A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING
“S’pose Frank hold up—talk little ’bout White Wolf—no need hurry!”
When Frank heard these words spoken in his ear by the old Moqui he threw
up his right hand, to let Bob know he intended coming to a halt, so that
the galloping horses might not collide.
They had gone several miles in the direction of the ranch house, which
could even then be seen in the far distance; with moving horsemen
darting this way and that, as the process of the rounding up and
branding the cattle went on apace.
“Havasupai wants to say something, Bob, and asked me to stop,” was the
way the prairie boy accounted for his sudden change of mind.
The Moqui slipped from the back of Buckskin to the ground. He was
evidently considerably tired from his long journey; but an Indian would
scorn to admit such a thing, even though near the point of utter
exhaustion. So the Moqui looked as full of grit and determination as
though he had only started out when they came upon him on the plain.
“It may be,” he commenced to say, in his solemn way, “that White Wolf
already there, to play part of Mexican cowboy.”
“Whew! we didn’t think of that, did we, Frank?” ejaculated Bob.
“To tell the truth, we started off at such a wild pace that there wasn’t
time to think much of anything,” admitted his chum.
“But do you believe it could be done?” persisted Bob. “There must be
cowboys working on the Circle Ranch range who knew this Mendoza in the
past; and wouldn’t they be apt to recognize the rustler if so be he
dared come and engage to work alongside them?”
“I don’t know,” Frank replied, thoughtfully. “A Mexican can change his
looks easy enough, you understand. We saw Mendoza in the Lost Valley,
and as I remember him, he had a mustache, and little sideburns in front
of his ears, the way so many Mexican senors do. Suppose he took a notion
to have a clean face, why, his best friend might pass him by, Bob.”
“I reckon you’re right, Frank,” replied the other, shaking his head, as
though he did not exactly like the situation. “And now that we’re
speaking of it, I just remember that among the extra punchers your
father took on to hurry this round-up through, there are a number of
Mexicans, who are among the best riders on the ranges.”
“All right, Bob, then there’s a chance that one of them may be Mendoza
himself, if what our friend here tells us turns out to be true, and not
a false alarm.”
“But would Mendoza dare risk his life in that way, by coming back to the
country where every man’s hand is raised against him?” Bob asked,
wonderingly.
“They say he is a man of fierce temper, and strong hates,” Frank
continued. “I’ve heard lots of stories about his daring. Some people
choose to call him a coward; but, bad man as he is, I don’t believe that
name fits him. And in all his career as a cattle rustler I don’t think
he ever had such a hard knock as when we snatched all his cattle away
from him, and our boys held him up a whole day in that bunk-house.”
“Yes,” Bob admitted, “that sounds all right. I can understand how angry
it must make a man like that to remember his profitable business of
helping himself to other people’s horses and cattle has been frosted,
and ruined forever in Arizona.”
“And don’t you see, he must know that Circle Ranch was responsible for
it all,” Frank continued. “And that means he hates everything connected
with our place, you and me included in the lot. On the way to the
border, where his men intended crossing, so as to be safe from the
pursuit they expected, Mendoza has been brooding over the fall of his
plans, and it just set him wild.”
“Yes, that sounds as if you could look in on his camp, and see the
rustler walking up and down, saying all sorts of things to himself, and
vowing to be revenged on Circle Ranch for his downfall. Frank, I hate to
admit it, but I’m afraid Havasupai may be right, and that the White Wolf
is already galloping over our range, roping cattle, and mixing with our
boys like one of them.”
“They used to say he was a cowboy once himself years ago, and knows all
the wrinkles of the business,” Frank went on. “It gives me a shiver just
to think of that bad man being among our fellows. Why, even before now,
perhaps, he’s found some excuse to get inside the ranch buildings, to
look around, and plan his game of setting fire to them to-night.”
“But could he do that?” asked Bob, excitedly; “when all the boys are
expected to be busy with the roping and branding; wouldn’t it look
mighty suspicious for a Mexican to be prowling around the ranch house,
where only the women folks, and Ah Sin are left?”
“No matter what it would look like, a cunning schemer like Mendoza could
find a way to get there,” Frank insisted. “Suppose now, in his work he
complained of having wrenched his arm or shoulder, and asked to have
some liniment applied; don’t I just know that my dad would tell him to
gallop back to the house, and get Miss Prue, who always looks after the
little hurts of the men, to rub on some of the famous stuff she keeps
for just that purpose?”
Bob gave a low whistle, to indicate how he was affected by what his chum
said.
“It sure takes you to see through all these things, Frank,” he declared.
“And yet I’m supposed to be going to make a lawyer some fine day; but
they don’t seem to dawn on my mind till after you’ve given me a hint.”
“Oh! that’s because I’ve been brought up here,” said Frank. “I know
cowboys, and their ways, just through and through. And if Mendoza wanted
to see what the inside of the ranch house looked like, and meet the
women folks face to face, he’d be just as apt as anything to try some
way like that. It would be easy for such a bold man, Bob.”
“But what do you suppose the old warrior wants you to hold up here for?”
asked the Kentucky boy, who could ask questions as became a lawyer, even
if he failed to grasp situations as readily as his chum.
“How about that, Havasupai?” asked Frank, as he turned to the Moqui, who
had been listening to what they said with deep earnestness.
“When rustlers get out of valley, and pick up other ponies, Havasupai
ride with same,” he said, slowly. “Still want see Antelope, and think
White Wolf lead way to where the daughter of the Moqui be hidden away.
Then watch while White Wolf walk up, walk down, say heap to self, shake
fist back at Thunder Mountain; then when all rest sleep, jump on pony,
and ride away to north. Know then what in mind of bad man. So Havasupai
too leave camp, and start walk many miles to tell Frank, Bob, look out
before blow it fall.”
Evidently the old Moqui believed in condensing things, and not wasting a
single word more than was absolutely necessary. Still, while his story
left much to the imagination, even Bob could read between the lines.
“Looks to me that he may be right, Frank,” he declared, as the Indian
relapsed into silence once more, having finished his say, “if Mendoza is
really and truly playing the part of a cowboy in the Circle Ranch grand
round-up, and saw us fetching Havasupai in on our ponies, of course he’d
know that his little game was in the soup. That would make him furious,
wouldn’t it now?”
“Yes, and he might be tempted to do something desperate, knowing that
he’d be chased by the whole pack of cowboys then and there. So you see,
Bob, it’s our policy, just as the Moqui hints, to keep from telling
Mendoza that we suspect his presence. That gives us a chance to tell
dad, and make up some sort of plan to capture the rustler before he can
get in his bad work.”
“You’re right, Frank,” observed Bob, “and I see it all now, thanks to
the Moqui, first of all. If it hadn’t been for him, I reckon you’d have
brushed right along into camp, and the fat would have been in the fire
right away. Now we’ll ride back just as if we’d only had our gallop; and
Havasupai can come in after dark. Is that the idea?”
“You’ve got it down pat there, Bob,” returned the other; “and as the
afternoon is going fast now, perhaps we’d better be on our way back. I
feel a creepy sensation all over me every time I think of what that
rascal might do to get even with Circle Ranch for his upset.”
“Didn’t you hear what Havasupai said about his poisoning the spring
where our cattle drink?” demanded Bob.
“Well, perhaps he might be ready to do such a thing, and again not,”
Frank answered, slowly. “I’d hate to think any man would be so mean as
that. But no matter, his being at Circle Ranch looks like he had some
scheme in his mind for getting even, and we’ve just got to nip it in the
bud. Good-bye, then, Chief; see you later. You come to ranch house, my
father he wants to hold out a helping hand to you. He believes he knows
where Antelope is; cowboy tell him. How?”
Almost unconsciously when Frank talked with an Indian he adopted some of
the methods of expression in vogue among the red men. Perhaps, like
others born and brought up in close association with these people, he
believed that he could make himself better understood this way.
Havasupai nodded his head, and straightened up, as if ready to continue
his wearisome tramp. Fatigue and he were no strangers, and nothing of
this sort could in any way daunt the spirit of the outcast.
“It is well, Frank;” he said, in his deep way of speaking; “when dark
come, Havasupai will be close to ranch house, and on watch. No burn same
if can be stopped. Much good about Antelope; know now the White Wolf bad
man; never believe Havasupai. Be glad leave him all time. So-long.”
The old Moqui had at least caught the parting sign of the range, for as
he finished speaking he waved his hand to the two boys as they let their
horses have their heads, and galloped away toward home.
Looking back once, after they had gone some little distance, Bob saw the
exiled Moqui walking leisurely along. He knew from this that Havasupai
did not wish to get within a certain distance of the ranch buildings
before night fell, for fear that the cunning eyes of the Mexican rustler
might discover him.
“What are we going to do about it, Frank?” demanded the Kentucky boy, as
usual depending on his chum to take the lead.
“First of all, let dad know,” replied Frank, promptly.
“And perhaps he’ll start out to take a closer look at every Mexican
puncher on the place?” suggested Bob. “Say, won’t there just be some
‘high jinks’ when he finds Mendoza, and accuses him of wanting to burn
the buildings, or something about as bad? Whew, the Mexican will be some
surprised when he learns his mask is snatched off; eh, Frank?”
“All the same I don’t believe dad will do anything like that,” was the
reply the other made. “In the first place, it would be dangerous. Father
would be likely to hold back, just to see what the game of Mendoza might
be.”
“Oh! now I get on to what you mean!” exclaimed Bob; “in legal language,
or as the police would say, he’d be better satisfied to catch him with
the goods, trying to set a fire, for instance. And let me say, Frank,
your father would show what you’d call good, sound, horse sense if he
did let the fellow have rope that way. But say, I hope he tells a few of
the boys. I’d feel safer if we had enough fellows handy to stop Mendoza,
when he starts to get ugly.”
“Depend on it he will, Bob. Dad never takes chances on such things. He’s
handled too many deals with tough customers to think of going to sleep.
But we’re getting close in now, and we’d better act natural. If you look
around at every Mexican we happen to meet, don’t be too suspicious. Try
and forget that we suspect a snake is warming himself at the Circle
Ranch fires this evening.”
“All right, Frank,” replied the other, cheerfully. “I’m on to what you
say, and don’t worry about my giving it away. But the work is through
for to-day; because I can see the boys gathering in bunches while they
wait for Ah Sin to beat the gong for supper. But I want to be with you
when you tell your father the story, Frank.”