no serious attempt to
force a way out, knowing, as they did, that a number of good shots were
posted behind the other cabin, ready to give them a very hot reception
upon their appearance.
It was now light enough to make a start, and the cries of the cowboys
began to cause a movement in the herd. The barbed wire corral had been
cut, so that the animals were easily driven forth, and headed on the
trail that would, in a short time, bring the vanguard to the neck of the
bottle—that narrow pass through which they must apparently proceed in
order to leave the valley.
All seemed to be going smoothly, and the boys, who were keeping pretty
much together, could see nothing menacing in the conditions around them.
The country was exceedingly wild, and a few daring men would be able to
break up the drive, could they be posted on the slope of the mountain.
But the boys felt sure that all the rustlers, except the vidette who had
been first captured, were shut up in the bunk-house, and hence beyond
power of doing any harm.
Still, somehow, Bob could not quite get that scornful laugh, as well as
the mocking words of Mendoza, out of his mind.
“He meant something by it, I’m sure of that,” he was saying to himself
for the fifth time at least, as he stalked along, doing his share of
driving the herd toward the outlet of the secret valley back of Thunder
Mountain.
This being on foot galled the cowboys very much. If there is anything a
puncher dislikes it is being compelled to play his part without a horse.
Habit so accustoms him to being mounted that he really seems to be a
part of his steed, once he flings himself across the animal’s back.
“Ten minutes more, and we ought to have the leaders starting through
that little gap, hadn’t we, Frank?” Bob asked, after a time.
“Just what we ought,” the other replied; and hardly had he spoken before
he staggered back, while Bob almost fell over with the shock.
It seemed to the two boys as though the cap of Thunder Mountain, long
suspected of having been a volcano centuries in the past, had been blown
sky-high by some tremendous internal force. There was a heavy blast that
seemed to make the very earth quiver under their feet. The cattle
bellowed, and shrank fearfully into a compact mass, refusing to go
further along the trail. And the loud cries of the cowboys told that
they, too, had been astounded by the explosion that seemed so
mysterious.