THE BRANDING IRON
"Come on, boys! Come on!" shouted Bud, as he spurred off in the
darkness, followed by Nort and Dick. "They're trying to drive 'em off
through the lower end of the valley! We've got to stop 'em!"
"You said it!" shouted Dick.
"Who are they?" yelled Nort
Bud had no time to answer. What was needed, then, was quick action to
prevent his own and his cousins', as well as his father's stock from
the Square M ranch, being driven off by unscrupulous rustlers.
For that this night attack was made by these marauders of the plains
was not to be doubted.
"Ride hard, boys! Ride hard!" shouted Old Billee as he galloped up
beside the boy ranchers.
And they were riding hard--all of them, including the cow punchers who
had come in from their night's duties, expecting to be relieved. It
was at this favorable--for them--moment that the rascals had made their
attack.
It was so dark that only, indistinctly, could the forms of raiders be
made out. But there were several of them, leaning low over the necks
of their galloping steeds, and endeavoring to create a panic among the
cattle so that a stampede would result. Once this started it would be
a comparatively easy matter for them to "cut out" as many choice
specimens as possible, driving them to some secret place. There the
brands could be "blurred," or changed, and Diamond X Second would be
out several thousands of dollars.
"There they are!" yelled Bud, as, riding between Nort and Dick, he saw
a group of men swinging their big hats and heard them shouting to
frighten the already thoroughly roused cattle.
But though Bud thus indicated the presence of the rustlers it was not a
very clear sight of them that he or his companions had. Only for the
fact that those of Flume Valley rode together, and saw the indistinct
forms ahead of them, could it be made certain that the unknown ones
were the enemy.
"Crack!"
Bud's gun shot out a menacing warning, for he had fired high in the
air, above the heads of the rustlers. He had borne in mind his
father's injunction never to shoot at a human being unless vital
necessity required it.
"And I'd rather lose all my cattle than kill anyone," Bud said
afterward. "Unless I had to do it to save my life."
It was for this reason that he had fired high, and his example was
followed by his cousins.
But that this consideration on the part of our friends was not
appreciated, was made plain, a moment later, when Old Billee exclaimed:
"That was a close one!"
His words followed the whining song of a bullet as it zipped through
the air, too close to the heads of himself and the boy ranchers to be
comfortable.
"I'm goin' t' give 'em some of th' same medicine!" shouted Yellin' Kid,
and his gun spat fire, but straight out, and not at a high angle.
Following it, almost instantly, was a yell of pain from one of the
rustlers--which one could not be told because of the mix-up and the
darkness, but it was a yell nevertheless.
"You winged one!" cried Snake Purdee.
"I meant to!" was the Kid's grim answer.
"Fire high, boys!" cried Bud. "If we can scare 'em off, so much the
better!"
"Don't reckon they're th' kind that scares easy," objected Old Billee.
"But we've got 'em on the run!" he exclaimed, a moment or two later,
when Bud and his party had ridden around some intervening bunches of
cattle, and were headed straight for the night attackers.
This seemed to describe the situation. So promptly had the boys of
Flume Valley ridden out to repell the raid that the rustlers had no
time to stampede the cattle, and cut out some to drive away. Now it
seemed there must be a clash--a coming together of the two forces.
But the rustlers, unscrupulous as they were, evidently knew when
discretion was the better part of valor. They fired several more
shots, one of which scratched Old Billee while another gave an ugly
wound to Snake Purdee.
Then, with yells of defiance, and before our boys could come close
enough to recognize any of the raiders, the rustlers galloped off, not
having succeeded in driving away any cattle.
But their attack had not been without damage to Flume Valley stock.
For two valuable steers had been shot, and so wounded that they had to
be killed, while several calves were trampled on and crushed into
shapeless masses.
This, together with two wounded men, Old Billee and Snake, made up the
sum total of the casualties on the part of the Diamond X Second outfit.
"But they're marked!" shouted Yellin' Kid as he and the others rode
back to camp. "I got one, I'm sure!"
"I fired low, after I saw they were doing the same, and I saw one
nearly slump out of his saddle," declared old Billee.
"I'd like to know if they were any of the Hank Fisher or Del Pinzo
gang," said Bud.
"I wouldn't put it past them," asserted Snake. "We'll ride over t'
Hank's place, casual like, t'-day, an' see if any of his men are hurt."
Snake spoke rightly of "to-day," for it was getting sunrise-light when
the battle was over, and the party returned to the tents near the flume
reservoir.
The night of excitement, following the mysterious warning sent by the
Indian arrow, had ended, and everyone welcomed the hot, fragrant coffee
made by Buck Tooth.
When Snake's wound and Billee's scratch had been bandaged, the dead
calves buried and the best part of the killed steers cut off for fresh
beef, Bud and his friends took what might be termed an accounting.
The boy ranchers, with Old Billee, rode back over the ground covered in
the attack of the night. The veteran cow puncher pointed out where the
rustlers had ridden into the valley, over a pass that crossed a low
mountain range, which connected, in a fashion, Buffalo Ridge and Snake
Mountain. This ridge formed the lower boundary of Bud's range, and
once the cattle had been driven over this they could easily have been
hazed to Hank Fisher's Double Z ranch.
"Well, there's nothing to make sure it was any of Del Pinzo's gang,
except general suspicion," remarked Bud, as they were about to ride
back to camp. "What's the matter?" he asked, for, with an exclamation,
Nort had leaped from his saddle. The eastern lad was picking up
something from the ground that had been so lately trampled by steers
and horses.
"Look!" exclaimed Nort, and he held up a branding iron.
"One of ours?" asked Bud, in rather a commonplace voice.
"Not exactly," Nort answered. "It's marked with a double Z!"