IN THE SADDLE
Next morning after breakfast the entire crowd was on the roof.
Tom Clifton, with Bob Somers’ field-glass pressed to his eyes, at last
uttered an exclamation which attracted general attention.
“See anythin’?” demanded Cranny.
“Yes. Hooray, fellows! There come the Rangers!” he answered.
“Maybe it’s only a bunch o’ cattle rustlers!” chirped Cranny. “Quick,
Tom; let me have a squint.”
Though the sun had risen some distance above the horizon, streamers of
grayish mist still hung low over the landscape, completely blotting
from view the hills beyond the Rio. But by the aid of the powerful
binoculars which penetrated this fast dissolving curtain, Cranny saw
the specks assume the definite form of horsemen.
“Correct, Tom, old chap,” he affirmed. “Hustle! We don’t want to keep
’em waitin’.”
“I scarcely think you will,” said the lecturer with a smile.
Nimbly the crowd piled through the trap-door. Down-stairs they buckled
on cartridge belts, adjusted revolvers, holsters, and lastly slung
glistening rifles over their shoulders, while Professor Kent and George
Parry looked on with twinkling eyes.
“Never in all my life did I see a peaceable bunch look more warlike!”
chuckled the latter. “Boys, if you ever cut across the river in that
rig, you’ll have the Mexicans surely thinking that the United States is
tired of ‘watchful waiting’ at last.”
“That’s all right,” laughed Cranny.
A few minutes later the party was in the stable. Then followed a lively
scene. The mustangs whirled and danced about, but all the activity on
their part failed to impress the little burro, which had to be prodded
and coaxed vigorously before he would consent to leave the mellow
shadows of the interior.
Quickly the boys sprang into the saddles, fastened their rifles across
the pommels, and in a due westerly direction galloped off, occasionally
uttering yells which no doubt easily carried against the slight breeze
to the ears of the approaching Rangers. In the crest of a gentle rise
they drew rein, to gaze long and earnestly over the prairie. But the
only other human beings in sight besides themselves were the lecturer
and his assistant, who, hampered by the obstinate burro, had been left
far to the rear.
“Give another whoop, fellows!” commanded Tom.
The others obeyed, and immediately following their lusty chorus came a
faint, answering hail.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Cranny. “We’ll soon be on the way.”
Before the other travelers had time to reach them, the four Rangers,
with Jack Stovall in the lead, came into view over a ridge.
“I was mighty certain ye’d never let us git by ye!” shouted the young
Ranger, the moment he had come within speaking distance. Then, glancing
toward the two men, urging the burro to a faster gait, he added with a
quizzical smile, “Say, pards! I reckon that’s some more o’ your gang,
eh?”
“You’ll know in a minute,” Cranny shouted back.
With the sunlight playing over them and horses’ trappings and spurs
catching and holding myriad gleams of light, the policemen of the
plains presented quite an impressive appearance.
Carl Alvin in charge of the detail warmly saluted the boys, and looked
inquiringly toward Professor Kent and the photographer, who were now
rapidly approaching.
Bob Somers quickly introduced the Easterners, and the Rangers, with the
exception of Jim Raulings, greeted them in hearty fashion.
“Sure, you can go along with us,” declared Alvin, after a moment’s
conversation. “We’ll be glad to have you.”
“Big Jim,” a zealous, conscientious officer, feared that the advent of
so many strangers among them might in some way interfere with their
duties. And at present they had a very important assignment, for
complaints of the activities of cattle rustlers as well as smugglers
were steadily coming in to headquarters.
“I wish them fellers would hike off somewheres else,” he confided in
a low tone to Chaney. The other, however, merely shrugged his broad
shoulders and grinned.
“Come ahead, men,” came in Carl Alvin’s clear voice.
The restive, mettlesome mustangs, glad to be on the move once more,
shot forward at the word of command, and breaking into a loping trot
presently carried the riders over another rise which shut from their
view the gray, adobe walls of the ancient ranch-house.
The weather was warmer than on the day before and lacked the fresh,
keen breeze to temper the heat. The sun shone from a cloudless sky
and as it climbed higher and higher all nature became enveloped in
a yellowish glare, which, with the clouds of dust kicked up by the
ponies’ heels, made the travelers long for a bit of woods and shade.
And this longing was soon gratified. Clumps of cottonwood began to
be encountered and beyond the horsemen could see a line of timber
stretching off in a northeasterly direction. This they knew marked the
course of one of the tributaries of the Rio Grande.
Even Cranny Beaumont uttered a sigh of satisfaction when the mustangs,
their shaggy brown-patched coats flecked with foam, finally threaded a
passageway leading into this thick brake, where grateful shade at last
shielded them from the sun’s hot rays.
“Ah, this is a jolly nice change!” he remarked, wiping his perspiring
face.
“I should say so,” murmured Don Stratton, still too much of a
tenderfoot to be enjoying the situation with as keen a relish as his
companions.
“We’ll give our nags a chance to rest at the first likely place, boys,”
announced Alvin.
To the lads it didn’t look as though any “likely place” could be found.
The cottonwoods, willows, prickly pears and mesquite were so densely
matted together that progress became slow and difficult. Occasionally
a streak of light trailed over the ground, touching up with a golden
luster vegetation which lay in its path.
Had the boys been alone it is doubtful if they could have found their
way through the depths of the lonely haunts at this particular point.
The Rangers, however, thoroughly familiar with the locality, led the
way in single file, following winding paths which only an experienced
eye could have detected. It was difficult work, for treacherous roots
trailed over the ground, and often low-hanging boughs, pushed aside
by riders in advance, snapping back into place smartly lashed those
following close behind.
“Well, this is some job, sure enough!” declared Cranny, after a
particularly violent impact.
“Never mind, lad,” Alvin called back. “We’ll have it easier in another
minute.”
“Thank goodness!” murmured Don.
Not many yards farther on the long file of horsemen entered a little
glade, pleasantly shaded.
“Hooray!” cried Cranny. “Isn’t this fine?”
“Great!” responded Dave. “I could stay here all day!”
The steady crashing of horses’ hoofs in the underbrush suddenly ceased,
and men and boys dismounted. After securing their mounts to convenient
saplings they sought the cool, greenish shadows, where each, with
expressions of satisfaction, immediately stretched himself out on the
ground.
The party quickly found, however, that they were not destined to remain
there long in peace. Hordes of mosquitoes swarmed down upon them; and
though a vigorous defense was offered to the vicious attacks, the
immense numbers of the little buzzing insects made such efforts almost
futile.
“Mercy, help!” murmured Don.
“Kill ’em and they come right back,” grumbled Dick; “eh, Tom?”
Tom, however, merely nodded. He expected discomforts out in the open
and when they came generally bore them with heroic fortitude.
“I say, Carl,” he exclaimed, “where is the ranch of this Colonel
Brookes Sylvester, who has been having trouble with the rustlers?”
[Illustration: “INTO THE SADDLE, BOYS!”]
“About fifty miles from the town,” replied the Ranger. “And it’s one
of the finest in southwestern Texas. The colonel, besides being a
cattleman, is a farmer, and has some of the best artesian wells in this
section.”
“He’s sure a fine man too,” put in Raulings, “an’ the last time I seen
him, he was all broke up. ‘I’m bankin’ on the Texas Rangers to help me
out,’ he says; an’----”
“Was he talking about the cattle rustlers?” queried Tom.
“No--somethin’ that worried him a heap sight more’n them critters,”
grunted the Ranger in reply.
Tom, whose curiosity had been greatly aroused, might have asked
some other questions but for the fact that Don jumped to his feet,
exclaiming in disgusted tones:
“Say, fellows, I can’t stand these torments a minute longer!” He looked
toward Alvin, who nodded.
“Into the saddle, boys!” said the Ranger.
Through openings here and there in the break they could see the river,
a narrow and muddy stream. In a straight line the distance was short,
but the route which the riders soon followed proved to be so winding
and irregular that a considerable time elapsed before they reached its
bank. In places the trees on either shore met to form a leafy archway,
which sparkled and glittered in the sunlight.
The gravel bottom of the stream enabled the mustangs and burro to wade
across.
Entering the brake at a point farther down-stream Carl Alvin led the
advance so skilfully that nowhere were they forced by barricades of
green to retrace their steps.
Probably no one among the party was more relieved to see the thicket
opening out than George Parry, who had charge of the burro. The clumsy,
intractable animal either halted with annoying frequency or managed to
get his stocky little form tangled up in the vegetation.
“That was certainly tough work!” he puffed as they rode out on higher
ground.
“I should say so,” laughed Cranny. His twinkling eyes sought Don’s.
“Fun, I call it.”
“Well, I’m generous enough to let you have all my share,” chuckled the
New Orleans lad.
The country through which the travelers rode during the next few hours
was of a diversified nature. Sometimes it was over sandy ridges
crowned with Yucca or mesquite, at others along rolling stretches of
country which extended for miles and miles.
Carl Alvin explained that near the Rio Grande the ground was mostly
very rough, with only a few irrigation farms along the river.
“I should think outlaws would have an easy time of it out here,”
remarked Don.
“Some years ago they did, an’ then there was plenty of ’em,” declared
Jack Stovall. “Believe me, the Texas Rangers have made western and
southern Texas a white man’s country. But naturally ye can’t expect us
to clear ’em all out.”
“Do you think you’ll round up this new bunch of rustlers?” asked Bob.
“Certainly, though in a vast country like this, it’s mighty hard to
watch the frontier; an’ there’s many a good hidin’ place along the
Rio--all that makes it hard.”
“Maybe the Ramblers will help us,” drawled Chaney with a broad grin.
“If our crowd had the authority, and stayed here long enough we might,”
laughed Tom.
A few miles farther on they came to a branch of the river recently
crossed, and entered another brake, almost as dense as the other. Half
an hour’s travel beyond this brought them in sight of a horse and
rider. On catching sight of the advancing party, the man cracked his
rawhide quirt and galloped forward.
“That’s Jim Roland,” announced Carl Alvin.
“Another Ranger?” asked Professor Kent.
“Yes, sir, and a good one.”
Jim Roland was of course astonished to see so many boys among the
horsemen, a fact which brought forth several humorous observations
from Tom. Finally, after having his curiosity partially satisfied, the
Ranger led the crowd toward a hut which nestled near the base of a low
hill. Almost hidden behind a grove of cottonwoods it seemed to be an
ideal situation for the quarters of the Ranger detachment.