INTO THE TUNNEL
"What's that?" cried Bud.
"Who's there?" demanded Nort.
The hand of Dick went toward the .45 he wore in a holster at his belt,
and, it might be added, the hands of the others did also.
"Keep your shirts on," came the somewhat drawling voice of Pocut Pete,
who, it seemed, had returned after shuffling off in the darkness. "I
just winged a coyote."
"Oh," murmured Bud. "You were shooting at them, were you?" he asked.
"Not exactly," answered Pocut Pete, as he sauntered up out of the
gloom. "I saw something movin' down among th' cattle, an' I knew it
couldn't be any of you fellows, so I let go at him."
"_Him!_" cried Nort. "Was it a man?"
"Looked like one," drawled Pete. "I heard you'd had trouble with
rustlers before I came, so I wasn't takin' any chances. I didn't aim
t' hit him, though, only t' scare him, an' I must have winged one of
them night-owls!" He chuckled at this characterization of the coyotes.
"Let's take a look down there," suggested Bud to his cousins, their
worried interest in the stoppage of the water momentarily eclipsed by
the new excitement.
"Oh, you won't find anyone down there _now_!" Pocut Pete made haste to
say. "If it was a rustler he's far enough off by _this_ time, an' I'm
not positive I really saw one--it was so dark."
"It won't do any harm to take a look," declared Bud, and his cousins
were of the same opinion.
"Suit yourself," spoke Pete, easily. "If I did hit him let me know."
Again he moved off in the darkness, and the boy ranchers, after a
moment of hesitation, started in the direction whence the shot had been
heard and the sliver of flame seen. Pocut Pete had gone on the
opposite trail after returning to the boys, a fact which caused Dick to
remark:
"Wouldn't you think he'd want to see if he did wing anybody?"
"He knows well enough he didn't," declared Bud in a low voice, for he
and the others realized that sounds, especially voices, carried almost
as clearly in the night air as across a body of water.
"What made him talk that way then?" asked Nort.
"Oh, he's--queer, I guess," replied Bud. "I don't exactly just like
the way he acts. Did you fellows hear the tinkle of glass just before
that shot?"
"I did," answered Nort, but Dick was not so sure. "What do you make of
it?" Nort wanted to know.
"Wish I knew," spoke Bud, and then he told them about having found the
small, thin, broken phial of dubious-smelling mixture in the bunk tent
of the older cowboys.
"Do you think he takes 'dope,' or medicine of some sort?" asked Dick.
"It's hard to say," was Bud's reply. "But let's look around and see
what we can find."
Their search was unrewarded, however. The cattle quieted down after
the shot, and the coyotes only occasionally gave vent to their
blood-curdling yells. But as for finding anyone who had been
shot--including even a miserable coyote--there was not a sign.
"Guess Pete didn't wing anybody after all," mused Dick, as he and his
chums turned back toward the camp.
"I never s'posed he did," grunted Bud. "He's a four-flusher, that
fellow is, in my opinion. I wish dad had sent me somebody else."
"He's a good cowboy," defended Nort.
"Yes, but I don't feel that I can trust him. I'd rather have one like
Old Billee, slow as he is, than two Pocut Pete chaps," grumbled the boy
rancher. "But we've got other worries besides him, fellows! What are
we going to do for water, now that we have a double supply of cattle at
our ranch? That's what's worrying me!"
"It's enough to worry anyone," Dick agreed. "Maybe the water will come
back, Bud."
"I hope it does," added Nort.
"We'll take a stroll through that tunnel--it's the only way to find out
what's wrong," decided Bud. "Talk about black rabbits! I begin to
think Old Billee was more right than wrong!"
"But your bad luck, so far, isn't as bad as your father's in losing
cattle from disease," remarked Nort.
"No, and I hope that the epidemic doesn't break out here at Diamond X
Second," went on Bud. "If it starts, and we don't get the water back,
we may as well give up!"
He was plainly discouraged, and no wonder. He was young, and it was
his first experience as a rancher "on his own." Nort and Dick, too,
were a little down-hearted.
"But maybe things will look better to-morrow," suggested Nort, as they
turned in for the night, having discovered nothing alarming in the
direction where Pocut Pete had shot.
"Maybe," half-heartedly assented Bud.
But there was no water coming through the reservoir end of the tunnel
pipe when the sun shone again, and, after breakfast, the boy ranchers
prepared to explore the dark cave-like opening which extended under the
mountain.
"I hope we can turn it on," said Bud, and he looked at the concrete
basin of water, trying to calculate how much longer it would last if
the supply were not replenished. Already it was lower than it had been
the night before, for the cattle had drunk freely during the darkness.
Lanterns were gotten ready, a supply of grub packed, weapons were
looked to (for who knew what beast might not lurk in the tunnel?) and
at last the boy ranchers were ready to start.
"Good luck!" wished Yellin' Kid as the little party started for the
mouth of the tunnel.
"Thanks," chorused Nort, Dick and Bud.
Then they entered the black opening.
If you will imagine a hillside, with a hole, or tunnel, about ten feet
high and as broad, but of irregular shape, opening into it, and on the
bottom, or floor, a two-foot iron pipe out of which, at normal times,
ran a stream of water, you will have a good idea of the place into
which our young heroes were to enter.
The tunnel extended all the way through Snake Mountain, curving this
way and that, as a brook curves its way through a meadow. In fact the
tunnel had been made, centuries ago, by a stream forcing its way
through the soft parts of the mountain, and it was this old, hidden,
underground stream-way of which Mr. Merkel had taken advantage to bring
water to Flume Valley.
The stream flowed along the bottom of the tunnel course, leaving room
on either side for persons to walk, as they might walk along the banks
of a stream in the open. The underground river was not more than four
feet wide, and about the same in average depth, but in places it flowed
with a very powerful current.
"Whew! It's black as tar here!" exclaimed Dick, as they walked in past
the pipe, and found themselves in the tunnel proper.
"As bad as the Hole of Calcutta," added Nort, who had read that grim
story of the Sepoy rebellion in India.
"Do you want to back out?" asked Bud, swinging his lantern so that it
cast flickering shadows on the place where water had flowed, but where
there was none now.
"Back out!" cried Nort. "I should say not! Lead on, Macduff!"
And they started off in the blackness of the tunnel, with only the
faint gleams of the lanterns to illuminate their way. What would they
find?