THE STOLEN MULE.
To say that Oscar was astonished at the ranchman’s words and actions
would but feebly express his feelings.
He was utterly confounded; and, instead of obeying the order to “climb
down,” he looked toward his guide, whose blank expression of countenance
showed that he understood the matter no better than his employer did.
“You heard me, pard,” continued the ranchman, seeing that Oscar did not
move. “You had better be a-tumbling, for I can’t hold on to this barker
much longer.”
This implied that the ranchman was about to shoot; and Oscar, now
beginning to realize the danger of his situation, sprang out of the
wagon with such haste that he missed his footing as he stepped upon the
wheel, and fell headlong to the ground.
He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, his movement being
greatly accelerated by the report of the gun, which, however, was not
pointed toward himself.
As quick as Oscar was, the guide was quicker. Without saying a word Big
Thompson swung himself from his pony, and, dashing forward, seized the
gun; and it was during the short but desperate struggle that ensued that
the piece was discharged.
The ranchman fought furiously to retain possession of the weapon, but it
was quickly torn from his grasp, and then the two men backed off and
looked at each other.
“Now, Ike Barker!” exclaimed the guide, who was the first to speak,
“what’s the meanin’ of sich actions as them, an’ what did ye do it fur,
I axes ye?”
“I’ll talk to you after a while,” was the ranchman’s reply. “That’s my
mule, and I am going to have him!”
“Sho!” exclaimed the guide, whose face relaxed on the instant.
After a little reflection he stepped up and handed back the gun he had
taken from the ranchman.
This action satisfied Oscar that Big Thompson began to understand the
matter, and considered that there was no longer any cause for
apprehension. Indeed, Oscar began to understand the matter himself.
He was suspected of being a thief; but that did not trouble him, for he
knew that he could easily prove his innocence. But, if the mule was a
stolen animal, he would have to give him up to his lawful owner and
purchase another. The very thought was discouraging.
His departure for the foot-hills would be delayed, and it would take two
hundred dollars to buy another team. He had already drawn heavily on his
reserve fund; and, if there were many more unexpected drafts made upon
it, the expedition would have to be abandoned for want of means to make
it successful.
“Now, young man,” continued the ranchman, “where did you get that mule?”
“Wal, if that’s what ye wanted to know, why couldn’t ye have axed the
question without pintin’ yer we’pon around so loose an’ reckless?”
exclaimed Big Thompson.
“I bought him at the fort,” replied the boy. “The major found him at
Julesburg, and it was by his advice that I made the purchase. I paid
cash for him, and in the presence of two witnesses.”
“What sort of a looking fellow was it who sold him to you?” asked the
ranchman, who had walked up and taken the mule by the head, as if to
show that he intended to hold fast to his property, now that he had
found it again.
“I thought he was a respectable looking man,” replied Oscar. “He wore a
red shirt, coarse trousers and boots——”
“I don’t care anything about his trousers and boots,” exclaimed the
ranchman impatiently. “How did he look in the face? That’s what I want
to know.”
Oscar described the man as well as he could; and, when he had finished,
Ike Barker, as he had been called, shook his head, and remarked that,
although he was acquainted with almost everybody in that part of the
country, he did not know any man who answered Oscar’s description.
“But there is one thing I do know,” said he, turning to the guide—“that
mule and that wagon belong to me. They were stolen early last summer by
that miserable Lish, the Wolfer—you know him, Thompson—and when
I——What’s the matter with you, young man?”
“Nothing,” answered Oscar, with more earnestness than the occasion
seemed to require.
“Then what did you say ‘Ah!’ for?” asked the ranchman.
Oscar hesitated. He did not know what reply to make to this question.
The truth was the exclamation that attracted the notice of the ranchman
had been called forth by a variety of conflicting emotions.
Lish, the Wolfer, was the chosen companion and friend of his brother
Tom. He was suspected by the commandant of the fort of having been
engaged in something during the previous summer that rendered him liable
to arrest; and no doubt the stealing of the mule and wagon was the
“affair” to which the colonel referred.
If that was the case, Tom could have had no hand in the matter, for it
was only recently that he had fallen in with the Wolfer.
Oscar knew now what Tom was suspected of; and he knew, too, that he was
innocent. That was a great relief to him. But he knew, also, that his
brother was the willing associate of a thief who was in danger of being
apprehended or shot at any minute; and the knowledge of the fact weighed
heavily on his mind.
What would his mother say if she knew it?
If he gave a truthful answer to the ranchman’s question, he would be
obliged to explain all this, and that was something he would not have
done for the world.
However, he knew that he must make some reply, so he gathered his wits
as quickly as he could, and said:
“I will answer your question by asking another. If you knew who it was
that stole your mule, why were you in such haste to get the drop on
_me_?”
Oscar had picked up this expression since he came on the plains.
“To get the drop” on one, means, in frontier parlance, to get the
advantage of him.
“When I first came up here you said you had been looking for me,”
continued Oscar. “How did you know that your mule was in my possession?”
“I didn’t know that he was in your possession. I only knew that he was
coming, and that he would be here to-night.”
“Who told you?”
“Nobody _told_ me. I found it out in this way.”
As the ranchman said this, he advanced and handed Oscar a piece of
soiled paper, on which was written something that almost knocked him
over.
He had never dreamed that he could have an enemy in that country, where
he was so little known; but here was the plainest evidence to the
contrary.
The note ran as follows:
MR. BARKER:
The mule I stole from you last summer will be along this way
to-morrow afternoon. He will be driven by a young tenderfoot, who
will claim to have purchased him from someone at the post; but don’t
you believe him. He stole him, as I did. Be on the watch.
“Now,” continued the ranchman, after Oscar had finished reading the
note, and his words found an echo in the heart of the young taxidermist,
who backed up against the wagon-wheel and gazed fixedly at the paper he
held in his hand, “there’s something that isn’t exactly square about
this business. The language made use of in that communication is as
correct as any I could use myself, and I have had some schooling; in
fact, I spent four years in William and Mary College. I am acquainted
with Lish, the Wolfer—that is, I know as much about him as any white man
does, for he used to herd for me—and if I had a sheep on my ranch as
ignorant as he is I’d make mutton of him at once. Lish never wrote that
note. He has somehow managed to pick up a partner who knows a thing or
two, and he is the one who did the writing.”
Oscar knew that very well. He recognized the bold, free hand as soon as
he put his eyes upon the note. It was his brother’s.
“I wouldn’t be willin’ to give much fur that feller’s ketch,” remarked
Big Thompson. “Lish is mighty keerless when it comes to the dividin’.”
“I thought at first it was a trick of some kind,” continued the
ranchman, whose tone seemed to grow kindlier the longer he talked to the
now discouraged young hunter; “but when I saw the mule I knew it wasn’t.
I am sorry I dropped on you so suddenly, for I really believe you bought
the mule.”
“Indeed I did, sir,” answered Oscar, trying to choke down a big lump
that seemed to be rising in his throat. “As I told you, I paid the money
for him in the presence of witnesses.”
“Have you done anything to make an enemy of Lish?”
“I never exchanged a word with him.”
“Nor his partner, either?”
“I have never injured his partner in any way.”
“Well, I can’t understand the matter at all,” said the ranchman. “Lish
had some object in sending me that note, but what it was I don’t know.
But I _do_ know that the mule is mine, and that I must have him if I
have to fight for him.”
These words were uttered in a quiet but decided tone, and Oscar knew
that the ranchman meant all he said.