THE INVADERS
The moon had risen and was casting a pale, greenish radiance over the
picturesque little town, when the seven, who had been seated on the
spacious veranda of a restaurant, reluctantly decided that it was time
to go. Under the magic of the soft illumination the harshness of line
and color had departed. Even the grim-looking grain elevator near the
railroad tracks, a flat mass of bluish gray rising against a luminous
sky, wore an aspect of calm serenity which fitted well into a scene
full of silvery lights and mysterious shadows.
“Ah, how superb is nature,” sighed Dave.
“What a superb meal we had,” chuckled Don.
“An’ what a superb ride is before us,” chimed in Cranny.
He was the first to dash down the wooden steps, the first to spring
into the saddle, and he also led the procession of riders which
presently swung into the broad white road.
Waving their hands in response to salutations from several interested
spectators, the boys allowed the mustangs to break into a lively
gallop, which they kept up until the railroad crossing was reached.
There, a long line of slowly-moving freight cars filled with crates of
onions barred their way.
“Huh!” said Tom, “I guess there’s enough of ’em to melt the whole world
to tears.”
“This little Texas town,” remarked Sam quite solemnly, “enjoys the
distinction of being one of the largest onion-shipping points in the
world.”
“Do tell,” grinned Cranny.
“And you might as well learn that the soil is good for all sorts of
truck and farm products. Figs, grapes, watermelons, cantaloupes, and
cabbages.”
“That sounds like a Chamber of Commerce booklet,” laughed Dick.
“When knowledge is being disseminated, don’t interrupt,” said Sam
severely.
“I say, Mr. Speaker, where did you capture that last word?” gurgled
Cranny. “Don’t spring anythin’ like that again so suddenly or----”
The lad did not complete his sentence for the cars had rattled by and
the impatient mustangs, like hounds unleashed, abruptly started off on
their own accord.
At a rapid pace the seven clattered along. The houses became farther
and farther apart until finally the last one was reached and left
behind, and they saw stretching before them a broad undulating country.
Beneath a grove of cottonwoods by the side of the road they reined up.
“Hello!” exclaimed Cranny, looking behind. “There’s that little Mexican
town.”
“So it is,” said Tom.
They could see a few twinkling lights, some apparently poised in space,
and a darkish patch stretching across the Rio--the International bridge.
Half an hour later, now on the open prairie, the boys had halted once
more. Their eyes were following a train on the railroad, which had its
terminus at a rapidly growing settlement on the river about twenty-five
miles away. They watched the tiny starlike points of light blinking
from the car windows, now flashing into view, now blotted from sight,
as intervening objects came between, with an interest born of the
solitude and silence which surrounded them.
“Fine,” said Cranny, “but I’m glad I’m not aboard. Ha, ha! Just think,
Sergeant Howell doesn’t want us to go out huntin’ for adventures.”
“We never have to,” returned Sam, quite truthfully, “for our crowd is
always running into them.”
“I do hope this trip will be an exception,” said Dave, with a yawn.
“What do you say, Bob?”
“Either way suits me,” laughed the other.
“I’m watchfully waiting for something to start pretty soon,” remarked
Dick, laughingly. “Better be prepared, Dave, old chap.”
“Come on, fellows,” cried Cranny.
The boys were soon following an old cattle trail. The hoofs of
countless animals, which for years had followed this route to the town,
had beaten a path almost as plainly marked in places as though the hand
of man had taken part in its making.
“Just think of the thousands and thousands,” said Tom, thoughtfully.
“My, mustn’t it take an awful number of cattle to supply the world?”
“The state of Texas does its share,” declared Dave. “Why, in San
Antonio County alone, an area as great as Belgium, Holland and Denmark
could be tucked away and still there would be plenty of space to spare.”
“Well,” said Cranny, “no wonder everything around here looks so big.”
Soon the party reached a dense thicket of chaparral, which merged
into a brake of cottonwoods and willows, interspersed with mesquite
and prickly pears. The moonbeams filtered through the dense masses of
vegetation in silvery streaks; here spotting the tree trunks, there
detaching branches and leaves from the shadowy, mysterious background.
The soft, musical sighings and rustlings, as the breeze stole through
this leafy coverlet, made of it a place conducive to thought and
reflections, and even Cranny Beaumont fell under its spell. And what
was more natural than that he should recall the time when, with three
hundred dollars in his pocket, he had left home henceforth to depend
upon himself.
Three hundred dollars! Why, at that time it had seemed like a fortune,
enough to go forth and conquer the world. Yet now--he didn’t like
to think of it--his finances were dwindling rapidly. The hiring of
“Starlight” and the purchasing of firearms had cut a pretty big hole in
his resources. Was he to go back to his father--a failure?
“No, never!” he murmured. He bit his lip almost savagely. “I must find
a way!”
And despite the lively conversation of his companions and the bantering
remarks which his continued silence brought from them, the Tacoma lad
continued to ponder over the important problem.
A few miles beyond the timber they began to see familiar objects.
“Not far now, fellows,” sang out Tom, at length. “The old ranch-house
is just beyond the next rise.”
“And after such a glorious ride, how glorious it will be to crawl under
a blanket and reflect upon the lovely things we have seen,” said Dave.
“I’d rather steer away from reflections,” declared Cranny, who was
beginning to recover his spirits. “I’ll race you to the top, Tom.”
The Ramblers promptly accepted this challenge, and the two, cracking
their quirts, started off. The distance, only a few hundred feet,
was quickly covered; “Starlight,” to Cranny’s extreme gratification,
leading by a head. But the first glance he took toward the ranch-house
stifled his shout of triumph and made him utter an exclamation of
surprise instead.
“Just look at that, Tom!” he gasped. “Did you ever see anythin’ to beat
it?”
Tom was staring in open-mouthed wonder.
The grim, square outlines of the ancient ranch-house made a dark
silhouette against the cloudless sky. All of its windows but two
appeared as dark, gloomy patches; and from these exceptions a dull glow
of yellowish light struggled forth.
Their castle had been invaded.