GOOD AND BAD NEWS.
When George awoke it was just daylight. The ranchemen were already
stirring, and one was folding the blankets, while the other was punching
up the fire to obtain a light for his pipe.
“Good-morning, my lad,” said the latter, cheerfully. “We thought, seeing
we had no breakfast to eat, that we would solace ourselves with a smoke.
Now, if you will put us on our course, we shall be much obliged to you.”
“The rancho you want to reach lies directly east of here and is about
thirty-five miles distant,” answered George, after he had returned the
man’s greeting. “Hold a straight course for the sun, until you strike a
big trail running north and south. Turn south on that trail, and when
you have followed it about ten miles, you will strike Mr. Gilbert’s
rancho. He will direct you the rest of the way. I have thought a good
deal about what you told me last night, and I can’t understand why that
boy kept that horse.”
“Neither can I,” said the rancheman.
“As he is a boy, I hope you will be easy with him,” continued George.
“I will; but the next time he sees a stolen horse he will run from it, I
bet you!”
It was plain that the rancheman had not yet relented, and that he never
would relent; so George fell back on the plan he had determined upon the
night before.
“Yes, the boy needs a lesson,” said he; “but for his father’s sake, I
hope you will not be too severe. I have been acquainted with Mr.
Dickerman for a long time, and I know him to be an honest man. You
needn’t think he would——”
“Dickerman!” interrupted the man who had been called Joe. “Who said
anything about Dickerman? Ackerman is the fellow we are talking about.”
“O, _Ac_kerman!” repeated George, with a tone of voice and an expression
of countenance which led the man to believe that he had all the while
been mistaken as to the identity of the person they wanted to find.
“Well, you don’t want to travel east, then. Your course lays off here,”
he added, pointing almost due north. “If you ride in that direction, you
ought by dark to strike some of the ranches in the settlement in which
this man lives.”
“Then we were completely turned around, Joe. I thought we ought to
travel _that_ way,” said one of the men, pointing almost directly toward
the Ackerman rancho. “Well, my lad, good-by. Many thanks for your
information, and the best of luck to you!”
The men mounted their horses, which they had brought in and saddled
while this conversation was going on, and rode away, leaving George
standing beside his fire. As soon as they disappeared behind the nearest
ridge, he caught up his haversack, plunged into the woods and drew a
straight course for home. His face was whiter than it usually was, and
his heart beat audibly.
“I did it,” said he to himself, as he hurried along, “and whether or not
I have done any good by it, time will tell. If they don’t get off their
course, they’ll reach Dickerman’s to-night about dark, and then they’ll
find out that they have been put on a wrong scent, and gone forty miles
out of their way. Dickerman will set them right, and the question is:
Can I see Mr. Gilbert and reach home before they can get there? I never
needed a horse so badly before.”
Little did Ned Ackerman, who spent this particular day in company with
his friend Gus Robbins, shooting down the cattle that had broken into
his wheat-field, know of the race that was begun that morning—a race
between a pair of swift horses, which had between seventy and eighty
miles to travel, and a frightened, panting and footsore boy, who dragged
himself wearily over thirty-five miles of prairie, to save a scapegrace
relative, who would not have lifted a finger in behalf of that same
weary boy, had their situations been reversed. The odds were sadly
against George. He could have spent a week in the saddle with little or
no inconvenience, but three days on foot tested his endurance to the
utmost. Nothing but his will kept him up. He won the race, but, as we
shall see, with little time to spare.
As the day wore away, and George drew nearer to Mr. Gilbert’s rancho,
which was the first one he would reach on his way to the settlement, he
kept a good lookout for some of that gentleman’s herdsmen, hoping that
he could prevail upon them to lend him a horse; but as he did not see
any of them, he was compelled to make the entire journey on foot. He
reached his destination shortly after nightfall, and found Mr. Gilbert
sitting on the porch, enjoying his after-supper pipe. The gentleman
started up in surprise, when he saw George approaching, and hurried down
the steps to meet him. His greeting was as cordial and friendly as
usual, but there was something in his manner that the boy had never
noticed before. He could not have told what it was, but he could see it
plainly.
“Come right in, George,” said he, seizing the boy’s hand and shaking it
heartily. “You walk as though you were completely tired out; so I’ll not
trouble you with questions until you’ve had a supper and a good night’s
rest.”
“I would be thankful for some supper,” replied George, “but I can’t stay
all night. I am in an awful hurry.”
“And why should you be in such an awful hurry, I’d like to know?” said
Mr. Gilbert, as he assisted George up the steps and led him into the
house. “Here’s an easy-chair, and I know you will find——”
“Not in there, please,” said George, drawing back as Mr. Gilbert was
about to open the door leading into the cosy living-room, in which his
family was assembled. “Let’s go into the office. I have something
particular to say to you.”
Again George told himself that Mr. Gilbert did not act as he usually
did. He turned at once, and leading the way into the office, closed and
locked the door; after which he took the boy’s hat and haversack, and
having placed him on the lounge, drew a chair up in front of him and sat
down.
“Where did you hear of it, George?” said he. “But hold on a moment,” he
added, hastily. “Let’s talk about pleasant things first. Your horse and
mule are here in my corral.”
“Good!” exclaimed George. “I shall need Ranger at once. I would thank
you to lend me a saddle and bridle, and have him brought to the door
without loss of time.”
“If you must go on to-night, I’ll do it,” said Mr. Gilbert, rising to
his feet; “but you must have some supper first.”
He left the office as he ceased speaking, and George lay down on the
lounge to rest for a few minutes. He was used to hard work, but he had
never before been so nearly exhausted. It did not seem to him that he
could possibly spend the rest of the night in the saddle, and yet he
knew he must do it in order to save his cousin.
Mr. Gilbert was gone but a few minutes, and when he came back, he locked
the door behind him.
“Another piece of good news I have for you, George,” said he, as he
resumed his seat, “is that all your cattle have been recovered, and one
of my men is now pasturing them on my ranche, about three miles from
here.”
“Good again!” exclaimed George, brightening a little. “That is
encouraging news indeed.”
“That Zeke is worth two or three ordinary men,” continued Mr. Gilbert.
“Not being able to find any signs of you or your horse after the
Greasers jumped down on you, he struck out for the settlements on foot.
On the way he fell in with a party of rangers, and with their
assistance, he succeeded in cutting the thieves off from the river and
recapturing every hoof you had lost. He came down here with the cattle,
chuckling over his good luck, and was frightened almost out of his
senses when he found that your horse and mule had come here without you.
He begged me to take care of the herd while he went back to look for
you, and I have done so. Where were you all the while, George? You
haven’t walked all the way from Catfish Falls?”
“I was hidden in a buffalo wallow while the robbers were in our camp,
and I _have_ walked every step of the way from there. But I don’t mind
that. What troubles me is the bad news I heard on the way. I have come
here to talk to you about it, for you are the only friend I have in the
settlement.”
“O no, George; don’t say that,” exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, quickly. “If you
knew what a commotion your disappearance has created among the
neighbors, you wouldn’t talk so. Everybody likes you and everybody is a
friend to you.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said George, drawing a long breath of
relief and looking a little more cheerful. “I want them to show their
friendship now, and not be too hard on Ned. You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Gilbert, heaving a deep sigh and fastening his eyes on
the floor, “I know all about it. The settlers are going to meet at
Cook’s to-morrow and talk it over. They are very angry, and I don’t know
what they will make up their minds to do.”
“Are you going to be at Cook’s with them?”
“Of course. I am as much interested in the matter as anybody.”
“Well, you will do your best for Ned, won’t you? He is my cousin, you
know. You won’t let them hurt him, will you?”
“I’ll do the best I can, certainly; but you might as well try to stem
the Rio Grande with a straw, as to stand in the way of a whole
settlement, when every man in it has made up his mind to a particular
course of action. It was a most outrageous act, and Ned richly deserves
punishment.”
“I know it; but if the settlers are such friends to me they will let him
off this time, and I’ll promise that he will never do the like again.
Remember, Mr. Gilbert, that he is young and foolish, and that when the
horse came into his possession he didn’t know it was stolen.”
“Horse!” exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, opening his eyes. “Stolen! What are you
talking about, George!”
“What are _you_ talking about, Mr. Gilbert?” asked the boy, slowly
raising himself on his elbow, and gazing steadily into the face of his
friend.
“Why, I refer to something that happened this afternoon in Ned’s wheat
field, when Ned and that Yankee friend of his shot down Cook’s cattle,”
answered Mr. Gilbert.
“What!” exclaimed George, jumping to his feet in great excitement. “Do
you mean to tell me that Ned has been shooting stock?”
“That’s just what he has done, and that is what I was talking about.
Cook caught him in the very act.”
“Worse and worse!” said George, sinking back on the lounge again. “Tell
me all about it. I want to hear the whole story so that I may know just
how to act.”
“That is all there is to tell,” was Mr. Gilbert’s reply. “Ned and his
friend found Cook’s cattle in the wheat field, and shot two of them,
killing one and severely wounding the other.”
“He did it with his eyes open,” said George. “He has often threatened
it, and I told him just what would happen.”
“You said something about a horse,” remarked Mr. Gilbert, when the boy
paused.
“Yes. Ned met a stranger somewhere and traded horses with him; and when
the owner came to our rancho that night, Ned wouldn’t give the horse
up.”
“That is something I hadn’t heard of,” said Mr. Gilbert, while an
expression of surprise and anxiety settled on his face. “Now, tell me
your story from beginning to end. If you want my advice I must know
everything.”
George had a good deal to tell, but he did not consume much time with
his narrative, for every moment was precious. He knew that the two
ranchemen had by this time been made acquainted with the deception that
had been practised upon them, and no doubt they were at that very minute
on their way to Mr. Gilbert’s rancho. It was necessary that George
should be well on his way home before they arrived, both to escape the
vengeance they would doubtless visit upon him if they chanced to meet
him, and also to warn his cousin. He described the attack on the camp,
and told how he had concealed himself in the buffalo wallow and watched
the raiders while they were searching the woods. He told of his
accidental meeting with Springer, and repeated, as nearly as he could,
all the conversation he had had with him, so that Mr. Gilbert might be
enabled to judge whether or not his suspicions concerning Uncle John
were correct. He also repeated the conversation he had had with the
ranchemen who spent the night in his camp, and told what he had done to
put them on the wrong scent.
“I didn’t have more than half an hour’s sleep last night,” said George,
in conclusion. “I lay awake turning these matters over in my mind, and I
have thought about them all day. The decision at which I arrived was,
that Ned was not safe here in the settlement, and that I had better take
him out on the plains for a few weeks and let this affair of the stolen
horse blow over; but if he has been shooting cattle, I think I had
better show him the nearest way to the coast and let him go north, where
he came from.”
Mr. Gilbert heard him through without interruption, and when the boy
ceased speaking he leaned back in his chair, looked up at a picture
hanging on the wall over the lounge and rubbed his chin meditatively.
Then he arose and walked up and down the room with his hands behind his
back and his eyes fastened thoughtfully on the floor.
“I don’t think you could decide upon a better plan,” said he, at length.
“Take them both to the coast by the shortest route, put them aboard a
steamer and let them go north on a visit. Ned can come back after the
matter is forgotten, but when that Yankee friend of his gets home, he
had better stay there. We have no use for fellows of his stamp down
here. Your uncle can perhaps settle the matter by giving up the stolen
horse, paying his owner for the trouble he has had, and also paying Cook
for the cattle that were shot. And in regard to yourself, you had better
apply for a new guardian at once.”
“I should be only too glad to do so,” replied George, eagerly, “for home
isn’t home to me any longer. But there’s one question I want to ask you,
Mr. Gilbert: If I should apply for a new guardian, would any of these
things I have told you about Uncle John become known—I mean the plans he
has laid to get me out of the way, so that the property would fall to
Ned?”
“Probably they would. The thing would have to be done by process of law,
for it is your father’s will that gives him the property in trust and
makes him your guardian.”
“Then I’ll not have a new guardian!” said George.
Mr. Gilbert stopped and looked at the boy in great surprise.
“O, I mean it,” said George, decidedly. “I’ll not disgrace the only
brother my father ever had. He may do better after a while.”
“You are the most confiding boy I ever saw,” said Mr. Gilbert.
“You must remember that I have nothing but Springer’s word for all
this,” continued George, “and Springer is a rascal, who would just as
soon tell a lie as eat a good dinner. I shall satisfy myself of the
truth of his story before I make any move in the matter.”
“Well, keep your eyes open and look out for treachery while you are
doing it,” said Mr. Gilbert. “It is my opinion that you would be safer
anywhere in the world than you are here in Texas. If I were in your
place, and was determined to let Uncle John stay where he is, I would go
off somewhere and stay until I became of age. Listen! What’s that?”
exclaimed Mr. Gilbert, holding up his finger warningly.
The clatter of hoofs on the hard trail came faintly to their ears. It
grew louder every instant, and presently a couple of horsemen galloped
around the building at full speed and drew rein beside the porch in
front of the lighted windows of the office.
“Hallo, the house!” came the hail, in stentorian tones.
George sprang to his feet, and his face grew as pale as death.
“There they are!” he exclaimed, in an excited whisper.
“I was in hopes they would not come until you were well on your way
home,” said Mr. Gilbert, in the same low whisper. “It wouldn’t be safe
for you to fall into their hands.”
“I don’t care for myself,” replied George. “But, Mr. Gilbert, if you
don’t do something for Ned now——”
“Don’t get excited. Stay in here and trust to me. I have seen persons in
tight places before to-night, and I know just what you want me to do.”
George found a world of encouragement in these words. He sank back on
the lounge again, while Mr. Gilbert hurried out of the office, locking
the door behind him. George heard him pass along the hall and open the
door that led to the porch.
“Good-evening, stranger!” exclaimed a voice, which the boy knew belonged
to the owner of the stolen horse. “Is this Mr. Gilbert’s rancho?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Get down and walk in.”
“Thank you; we can’t stop. We would be obliged if you would put us on
the road to Ackerman’s.”
“I am afraid I can’t direct you so that you can find your way there in
the dark. There are a good many trails branching off the main road.
Better come in and wait until morning.”
“We can’t do it. We are in a great hurry.”
“Then wait until the moon rises, and I will send a man to show you the
way. Have you ridden far to-day?”
“We have just come from Dickerman’s.”
“Then you and your nags need food and rest. Here, Tom! take these
horses.”
George heard the men dismount on the porch, and presently heavy steps
sounded in the hall. He caught the words “Ackerman’s,” “regular nest of
horse-thieves,” “get my hands on that rascally boy who sent us so far
out of our course,” and then the closing of a door shut out the voices.
After a few minutes’ silence, during which George could plainly hear the
beating of his own heart, footsteps once more sounded in the hall, the
door was unlocked and Mr. Gilbert came in. He shook his finger warningly
at George, and, without saying a word, seized his haversack and hurried
out again. In about five minutes he came back, and George could see that
there was something in the haversack.
“You’ll have to eat your supper as you go along,” said Mr. Gilbert, in a
cautious whisper. “I have tried to reason with them but it is of no use.
Somebody has told them that Ned has been shooting cattle, and they
declare that they are going to make an example of him.”
“What do you suppose they will do?” asked George.
“Haven’t even the shadow of an idea. The least they can do with him is
to put him in jail as a receiver of stolen property; but they act as
though they were going to take the law into their own hands, and for
that reason I think you had better get Ned out of the way. As soon as
they have eaten supper I am going to send a man to guide them to your
house, so you’ll have to ride fast. I’ll delay them in every way I can,
but they are very impatient. Your horse is at the porch on the other
side of the rancho. Keep me posted as to your movements, and I’ll keep
you posted in all that goes on in the settlement. Good-by, and good luck
to you.”
George slung his haversack over his shoulder, shook Mr. Gilbert warmly
by the hand and hurriedly left the office. He found the horse at the end
of the porch, saddled and bridled, and Bony was cropping the grass a
little distance away. Both the animals recognised and welcomed him, one
uttering a low whinny and the other a suppressed bray, and the man who
was holding the horse nodded his head vigorously and patted George on
the back as if to say that he knew all about it.
“I am to show them the way,” whispered the herdsman. “Them trails twist
an’ turn about a good deal, an’ mebbe I’ll get lost: I’m a’most afeard I
will, ‘kase it’s so dark.”
“There’s one thing about it,” said George, to himself, as he mounted his
horse and rode slowly away from the rancho after taking a cordial leave
of the herdsman. “If I have no other friends in the settlement, I have
some here at Mr. Gilbert’s. They are all on my side. So Ned has been
shooting cattle! He always said he’d like to see a ‘neighborhood row,’
and now I’ll see whether or not he has the pluck to face the
consequences of his foolish act.”
George kept his horse by the side of the trail until he was out of sight
of the house, and then putting him into a gallop went ahead with all his
speed, Bony following close behind. Ranger knew the road and kept it
without any guidance from his master.
The ten miles that lay between Mr. Gilbert’s and his home were quickly
passed over, and as George drew near to the end of his ride he gradually
slackened his pace and became cautious in his movements. There was one
man about the house who seemed to have a way of finding out everything
that went on there, and who, George told himself, must know nothing
whatever of this night’s work. Philip might be his Uncle John’s
confidential assistant, as Springer had intimated, and then again he
might not; but even if he were, it was not at all likely that Uncle John
would care to have him know that Ned had got himself into such serious
trouble as this, and George’s object was to warn his cousin and his
guest, and get them out of the house and into the saddle before Philip
knew anything about it. He first made his way to the corral, intending
to put Bony in there; but the gate had already been locked for the
night. Then he turned his horse loose to drink and made his way
cautiously to the house, at the door of which he was met by one of the
herdsman, who started back in surprise at the sight of him. Every one
about the rancho had given him up for lost.
“Why, George,” exclaimed the man, springing forward as soon as he had
recovered himself, and extending both hands toward the boy, “you don’t
know how glad—Eh?”
“Not a loud word,” whispered George, raising his finger warningly.
“Jake, you are one of father’s old herdsmen, and I know I can trust you.
My cousin has got himself into a scrape, and it is necessary that he
should leave here at once. I want you to saddle a couple of horses, and
bring them to the door and assist me to get Ned and his friend out of
the house without Philip’s knowledge. That Philip is a born rascal,
Jake.”
“I was sartin of it,” whispered the herdsman. “Me an’ the rest have
always suspicioned that he let the Greasers in here that night, for we
know the door was locked. But what’s the matter with Ned?”
“I can’t stop to tell you now. It’s all over the settlement, and you
will know everything to-morrow. Now go into the kitchen and keep Philip
there until I can reach the office; then saddle up and keep a bright
lookout for a couple of horsemen. If you hear anybody coming down the
trail, let me know.”
The man hastened away to obey these orders, and as soon as George heard
the door of the kitchen close behind him, he ran on tip-toe toward the
office. The peals of laughter that fell upon his ear, told him that
there was a happy party in there, and George wondered how the members of
it would feel when they heard the news he had to tell. Excited and
anxious as he was when he opened the door, he could still take note of
the fact that his presence there was most unwelcome. He saw it plainly
enough. Uncle John and Ned were very much surprised by his abrupt
entrance, and there was not the least cordiality in their greeting.
George watched his uncle’s face and actions closely, and told himself
that Springer’s story was nothing but the truth.
“Why, George, what is the matter?” asked Uncle John, growing alarmed
when he saw how pale and nervous his nephew was. “Any bad news?”
“Yes, I have bad news. Ned, you and your friend must pack up and leave
this rancho and this county, too, without the loss of an hour’s time,”
was the astounding reply. “You are in danger, and I have put myself in
danger by coming here to tell you of it!”
“Why, George,” exclaimed Uncle John, sinking back in his chair, almost
overwhelmed with amazement and alarm, “explain yourself. I don’t
understand you at all. Why should Ned and Gus be in danger?”
“Because they have deliberately placed themselves there,” answered
George, locking the door to prevent interruption, and at the same time
lowering his voice, so that he could not be overheard by any
eavesdropper who might chance to pass through the hall. “Ned, the owner
of that stolen horse is between here and Mr. Gilbert’s. He’s looking for
you.”
Ned’s face grew as white as a sheet. He grasped the back of his chair
and leaned heavily on it for support, while Uncle John started up in his
seat and looked first at George and then at his son. The look of alarm
on his face had given away to an expression of intense astonishment.
“Stolen horse!” he exclaimed. “Looking for Ned! What do you mean?”
“You remember those two men who came here one night, searching for a
horse they called Silk Stocking, don’t you?” said George. “Well, the
horse was here in Ned’s possession all the while, and the owner has
found it out. He and his companion are on their way here now.”
“Ned,” said Uncle John, “you told me that you hadn’t seen that horse.”
“I know it,” whined the frightened boy. “I wanted to keep him.”
“But after you found out he was stolen, why didn’t you give him up?”
demanded his father.
“I was afraid the men would do something to me,” gasped Ned. “They
looked so awful mad!”
“You only made a bad matter worse!” said George. “They will do something
to you now, if they catch you, and they are bound to do it if they can!”
“Wh—what will they do?” stammered the culprit.
“They may put you in jail!”
“Gracious!” gasped Ned. He walked rapidly across the floor once or twice
and then came back and caught hold of his chair again. His strength was
all frightened out of him, and he could not long keep his feet without a
support of some kind.
“But Mr. Gilbert thinks they are going to take the law into their own
hands, as people very often do it in this country, and that is the
reason I am so anxious to get you away from here,” continued George.
“And that isn’t all. You and your friend have been shooting cattle this
afternoon!”
“It isn’t so! It isn’t so!” cried Ned, with so much earnestness that he
condemned himself on the spot. “Is it, Gus?”
“No!” replied Gus, in a feeble voice.
“I haven’t seen any cattle to-day!” declared Ned, gathering a little
courage as he proceeded. “I haven’t been near my wheat field for a week!
Somebody else did it; didn’t they, Gus?”
The latter made no reply. He did not even act as though he heard the
question, and probably he did not, for he was frightened almost out of
his wits.
“All I know is, that Mr. Cook lost two steers to-day, and that he saw
you shoot them,” said George. “He has been around to see all the
neighbors about it, and you will hear from them before this time
to-morrow if you are in this house!”
“Have you any idea what they will do?” asked Uncle John, who seemed to
be as badly frightened as Ned was.
“Not the slightest; but they will make it warm for Ned in some way, you
may depend upon it. He has raised a storm, and Mr. Gilbert’s advice to
him is to get out of reach of it. It is my advice, too.”
Just then somebody tapped lightly on the door. George turned the key,
the door opened a little way and Jake, the herdsman, thrust his head in.
“They’re comin’,” said he, in a thrilling whisper. “I can hear their
horses a-gallopin!”
This startling announcement seemed to take the courage out of everybody
except George. Uncle John and the two trembling culprits sank helplessly
into the nearest chairs, their faces betraying the utmost consternation.