SHUT IN
“An earthquake!”
Perhaps, after all, it was not so very strange that Bob should give
utterance to this exclamation. He had been thrown to the ground, and
with considerable violence too. The consequence of this rough treatment
was a shortage of breath as he began to scramble to his feet again,
though even this did not prevent his excited outcry.
The cattle had been frightened by the sudden, fearful noise, and the
trembling of the earth. They were bellowing madly, and showing all the
signs that generally go before a stampede.
The instinct of a stockman must have overcome the alarm Colonel Haywood
naturally experienced himself at this unexpected happening.
“Get busy, boys!” he shouted. “Take care of the stock first. Get them
milling, or we’ll have a stampede, and lose the whole bunch!”
The nearest cowboy passed the word on to the next. Above the racket then
arose the cheery cries of the drivers, as they started upon the
customary tactics to get the animals wheeling in a circle, so as to
prevent a mad rush.
There was no succeeding shock. After that one crash there came a
silence. Birds that had been singing in the trees flew wildly away, but
their songs were hushed. Here and there an animal could be seen dashing
away, or slinking through the underbrush, as though half dazed by the
concussion.
Presently it was seen, much to the relief of Frank and Bob, who were
doing their best to assist, that the cattle had been held. They were
moving in a big circle, “milling” after the most approved methods of the
range, and doing it in spite of the limited open space at the command of
the cowboy band.
“That danger is past, anyhow,” Frank remarked, as he wiped the
perspiration from his forehead.
“But we may have another shock, Frank,” said Bob, nervously, as he
looked upward toward the peak of Thunder Mountain. “They say these
things never go singly; and the first shake isn’t always the hardest of
the lot, either. But I don’t see any smoke hanging over the cap up
there, Frank!”
“Smoke?” echoed the other boy, looking puzzled.
“Why, yes; there’s always a lot of it, you know, when a volcano starts
to knocking things around,” Bob went on.
It was a strange time to laugh, but all the same Frank seemed unable to
keep from doing it.
“So that’s the idea you’ve got, is it, Bob?” he demanded.
“Sure it is, and from what I heard some of the boys call out, I reckon
I’m not the only one to believe it,” Bob made answer, without
hesitation.
“And you don’t see any smoke up yonder around the top of our old friend,
Thunder Mountain, eh?” asked Frank.
“If there was any, it’s cleared away,” the other continued, “which I
take it would be queer; because once they start to pour out ashes, lava
and fire, these volcanoes keep it up for days and weeks.”
“And seems to me the cap still fits snug up there, Bob; it doesn’t look
like anything had happened to blow it into a thousand pieces, as far as
I can see.”
“Yes, that’s what sets me to wondering, Frank. But you don’t act as if
you took any stock in the idea?”
“Well, to tell the honest truth, Bob, I don’t!” declared Frank.
“But it couldn’t have been that geyser in the mountain, could it?” Bob
went on.
“I should say not. No geyser in the world, or a dozen of the biggest
together, could have made all that fierce row, and shaken the earth as
we felt it tremble. But Bob, though I didn’t happen to _see_ smoke,
for I was tumbled down just as you were, I have _smelled_ it
since!”
“You have?” burst out the Kentucky lad, eagerly. “Then that proves my
idea, doesn’t it, Frank?”
“Hardly,” returned the other, dryly. “In the first place, notice that
the wind doesn’t happen to be coming from the direction of Thunder
Mountain at all, and smoke couldn’t reach us from there. It’s straight
ahead, in the direction of the little gap, or pass, we took to get into
this valley, and through which all cattle have to be driven, to enter or
leave!”
“Oh!” burst from Bob’s lips, as he seemed to grasp something of what his
chum was hinting.
“Another thing,” Frank went on, “there was something about the smell of
that same smoke to remind me of powder, dynamite or such things, and not
the gas they say always comes with an outbreak from a volcano.”
Bob stared at him. So great was his astonishment that his mouth even
opened, and Frank was forced to smile at the picture his chum presented.
“Powder!” ejaculated Bob. “Then Frank, you believe that awful explosion
was caused by human hands, and not Nature: is that it?”
Frank nodded.
“It wasn’t the smash of a volcano breaking loose,” Bob went on, voicing
his surprise; “we won’t be drowned, or burned to cinders in a flood of
lava flowing down the side of the mountain—it isn’t even a fierce
landslide that’s carried away half the old ridge; but just an every-day
explosion—some miners, perhaps, blown up with all their stuff?”
“Hold on, there; you’re going a step too far, Bob. I never had miners in
my head when I said that,” Frank remarked.
“But who else would carry explosives around with them, and carelessly
let the whole outfit go up in one big smash?” demanded Bob.
“Well, there’s Mendoza, for one,” the other said, quietly.
“Mendoza? the rustler?” echoed Bob.
“Sure.”
“But Frank, you must be joking, because he’s shut up in that bunk-house
good and tight. How could Mendoza get ahead of us to the pass, and touch
off that big mine?”
Even as Bob was saying this the expression on his face changed. Some
sudden idea had found a speedy lodgement in his mind; and without
waiting for his chum to make any reply to his question he went on:
“Oh! now I see what you mean, Frank; he must have had a mine planted,
connected with his old cabin by a wire, and a battery! He fired the
charge from there; is that what you want to tell me, Frank?”
“That’s what I believe,” replied the other, firmly.
“But why would he do that, Frank? Do you think the miserable coward
expected to blow us all up?” demanded Bob, with considerable heat.
“Oh! I don’t know about that,” Frank went on, slowly, as though loath to
believe the Mexican could be so vindictive; “but I do think Mendoza
wants to close the neck of the bottle here, so that dad can’t take his
cattle out of this valley.”
“That sounds just like all I’ve heard of Mendoza!” cried Bob. “I
wouldn’t put it past him one minute. But Frank, he took big chances of
blowing us up at the same time. If we’d been closer, we might have been
hit by some of the rocks I heard falling like hail all around!”
“That was our lookout, and Mendoza wasn’t going to trouble himself about
making sure none of us were hurt. Stop and think, Bob; you’ll remember
how he told dad, with one of his laughs, how we would never take the
stock out of this valley? Well, he believes he’s fixed it that way right
now!”
“Then we’re in a nice pickle, aren’t we?” lamented the other saddle boy.
“If he’s blown that little pass into a ruin, and cut off our only way
for going out, we’ll never get the cattle through.”
“Never is a long time, Bob; just wait till my dad gets to work. He
always rises to his best when in a hole like this. There he is, coming
this way with Bart and Scotty. Perhaps he hasn’t caught on as well as I
did; so let’s join them to find out.”
It proved, however, that Colonel Haywood had guessed the true solution
of that fearful explosion just as his son had, through smelling the
smoke, and putting several things together.
He had been telling the others his opinion, and Scotty was getting ready
to push his way forward, in order to investigate. The others would all
be needed to keep the cattle quiet; though by degrees the fright of the
animals was wearing off, as they heard the reassuring calls of the cow
punchers around them.
For a short time the party exchanged ideas, and the stockman was pleased
to find that Frank had appreciated the situation so fully.
“As soon as I can spare a man I mean to send him back to the camp,” the
stockman remarked. “Our two fellows will be wondering what terrible
thing has happened; and, not hearing anything from us, might be tempted
to give over guarding the rustlers. It would only add to our troubles if
the thieves broke loose, and started to play a sharp-shooting game,
hiding along the side of the mountain, and pestering us with their fire.
But first, Scotty, go ahead and find out if what we suspect is true.”
Accordingly the cowboy started off. Duty with him took the lead above
everything else. No matter what might lie beyond, once Scotty had his
orders he stood ready to obey.
Bart hurried back to assist his men in keeping the herd intact, until
they could decide on their next move, which would not be until the
skirmisher had reported.
“If the pass has been blown up, what will we do then?” asked Bob.
“That depends on how bad the wreck is,” replied the stockman, calmly.
“If it is possible to dig a passage in a reasonable time, we may start
to work.”
“But if it’s out of the question, sir, will we have to abandon the herd
after all our fine work tracking them here?” Bob went on, plainly
disturbed.
“We won’t cross that bridge till we come to it,” the Colonel said, with
a tightening of his lips that Frank knew of old; “but you can depend on
it, my boy, I’ll never abandon my cattle so long as there’s any chance
to save them. Our Fall round-up is due shortly now, and I’d feel pretty
blue if one-third of my whole stock had been abandoned up here, to be
slaughtered by these rustlers in revenge, after we left for home.”
“Because, if we couldn’t get them out, they would be in the same fix, I
reckon you mean, sir?” Bob suggested.
“Exactly; and Mendoza would rather kill every steer and cow and yearling
than know they had fallen into my hands again. But Scotty ought to be
back here very soon now, when we will at least know the worst,” and the
stockman looked anxiously up the valley in the direction where he knew
the pass lay.
“And there’s something moving right now, dad!” cried Frank, whose keen
vision had enabled him to catch sight of the object before any one else.
“That’s Scotty, all right,” pursued Colonel Haywood. “Now he’s making
motions, cowboy fashion, and I don’t like the news he’s sending me. It
looks like we’re up against it, good and hard.”
“You mean he is telling you the pass has been blown up, sir?” asked Bob.
“Seems as if that must be what he means; but wait till he gets here, and
we’ll know the worst,” concluded the rancher; his set jaws and flashing
eyes telling how the desperate situation was arousing that old spirit of
“never say die” which in times past had always marked his work, and been
the means of his present success.
The cowboy came hurrying along as fast as the uneven ground would
permit. Straight toward the little group he advanced—for Bart, the
foreman, had again joined the others, eager, to hear the news the scout
was bringing back.
Frank knew before a word was spoken that Scotty had made a disagreeable
discovery, which would put them to great trouble so far as getting the
stock out of the valley was concerned. Hence, he was nerved to hear bad
news.
“How about it, Scotty?” asked Colonel Haywood, as the other arrived
close to where the others stood.
“Couldn’t ’a been worse, sir,” replied the disgusted cowboy, shrugging
his broad shoulders.
“Then the pass has been blown up, and filled with rubbish?” continued
the other.
“Filled so high that a month wouldn’t open it again to let even an Old
Baldy climb over. We’re sure up agin it, Colonel, this time!” declared
Scotty, scowling.