WHAT HAPPENED AT THE RANCHO.
“How far away are they, Jake?” asked George, who seemed to be the only
one besides the herdsman who had any of his wits left about him.
“They’re so fur off that I couldn’t have heard ‘em at all if the wind
hadn’t brought the sound of their horses’ feet to me,” was the
herdsman’s answer. “But they’re comin’ fast, an’ they’ll be here in five
minutes. The horses are waitin’ at the door!”
“You have not an instant to lose,” said our hero, turning to the
frightened boys and speaking as rapidly as he could.
“Where are you going to take them, George?” asked Uncle John, as soon as
he had recovered the use of his tongue.
“I intend to show them the way to the coast—we shall probably bring up
at Brownsville—and send them up north. But you will have plenty of time
to communicate with us after we get out of harm’s way, and we can then
decide what ought to be done Mr. Gilbert thinks Ned can come back after
a while, but that Gus had better go home and stay there.”
“I think so, too,” cried Ned. “I wish I had never seen him. If he hadn’t
come here I’d never got into this miserable scrape!”
“But what am I to do?” asked Uncle John, who seemed to have no mind of
his own.
“You’ll have to stay here until you have settled this matter, and then
you had better follow us to the coast. Pay Mr. Cook for his cattle and
give up the stolen horse, making the best excuses for Ned that you can
think of.”
“Where is the horse now, Ned?” asked his father.
“I don’t know,” replied the boy. “He went off with the raiders. Hurry
up, George! Don’t stop to talk any more!”
“I am ready if you are. If the horse is gone you’ll have to pay for him,
Uncle John. Ned will need some money to bear his expenses. I’ll be back
in a minute.”
George left the office and hurried to his own room. He stayed there just
long enough to empty the contents of his money-box into his pocket, and
was back again by the time Ned had received the money his father counted
out to him. There was no leave-taking whatever; the boys were in too
great a hurry for that. They ran through the hall, and found Jake
standing on the porch holding three horses. Ned and Gus lost no time in
getting into the saddle, but George paused a moment to listen. He could
distinctly hear the sound of hoofs, but they did not seem to be coming
toward the rancho. They were moving off to the right, and when George
became satisfied of that fact, he told himself that Mr. Gilbert’s
herdsman had purposely lost his way and was leading the pursuers out of
their course.
“That’s all right,” said he. “Now put out every light about the house,
or close the shutters, to make them believe that you have gone to bed,
and be as long in answering their hail as you can. We shall stop in
Brownsville, Uncle John, and we shall expect you there in the course of
a few days. Good-by! Easy, boys! We’ll go fast enough after a while!”
Ned and Gus would have dashed off at the top of their speed and tired
their horses out before they had gone ten miles if George had not
checked them. The latter knew that they were comparatively safe now, and
he breathed a good deal easier than he did while he was in the rancho.
If the owner of the stolen horse had arrived while they were in the
office, something unpleasant might have happened; but now that he and
his companions were in the saddle there was little danger to be
apprehended. The ranchemen could not compete with them in a fair race,
for the horses they rode were weary with their day’s journey, while
those on which the boys were mounted were fresh and vigorous. George
explained this as they rode away from the house, adding:
“They can’t follow us in the dark, for they have no means of knowing
which trail we have taken. Their only chance is to wait until morning
and make inquiries among the settlers.”
“That is just what they will do,” said Ned, “and everybody will tell
them all about us. The neighbors are down on me because I am so far
above them.”
“But we must keep out of sight of the neighbors,” said George, who did
not think it best to notice his cousin’s last remark, “and then they
can’t tell anything about us. The people who live along the river trail
are strangers to us, so we’ll go that way. It is the safest.”
George kept his horse in a rapid walk until he was out of sight of the
rancho, and then he put him to the top of his speed. Although he had no
fear of being overtaken, he was very anxious to keep out of sight of the
ranchemen, for they carried revolvers and would not hesitate to use them
if they found that Ned could not be captured in any other way. George
was resolved to stand by his cousin, no matter how much risk he might
run by so doing; but perhaps he would not have been so determined on
this point if he had known what was transpiring at the rancho he had
just left.
In spite of the care he had taken to enter and leave the house without
Philip’s knowledge, that crafty individual knew all about it. As it
happened, he was standing on the porch when George first made his
appearance. He recognised the boy at once, and was not a little
surprised to see him. He knew, and so did Uncle John, that George had
succeeded in eluding the raiders when they made the descent upon his
camp, and that he was probably on his way home; but Philip did not
expect him to get there, for, as we shall presently see, arrangements
had been made to intercept him. When Philip saw him coming, he said
something angry in Spanish, and retreated into a dark doorway, so that
George could not see him.
“I never expected to put eyes on him again on this side of the river,”
said the Mexican, to himself; “but here he has gone and run the
blockade, and there is no telling when we can get another chance at him.
Where are those fellows who ought to have been watching the trail? I
wonder if he has heard any news! He acts as though he wanted to get into
the house without being seen.”
The man crouched down in his place of concealment and watched George’s
movements. He saw him when he mounted the steps and placed his hand on
the door leading into the hall. He heard almost every word of the
conversation between him and the herdsman who met him there, and the
ejaculations he uttered under his breath indicated that he was both
astonished and enraged by it. When the conversation ceased, and he heard
Jake moving along the hall, Philip softly opened the door near which he
was concealed, and slipped into the kitchen. When the herdsman entered,
he was filling his pipe, preparatory to indulging in a smoke. Knowing
that the herdsman had been sent in there to watch him, he remained in
the kitchen until Jake went out to catch and saddle the horses; then he
threw down his pipe, and running swiftly but noiselessly along the hall,
stopped in front of the office door. Placing his ear close to the
key-hole, he listened intently, hoping to overhear the conversation that
was carried on by those inside; but George, as we know, spoke in a low
tone of voice, and Philip had little more than his trouble for his
pains. When he heard Jake coming with the horses he ran back to the
kitchen, the door of which he left ajar. He saw the boys when they came
out, and heard George tell his uncle that they were going straight to
Brownsville, and should expect to see him there in a few days.
When George and his companions had ridden away out of sight, and Uncle
John and the herdsman had gone back into the hall, Philip softly opened
the kitchen door and stepped upon the porch. Almost at the same instant
the door which gave entrance into the hall, was cautiously opened and
Uncle John came in. He looked all around the room as if he was searching
for somebody, and went out upon the porch. He pronounced the Mexican’s
name two or three times, in a low tone of voice, and walked around the
building, looking everywhere for him; but he could neither hear nor see
anything of him, and finally he gave up the search, and went back to the
office again.
Philip, in the meantime, having caught up a saddle and bridle, belonging
to one of the herdsmen, ran to the corral, opened the gate with the key
which he had taken from its nail in the kitchen, and hurried in. When he
came out, he was leading a horse, which was soon saddled and bridled,
and carrying the Mexican at a full gallop away from the rancho. The
rider directed his course down the trail, and had gone about half a
mile, when he heard the sound of voices away off to his right. It was so
dark that he could not see anybody, but Philip, being confident that he
knew whom the voices belonged to, checked his horse and rode just fast
enough to intercept the horsemen, who were coming along one of the
side-trails. In a few minutes a hail came through the darkness, telling
him that he had been discovered.
“Hallo, there!” cried a voice.
“Hallo yourself!” replied Philip, stopping his horse and turning him
around, so that his head pointed toward the rancho, instead of away from
it.
“O, now you’re all right,” said another voice. “That’s one of Ackerman’s
men. He’ll show you the way, an’ I’ll go hum. I’m sorry I lost the
trail, an’ tuk you so fur outen your way—I am so; but it’s powerful
dark, an’ my eyes ain’t none of the best.”
“Well, I should think a ten-year-old boy ought to know the trails in his
own neighborhood,” growled the man who had shouted out the hail. “You
have delayed us more than half an hour.”
“And he did it on purpose, too,” thought Philip. “That’s Gilbert’s man,
and he knows the country like a book for two hundred miles around.”
“Hallo, there!” came the hail again.
“Hallo yourself!” was Philip’s answer.
“Can you show us the way to Ackerman’s?”
“I can. I am going right there.”
“Then you can go home,” said the horseman, addressing himself to the man
whom Mr. Gilbert had sent to act as guide. “We’ve seen enough of you.”
The herdsman, taking him at his word, rode off at once; and presently
the owner of the stolen horse and his companion galloped up to the place
where Philip was standing. The latter looked closely at them for a
moment, and exclaimed:
“O! I know who you are now. You’re the gentlemen who came to our rancho
the other night and borrowed two fresh horses. Did you catch him?”
“No,” growled one of the horsemen.
Philip waited for him to say something more, but the man did not seem to
be in the humor for talking just then. No doubt he was reserving all he
had to say for Uncle John’s private ear. After they had ridden a short
distance, Philip said:
“I’m sorry you didn’t catch him. Mr. Ackerman will be sure to ask
particularly about it, when he comes home.”
“When he comes home!”
“Yes; he isn’t here, you know.”
“Where is he?”
“He and his son started for Palos this morning.”
The horsemen looked at each other and uttered a volley of exclamations,
that seemed to astonish Philip greatly.
“Perhaps you wanted to see Mr. Ackerman?” said he.
“I should say we did!” replied the owner of the stolen horse.
“I am sorry. He’ll not be back for two or three weeks, for he took a
mule-wagon with him, and is going to bring back a heavy load.”
“You say his son went with him. Did he go in the wagon?”
“O, no; he rode on horseback.”
“What sort of a looking horse was it?”
“A dark chestnut, with white mane and tail and four white feet. It was a
new horse he traded for a few days ago. The house is open, just the same
as if Mr. Ackerman was there, and we shall be glad to give you——”
“We wouldn’t stay in his house to-night under any circumstances!” was
the angry reply. “Bring out our horses as quick as you can, and let us
get away; that’s all we ask of you!”
“I’ll do that. Any word to leave for Mr. Ackerman?”
“Not a word! We’ve got plenty to say to him and that boy of his, but
we’ll say it to their faces.”
“It is nothing bad, I hope!”
“It is no business of yours, whether it is or not!”
These words and the tone in which they were uttered, silenced the
Mexican most effectually. He knew some things that the owner of the
stolen horse did not know; but still he was obliged to exhibit some
curiosity, in order to avoid exciting the man’s suspicions. Not another
word was said during the ride.
The ranchemen went into the corral with Philip, turned their borrowed
horses loose and caught their own, and, having placed their saddles upon
them, they mounted and rode away. Philip watched them as long as they
were in sight, and when they had disappeared in the darkness, he closed
and locked the gate of the corral, sprang into his saddle and turned his
horse’s head away from the rancho.
“That was pretty well done if I did do it myself,” thought he. “They’ll
be back again to-morrow or next day, but if Ackerman is sharp they’ll
find him gone, sure enough. I’ll have to go, too, for I shouldn’t like
to have them see me after they learn how they have been tricked.”
While the Mexican was talking to himself in this way he had ridden
around the corral, and was now galloping at full speed toward a belt of
timber which lay about two miles from the rancho. All was dark before
him, but Philip seemed to know just where he was going. He brought his
horse to a walk when he reached the woods, and after riding through a
dense thicket of bushes he struck a bridle path, into which he turned.
He followed it for a short distance, ducking his head now and then to
avoid some overhanging branch, and finally dismounted at the door of a
dilapidated cabin that had once been the property of a pig-raiser, who
lived there and watched his droves while they fattened on the acorns
which so plentifully covered the ground at certain seasons of the year.
There was a window beside the door, and a bright light shone out of it.
The light came from the fire-place, which was heaped high with blazing
logs. In front of the fire were two men, dressed in Mexican costume, who
were reclining at their ease on their ponchos and smoking cigarettes.
But they were not Mexicans. They were renegade Americans, and members of
the band that made the attack upon George’s camp. When they heard the
strokes of the horse’s hoofs on the hard path, they started up and
turned toward the door which Philip pushed open without ceremony.
“You are a pretty pair, I must say!” exclaimed the newcomer, after he
had somewhat relieved his mind by uttering a volley of heavy Spanish
adjectives. “What were you put here for, anyhow—to waste your time in
smoking and loafing?”
“We have just this moment come in,” replied one of the men.
“Didn’t you see anybody while you were watching the trail?” inquired
Philip.
“Yes; there was somebody went by on horseback.”
“Was there a small, dark-colored mute following the horse? Then it was
the boy you were looking for, and you let him go by.”
“Of course. You told us to look out for a boy on foot!”
“So I did,” said Philip, after reflecting a moment. “I didn’t think, at
the time, that he would be likely to find his horse and mule, but it
seems he did. However, you’ve got a chance to try your hands again.
George has just started for Brownsville!”
Both the men uttered ejaculations when they heard this, and one of them
began to roll up his poncho.
“There are three of them together,” continued Philip, “but you will have
no trouble in recognising George when you find them. He’s the largest of
the lot, wears a red shirt and high boots, and rides a black horse. You
want to look out for that same black horse, for if you give him the
least show he’ll carry George so far out of your reach that you’ll never
see him again. He’s just lightning. Your best plan would be to wait
until the boys go into camp, and then jump down on them before they know
it. Hold fast to George when you get him, but don’t harm the other two.
Don’t waste your time, either, in following the big trail. Put for the
river as fast as you can, and there’s where you will find them.”
While Philip was giving these commands the men were busy rolling up
their blankets and ponchos and making their preparations for an
immediate departure. Their horses, which were staked out close by, were
quickly caught and saddled, and when all were mounted, Philip led the
way out of the timber. He paused when he reached the open ground long
enough to add a few words more to the instructions he had already given,
and then galloped off toward the rancho, while the Americans rode away
in pursuit of George.
When Philip reached home he put his horse into the corral and let
himself into the kitchen without being seen by anybody. After making
sure that the rest of the servants had retired for the night, he
hastened along the hall to the office, at the door of which he paused
for a moment to listen. He heard the sound of footsteps passing back and
forth at regular intervals, but there was no murmur of conversation, and
so Philip knew that the man he wanted to see was alone. He entered
without taking the trouble to knock, and having closed the door and
pushed the bolt into its socket, he hung his sombrero upon the knob to
cover the key-hole. Uncle John, who was walking restlessly about the
room, turned quickly and hastened forward to greet him.
“Philip, I am overjoyed to see you,” he exclaimed. “Where have you been?
I have hunted the house over to find you. Do you know what has happened
here to-night?”
“I know all about it,” replied Philip, taking possession of one of the
easy chairs, with the air of a man who felt perfectly at home. “I heard
everything that passed while George was here except the conversation he
had with you in this office. He talked so low that I couldn’t hear much
of that, but I know about what he said.”
“Then tell me what to do,” said Uncle John, who had not yet recovered
from his fright. “What shall I say to those men when they come here? I
don’t see what keeps them. I have been looking for them every minute
since the boys went away.”
“They have been here and are gone,” answered Philip. “They’ll not
trouble you to-night.”
Uncle John could not speak. He could only look the astonishment and
delight he felt.
“Yes,” continued Philip, “they have come and gone. I sent them away. I
met them on the road and told them you and Ned had gone to Palos, and
that you would not be back under two or three weeks. I told them, too,
that Ned had ridden away a new horse he traded for a few days ago. I
knew they wouldn’t stop here after hearing that. I helped them catch
their horses, and they left as soon as they could put the saddles on
them.”
Uncle John drew a long breath and sat down in the nearest chair. He was
greatly relieved to know that he would not be called upon to face the
owner of the stolen horse that night.
“They must have gone away with a very poor opinion of themselves,”
Philip went on. “They’ve been fooled at every turn. The horse they are
looking for was under the shed the night they came here; George sent
them more than thirty-five miles out of their way; Mr. Gilbert sent a
herdsman to guide them to the rancho and he lost them on purpose; and
now I have sent them off on a wild goose chase. It’s lucky for you I
did, for they were just boiling over.”
“But they’ll come back some day,” said Uncle John, growing frightened
again when he thought of it.
“Of course they will, but if they catch you here, it will be your own
fault. They’ll not find me, I tell you. You ought to be well on your way
toward Brownsville by this time to-morrow, and I don’t see why you
didn’t go with the boys. I would if I had been in your place.”
“Why, I thought I ought to stay here and settle the matter.”
“You can settle it easier through somebody else. You’ll have to pay full
value for that horse, for he went off with the raiders. I saw him go. If
I were in your place, I’d put money enough in Mr. Gilbert’s hands to
straighten up the whole business—he’ll do it if you ask him, just
because he knows it would please George—and then I’d dig out. I wouldn’t
come back either, until Mr. Gilbert thought it safe for me to do so. But
before you go, you might as well tell one of the men to bring in a
thousand head of cattle and pasture them between here and the river.”
“What do you mean by that?” exclaimed Uncle John, starting up in his
chair.
“I mean that you won’t find George in Brownsville when you get there.
You know those two fellows who were sent here to watch the rancho, don’t
you? Well, they let George go by them to-night.”
Uncle John was well aware of that fact. If they had not allowed him to
pass he could not have reached the house. That was what caused him to
exhibit so much astonishment when his nephew first entered the office.
He knew that the trail was watched, and he could not imagine how George
had escaped capture.
“George came on horseback, and they were looking for a boy on foot,”
said Philip. “He is safe now, however. I have put them on his trail, and
a few hours more will see him on the other side of the river.”
“But what will become of Ned and Gus?”
“I told the men not to trouble them.”
“But they can never find their way without a guide.”
“Haven’t they got a pair of tongues, and isn’t the trail as plain as
daylight?”
Uncle John settled back in his chair and fastened his eyes on the floor.
He was silent for a long time, but finally he said: “I wish you hadn’t
done it.”
“It is too late to talk that way,” answered Philip, drumming with his
fingers on the arms of his chair, and looking up at the ceiling. “You
told me what you wanted done, and what you were willing to give, if it
_was_ done, and I have tried my best to do it.”
“If I had waited until to-night, I never should have said a word to you
about it. Suppose it should become known among the neighbors!”
“Now, how are the neighbors going to find it out? Who is going to tell
them?”
While this conversation, and much more like it, was going on, George was
leading his companions rapidly across the plain, toward the trail which
ran along the bank of the river, in the direction of Brownsville. He had
brought upon himself the wrath of men who would have treated him
roughly, if they could have overtaken him; had run away from his home
like a thief in the night, and he had done it to save a boy whose father
was at that very moment hearing and consenting to plans, which were
intended to bring him into serious trouble. If George had known what we
have just recorded, his after life would not have been what it was, and
a good many thrilling scenes we have yet to describe, and of which he
was the hero, never would have happened. It all came out after a while,
and it came, too, in such shape that George was fully convinced that Mr.
Gilbert was wiser than himself, and he wondered why he had not seen it
before.
Philip spent more than an hour in conversation with his employer,
minutely describing all the events of the night, in which he had borne a
part, and at last he arose to go. As he was about to leave the room, a
most unexpected and alarming incident occurred. No sooner had he crossed
the threshold, than he received a blow full in the face that would have
felled an ox. It lifted him off his feet, sent him with crushing force
against the wall, and doubled him up on the floor, all in a heap.
“Set Greasers on the trail of a white boy, will ye?” exclaimed a voice.
“Take that thar fur yer imperdence! Evenin’, Mr. Ackerman!”
The voice, and the clenched hand that struck the blow, belonged to Jake,
the herdsman, who thrust his head in at the door and nodded to his
employer, as if to say:
“I know all about it!”