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[Illustration: THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES]
_THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES._
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS.
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF "THE GUN-BOAT SERIES," "THE GO-AHEAD
SERIES," ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
FAMOUS CASTLEMON BOOKS.
GUNBOAT SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 6 vols. 12mo.
FRANK THE YOUNG NATURALIST.
FRANK IN THE WOODS.
FRANK ON THE LOWER MISSISSIPPI.
FRANK ON A GUNBOAT.
FRANK BEFORE VICKSBURG.
FRANK ON THE PRAIRIE.
ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo.
Cloth.
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS.
FRANK AT DON CARLOS' RANCH.
FRANK IN THE MOUNTAINS.
SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo.
Cloth.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB IN THE SADDLE.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AFLOAT.
THE SPORTSMAN'S CLUB AMONG THE TRAPPERS.
FRANK NELSON SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
SNOWED UP.
FRANK IN THE FORECASTLE.
THE BOY TRADERS.
BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
THE BURIED TREASURE.
THE BOY TRAPPER.
THE MAIL-CARRIER.
ROUGHING IT SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
GEORGE IN CAMP.
GEORGE AT THE WHEEL.
GEORGE AT THE FORT.
ROD AND GUN SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DON GORDON'S SHOOTING BOX.
ROD AND GUN CLUB.
THE YOUNG WILD FOWLERS.
GO-AHEAD SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
TOM NEWCOMBE.
GO-AHEAD.
NO MOSS.
FOREST AND STREAM SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 3 vols. 12mo.
Cloth.
JOE WAYRING.
SNAGGED AND SUNK.
STEEL HORSE.
WAR SERIES. By HARRY CASTLEMON. 5 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
TRUE TO HIS COLORS.
RODNEY THE PARTISAN.
RODNEY THE OVERSEER.
MARCY THE BLOCKADE-RUNNER.
MARCY THE REFUGEE.
Other Volumes in Preparation.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868,
by R.W. CARROLL & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States,
for the Southern District of Ohio.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY CHARLES A. FOSDICK.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
A Novel Battle, 5
CHAPTER II.
Frank's New Home, 16
CHAPTER III.
Twelve Thousand Dollars, 29
CHAPTER IV.
Frank Proves Himself a Hero, 40
CHAPTER V.
The Fight in the Court, 54
CHAPTER VI.
The Mysteries Solved, 68
CHAPTER VII.
Frank Meets a Highwayman, 81
CHAPTER VIII.
Colonel Arthur Vane, 95
CHAPTER IX.
An Old Boy, 110
CHAPTER X.
Arthur Shows His Courage, 126
CHAPTER XI.
Arthur Plans Revenge, 137
CHAPTER XII.
Off for the Mountains, 154
CHAPTER XIII.
Pierre and His Band, 168
CHAPTER XIV.
A Dinner in the Mountains, 180
CHAPTER XV.
More Treachery, 193
CHAPTER XVI.
The Escape, 204
CHAPTER XVII.
The Struggle on the Cliff, 221
CHAPTER XVIII.
Conclusion, 237
FRANK AMONG THE RANCHEROS.
CHAPTER I.
A NOVEL BATTLE.
"Pull him along, Carlos! Pull him along!" shouted a young gentleman
about sixteen years of age, as he danced about on the back porch of his
uncle's house, in a state of great excitement; "why don't you pull him
along?"
"He'll come, after awhile," replied the person addressed; "but he is
very wild and obstinate."
The boy on the porch was almost beside himself--so much so, in fact,
that he found it utterly impossible to stand still. He was jumping
wildly about, swinging his arms around his head, and laughing and
shouting at the top of his lungs.
We have met this young gentleman before. We have been with him through
the woods, accompanied him across the prairie, and seen him in some
exciting situations; but, for all that, it is by no means certain that
his most intimate friend, could he have beheld him while he was dancing
about on the porch, would have recognized him. The last time we saw him
he was dressed in a suit of blue jeans, rather the worse for wear, a
slouch hat, and a pair of heavy horseman's boots. Now, he sports a suit
of clothes cut in the height of fashion--that is, Mexican fashion. They
are not exactly of the description that we see on the streets every day,
but they are common among the farmers of Southern California, for that
is where this young gentleman lives. He is dressed in a short jacket of
dark blue cloth, trimmed around the edges, and on the sleeves, with gold
lace, and wide trousers of the same material, also gaudily ornamented.
The hat, with which he fans his flushed face, is a sombrero, bound with
gold cord, the ends of which are adorned with tassels, that fall
jauntily over the edge of the brim. An embroidered shirt of gray cloth,
and shoes and stockings, complete his attire; or, we may add, a long
crimson sash, which is wound several times around his waist, and tied at
the side, and a pair of small Mexican spurs, whose rowels are ornamented
with little silver bells, which tinkle musically as he moves his feet
about. If you fail to recognize an old acquaintance in this excited,
sunburnt boy, you surely can call the name of the tall,
broad-shouldered, sober-looking youth, who stands at his side. Three
months in the saddle have not changed Frank Nelson a great deal, only he
is a little more robust, and, perhaps, more sedate. He has lost none of
his love of excitement, and he is quite as interested in what is going
on before him as Archie; but he stands with his hands in his pockets,
looking as dignified as a judge. It would be a wonder if they were not
somewhat excited, as they are witnessing a desperate battle that is
going on between two of their uncle's Rancheros and a wild steer, which
one of them has lassoed, and is trying to pull through the gate into the
cow-pen. The animal is struggling furiously for his freedom, and the
issue of the contest is doubtful.
At the time our story begins, Frank and his cousin had lived two months
in Southern California, where Mr. Winters owned a farm--or, in the
language of that country, a _rancho_--of sixteen thousand acres. Besides
attending to his business in the mines, and superintending his affairs
in Sacramento, Uncle James had devoted a portion of his time to
stock-raising; and, when Frank and Archie first saw his immense droves
of horses and cattle, they thought them sufficient in numbers to supply
all the markets in America.
Mr. Winters's rancho was not managed like the farms in our part of the
country. To begin with, there were but three fences on it--one inclosed
two small barns and corn-cribs; another, a pasture of two or three
acres, and the third formed the cow-pen. In the barns, Uncle James kept
his riding and farm horses; the pasture was for the use of the half
dozen cows which supplied the rancho with butter and milk; and the
cow-pen was nothing more nor less than a prison, into which, in the
spring of the year, all the young cattle and horses were driven and
branded with the initials of the owner's name. This was done so that
Mr. Winters and his hired men might be able to recognize the stock
anywhere. The cattle sometimes strayed, and became mixed up with those
of the neighbors, and the marks on their flanks showed to whom they
belonged.
[Illustration]
A fence around that farm would have been useless. None of the cattle and
horses had ever been handled, except when they were branded, and,
consequently, they were very wild. Sometimes they became frightened and
stampeded; and then they behaved like a herd of buffaloes, which turn
aside for nothing, and stop only when they are completely tired out. On
these occasions, the strongest fences that could have been made would
have been trampled down like the grass beneath their feet.
Of course, these cattle and horses had never seen the inside of a
stable. Indeed, a barn large enough to accommodate them would have been
an immense building, and would have cost more money than all the
stock-raisers in the country were worth. However, there was no need of
shelter for them. The grass on the prairie was abundant at all seasons
of the year, the winters were very mild, and the cattle were always fat
and in condition to be driven to market.
All this stock was managed by half a dozen men, called Rancheros. Four
of them were Mexicans; the others were our old friends, Dick Lewis and
Bob Kelly. So skillful were these men in their business, that a herd of
cattle, which, in the hands of any one else, would have proved utterly
unmanageable, was driven about by them with perfect ease. Sometimes it
became necessary to secure a single member of these droves. Perhaps the
housekeeper wanted some fresh meat for dinner, or Uncle James desired a
new riding horse; in either case, the services of these men were
invaluable. Mr. Winters would issue the necessary orders to Carlos--who
was the chief of the Rancheros, and the man who managed the farm during
the absence of his employer--and an hour or two afterward four quarters
of fine beef would be carried into the cellar, or Mr. Winters would be
requested to step to the door and see if they had captured the horse he
wanted. The Rancheros accomplished this with their lassos, which they
carried suspended from the horns of their saddles wherever they went. A
lasso is a long rope, about as large as a clothes-line, and is generally
made of rawhide. One end of it is fastened to the saddle, and the other,
by the aid of a strong iron ring, formed into a running noose. This
contrivance these herdsmen could use with a skill that was astonishing.
Mounted on their fleet horses, they would ride up behind a wild steer,
and catch him by the horns, around his neck, or by one of his feet, as
suited their fancy.
On the morning we find Frank and Archie on the porch, their nearest
neighbor, also a stock-raiser, had ridden over to inform them that one
of his fine steers, which he had intended to drive to market, had
escaped from his Rancheros, and joined one of Mr. Winters's droves;
whereupon Frank, who, in the absence of his uncle, acted as the head man
of the ranch, sent for Carlos, and commanded him to capture the runaway,
and confine him in the cow-pen until his owner should send for him.
Carlos had obeyed the first part of the order, but just then it seemed
that that was all he could do. The steer had suddenly taken it into his
head that he had been driven far enough, and that he would not go
through the gate that led into the cow-pen; and, although Carlos pulled
him by his lasso, which he had thrown over his horns, and another
Ranchero, named Felix, vigorously applied a whip from behind, the
obstinate animal refused to budge an inch. Sometimes he would kick, and
plunge, and try to run off; and then the horse on which Carlos was
mounted, which seemed to understand the business quite as well as his
master, would plant his fore-feet firmly on the ground to stop him.
Finding that he could not effect his escape in that way, the steer would
run around in a circle; and the horse would turn around also, keeping
his face toward the animal all the while, and thus avoid being wrapped
up in the lasso. This novel battle had been going on for nearly ten
minutes, and even Frank had become highly excited over it.
"Pull him along, Carlos!" shouted Archie, jumping about on the porch as
if he had lost all control over his legs, and they would dance in spite
of every thing he could do to prevent it. "Pull him along! Whip up
behind, Felix; hit him hard!"
Archie continued to shout his orders at the top of his voice; but they
did not seem to help the matter any, for the steer still refused to
move. He had fallen to his knees, and laid his head close to the ground,
as if he had deliberately resolved that he would remain there; and for a
long time, all the pulling and whipping the two Rancheros could do,
brought nothing from him but angry snorts and shakes of the head.
"Now, Archie," said Carlos, as he stopped to wipe the big drops of
perspiration from his face, "what would you do with this fellow?"
The boys, who never neglected an opportunity to pick up items of
information concerning every thing that came in their way, had been
taking lessons of the Rancheros in horsemanship, throwing the lasso, and
managing wild cattle; and Carlos thought this a proper occasion to
ascertain how much they remembered of what they had learned.
"Well," replied Archie, pulling off his sombrero, and digging his
fingers into his head, to stir up his ideas, "I'd keep pulling and
hauling at him until I got him tired out, and then I think I could
manage him."
"That would take up too much time," said Carlos; "I've got other work to
do, and I am in a hurry."
"Make your lasso fast to the horn of your saddle, and start up your
horse, and drag him in," suggested Frank.
"That's the idea, and that's just what I'm going to do," said Carlos.
But that was just what the Ranchero did _not_ do. While he was preparing
to put this plan into operation, the steer suddenly jumped to his feet,
and made another desperate attempt to effect his escape, and this time
he was successful. There was a loud snap, Carlos's heels made a flourish
in the air like the shafts of a windmill, and, in an instant, he was
stretched at full length on the ground. His saddle-girth had parted, and
the steer was at liberty to take himself off, which he did in short
order.
The boys gazed in astonishment at the fallen horseman, who righted
himself with alacrity, stretched his arms and legs to satisfy himself
that there were no bones broken, and then commenced shouting some
orders to his companion, who put spurs to his horse and started in
pursuit of the steer, which was galloping over the prairie, dragging
Carlos's saddle after him. He was very soon overtaken, and Felix,
raising himself in his stirrups, swung his lasso around his head once or
twice, to make sure of an accurate aim, and launched it at the steer.
The lariat whistled through the air, as true to its course as a ball
from a rifle, the noose settled down over his horns, the horse stopped
suddenly, and the runaway lay struggling on the ground.
His last attempt at escape seemed to have exhausted his energies, for
when he had regained his feet, he allowed Felix to lead him back to the
gate and into the cow-pen, where he was turned loose, to remain until
his owner should send for him.