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THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
Or
Roy Bradner's City Experiences
by
FRANK V. WEBSTER
Author of "Only a Farm Boy," "The Newsboy
Partners," "Bob the Castaway," "The
Young Treasure Hunter," Etc.
Illustrated
[Frontispiece: "Some fired their revolvers"]
New York
Cupples & Leon Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1909, by
Cupples & Leon Company
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. ROY RECEIVES A MESSAGE
II. MR. BRADNER IS SUSPICIOUS
III. A FAREWELL RIDE
IV. ROY IS PUZZLED
V. A QUEER BED
VI. A SUDDEN AWAKENING
VII. A GAME ON THE TRAIN
VIII. A STOP FOR REPAIRS
IX. THE DUDE IS SWINDLED
X. ROY GAINS A FRIEND
XI. ROY STOPS A RUNAWAY
XII. AT THE HOTEL
XIII. A VISIT TO MR. ANNISTER
XIV. ROY'S TRICK
XV. CALEB ANNISTER IS SURPRISED
XVI. SOME NEW EXPERIENCES
XVII. CALEB ANNISTER MAKES PLANS
XVIII. ROY IN DANGER
XIX. ROY IS MISSING
XX. IN THE TENEMENT
XXI. A DANGEROUS DESCENT
XXII. GETTING A CLUE
XXIII. A LAWYER'S ADVICE
XXIV. ANOTHER RASCALLY ATTEMPT
XXV. THE ROUND-UP--CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Some fired their revolvers" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"Look out," cried Roy, "they are swindlers!"
"Get out of my office!"
"I think you'll stay there for a while," said Wakely.
THE BOY FROM THE RANCH
CHAPTER I
ROY RECEIVES A MESSAGE
"Hi there, Low Bull, ruste [Transcriber's note: rustle?] around the
other way and round up them steers! Hustle now! What's the matter
with you? Want to go to sleep on the trail?"
Billy Carew, foreman of the Triple O ranch, addressed these remarks to
a rather ugly-looking Indian, who was riding a pony that seemed much
too small for him. The Indian, who was employed as a cowboy, was
letting his steed amble slowly along, paying little attention to the
work of rounding up the cattle.
"Come now, Low Bull, get a move on," advised the foreman. "Make
believe you're hunting palefaces," he added, and then, speaking in a
lower tone he said: "this is the last time I'll ever hire a lazy Indian
to help round-up."
"What's the matter, Billy?" asked a tall, well-built lad, riding up to
the foreman.
"Matter? Everything's the matter. Here I foolishly go and give Low
Bull charge of the left wing of rounding up these steers, and he's so
lazy and good-for-nothing that he'll let half of 'em get away 'fore we
get back to the ranch. Get a move on you now!" he called to the
Indian, and, seeing that the foreman was very much in earnest, Low Bull
urged his pony to a gallop, and began to get the straggling steers into
some kind of shape.
"Can't I help you, Billy?" asked the boy.
Since he is to figure largely in this story I shall give you a brief
description of him. Roy Bradner was the only son of James Bradner, who
owned a large ranch, near the town of Painted Stone, in Colorado. The
boy's mother was dead, and he had lived with his father on the ranch
ever since he was a baby.
Spending much of his time in the open air, Roy had become almost as
strong and sturdy as a man, and in some respects he could do the work
of one.
He was quite expert in managing horses, even steeds that had never
known a saddle, and at throwing the lariat, or lasso, few on the ranch
could beat him. He was a good shot with the revolver and rifle, and,
in short, was a typical western boy.
"Can't I help you, Billy?" the lad asked again, as he saw the foreman
had not appeared to hear his question.
"Yes, I wish you would, Roy. Ride up there alongside of Low Bull, and
sort of keep him up to the mark. It sure looks as if he was going to
sleep in the saddle."
"I'll do it, Billy. Where are we going to camp to-night?"
"Well, I guess if we make a few miles more I'll call it a day's work
and quit. We've done pretty well, and if Low Bull would have done his
share, we'd be nearer the ranch than we are now. I don't want any
better round-up men than Nesting Henderson and the rest, but we need
another man, and that's why I had to take Low Bull along. But I'll
know better next time."
"Never mind, Billy. I'll see if I can't keep him on the go," said Roy,
and, with a ringing shout, to hurry up some lagging steers, he touched
his horse lightly with the spurs, and dashed toward where the Indian
was making a half-hearted effort to keep his division of the drive from
straggling.
"I've come to help you, Low Bull," announced Roy, as he reached the
side of the Indian.
"Hu! Boy heap smart!" grunted the redman. "Steers like boy--go fast
now."
In fact it seemed as if the cattle knew some one was now behind them
who would keep them on the move, for they quickened their pace.
"I don't know whether they like me or not," remarked Roy, with a laugh
that showed his white teeth in contrast to his bronzed skin, "for I
reckon if I happened to fall off my horse they'd trample over me mighty
quick; they sure would."
"Hu! Mebby so. Steers no like men not on hoss," spoke Low Bull,
stating a fact well known among cattlemen, for the steers of the plains
are so used to seeing a man on a horse, that once a cowboy is
dismounted the cattle become frightened, and are liable to stampede,
and trample the unfortunate man to death.
"Billy says we must hurry the steers along," went on Roy. "We're going
to camp pretty soon, and he wants to get to the ranch as soon as
possible, though I guess it will take us two days more."
"No need so much rush," said Low Bull. "Go slow be better. Boy drive
steers now, Low Bull take smoke and think. Low Bull much tired."
"I guess he was born that way," thought Roy, as he saw the redman start
to make a cigarette, a habit he had learned from the white cowboys.
Low Bull was soon smoking in peace and comfort, while he let his pony
amble along at its own sweet will. The Indian gave no further thought
to the cattle, leaving the management of the stragglers to Roy, and the
lad had to dash here and there on his nimble pony, shouting and waving
his lariat, to keep the lagging steers up with the rest of the herd.
However, Roy was so full of life, and took so much interest in his
work, that he did not mind doing Low Bull's share, as well as his own.
"That's just like that lazy Indian," remarked Billy Carew, as he
observed, from a distance, what Roy was doing. "He'll let the boy do
all the work. I'll discharge him after this round-up, that's what I'll
do. Might have known better than to hire one of them copper-skins!"
Roy, whose father owned the Triple O ranch, had come out on this
round-up about a week previously. On all big ranches it is the custom,
at stated intervals to send out a party of men to round-up, or gather
together, in herds, the cattle or horses that may have strayed to
distant pastures.
Sometimes a week or more is spent on this work, the men sleeping out of
doors, and making camp wherever darkness overtakes them. During the
night they take turns riding around the cattle, to keep them from
straying away.
Day by day the herd is driven nearer the ranch, until they are either
placed in corrals, which are big pens, or are counted, brands put on
the new calves, and turned out again, to roam about over the immense
pastures, and fatten up for the market.
Mr. Bradner was an extensive ranch owner, and had several herds of
cattle. He was considered quite wealthy, but he had made his money by
hard work, having very little when he first went out west with his wife
and little boy. His wife had died soon after he reached Colorado, and,
after his baby days, Roy had been brought up by his father.
The boy liked the life on the ranch, and was fast becoming an expert
along cattle lines. He was a good judge of steers and horses, and,
while he knew nothing of city ways, never since a mere infant having
been in anything larger than a town, and not having traveled more than
a few miles, there was nothing about life on the plains but what he was
acquainted with.
After much hard riding Roy managed to get that part of the herd
entrusted to the Indian, into compact form. Then he came back to his
companion, who was riding along as if he had nothing more to think
about than keeping his cigarette lighted.
"Hu! Heap smart boy!" grunted Low Bull. "Know how make steers travel."
"I should think you would know how to do it too," said Roy. "You've
always lived on the plains."
"Too much work. Indian no like work. Like sit an' think, an' smoke.
No like work."
"Everybody's got to work in this world, Low Bull."
"Rich man no work. Me like be rich man."
"But the man sure had to work hard to get rich. I s'pose rich men feel
that they can take life easy after they have earned a fortune."
"Indian no like work. Drive cattle too hard. Me quit soon," was all
Low Bull replied.
"Yes, and if you don't quit I think Billy will make you vamoose
anyhow," murmured Roy.
Low Bull rolled another cigarette, and seemed to go to sleep under the
influence of it. Roy had to race off after a couple of straying
steers, and had no further time for talking. When he had brought the
cattle back, a long, shrill cry echoed over the plain. At the sound of
it Low Bull seemed to wake up.
"Billy make camp now," he said. "Soon supper--eat--Low Bull hungry."
It was the signal for making camp, and, finding themselves no longer
urged forward, the steers stopped, and began to crop the rich grass.
The cowboys, of whom there were several, with joyful shouts, came
riding up to the cook wagon, which had been pulled along in the rear,
but which now came to a halt on the broad, rolling plain. "Smoke"
Tardell started a fire from grease-wood, and began to prepare the
evening meal.
"Set out plenty of grub, Smoke," called one of the cowboys, riding
close up to Tardell, and playfully snatching his big sombrero off.
"Here! You let that be, Bruce Arkdell!" exclaimed the cook. "That's
my new hat, an' I don't want it spoiled!"
"Give me an extra plate of beans, or I'll shoot a hole in it!"
threatened the cowboy, drawing hit heavy revolver, and aiming it at the
hat, which he held in one hand.
"All right. You can have three platesful, but don't you spoil my hat!"
cried the cook, as he received back his sombrero. "I never see such
crazy chaps as them boys be when they're headed for the ranch,"
muttered "Smoke," as he set the coffee pot over the fire.
It did not take long to prepare the meal, and the cowboys crowded
around the "grub wagon" as they called it. Low Bull was among them,
his eyes greedy for food.
"Here, Low Bull," exclaimed Billy Carew, "you go out and ride around
them steers awhile. They ain't quieted down yet, and I don't want no
stampede now. Ride around 'em, and make 'em feel easy."
"After supper," said the Indian.
"No, now!" insisted the foreman.
"Low Bull hungry. Like eat."
"Low Bull is going to stay hungry then, until some of the others have
piled in their grub," declared Billy. "I'll send somebody out to take
your place, as soon as they've eaten. Now vamoose!"
"Low Bull like eat."
"Yes, I know. Low Bull like eat, but no like work. That's what's the
matter with Low Bull," exclaimed Billy with a laugh. "Now git."
The Indian knew there was no use disputing this decision, so, with no
very good grace, he started to ride slowly around the cattle, to keep
them from moving off in a body.
"I'll go out and relieve him in a little while," offered Roy. "I'll
soon be through supper."
"You take your time now, son," advised Billy. "It won't hurt that
redskin to go hungry a while. Maybe he'll be a little sprier after
this."
Supper was soon served, and when Roy had eaten his share he prepared to
go out, and relieve Low Bull. He threw the saddle over his pony's
back, and, having tightened the girths, was about to vault into place,
when he and the other cowboys became aware that some one was riding in
great haste toward the temporary camp.
"Somebody's coming," remarked Bruce Arkdell.
"Don't you s'pose we know it," said Billy good naturedly. "We've got
our sight yet."
"Yes, and it's Porter Simms, from the way he gallops," added the cook,
shading his eyes from the setting sun, and peering across the prairies
at the riding man.
"'Tis Porter," confirmed Billy. "Wonder what he wants? Hope nothing's
happened."
Somehow the words sent a slight feeling of fear to Roy's heart. The
man might have bad news for some one in camp.
"Is Roy here?" cried Porter, as soon as he had come within talking
distance.
"Yes, I'm here," replied the boy. "What's the matter? Is it my
father--?"
"Now don't go gettin' skeered," advised Porter, as he pulled up his
horse sharply. "I sure did ride fast to locate you, but your daddy
wanted me to be sure to tell you, first-off, not to git skeered."
"What's the matter?" asked Roy, his heart fluttering.
"Well, your daddy's a little under the weather, and he wants for you to
come back to the ranch right away. That's the message I was to give to
you. Don't wait to come in with the steers, but start right off. I'll
stay here and take your place."
"Is he--was he very bad?" asked Roy, who had left his father,
seemingly, in perfect health.
"No, not so very I guess. The doctor was there, and he didn't seem
much put out. I reckon Mr. Bradner had a sort of a bad turn, that's
all."
"I'll start right away," decided Roy. "If I ride all night I can get
there by morning."
"Don't you want one of us to go with you?" asked Billy.
"No. I'm not afraid. I've done it before. Smoke, will you pack me a
little grub?"
"Surest thing you know!" exclaimed the cook, as he began to do up some
bacon and bread.