Three Young Ranchmen: or, Daring Adventures in the Great West

CHAPTER XVI.
An Encounter in the Dark

Chet and Paul could hardly suppress their excitement as they saw the horse thieves move toward the opening in the fence. Chet drew up his gun and pointed it at the leader.

"Don't fire! Wait!" cautioned Paul. "There are three of them, remember."

"I wonder where Dottery is?" questioned the younger boy, with his hand still on the trigger.

"Asleep, most likely."

"We ought to arouse him. Run, Paul, while I keep watch."

"I will, but don't do anything rash during my absence," replied Paul Winthrop.

He sneaked along in the tall grass until the outbuildings were left a hundred feet and sped like a deer toward the ranch home, showing dimly in the grim shadows ahead.

Less than sixty seconds passed, and he was pounding vigorously on the front door of the heavy log building. Not content with using his fist he banged away with the toe of his cowhide boot.

"Who's thar?" came from within presently.

"Mr. Dottery!"

"That's me, stranger."

"Come out. It's Paul Winthrop. There are horse thieves at your barn."

"What!" roared Dottery. He was a heavy-built man, with a voice like a giant. "The same chaps ez robbed you?"

He unbarred the door and came out on a run, gun in hand and a long pistol in his belt. He was an old settler, and rarely took the trouble to undress when he went to rest for the night.

"Yes, the same, unless I am very much mistaken. My brother Chet is down there now on the watch."

"I'll fix 'em. Go back and call Jack, my man."

Paul hesitated and then did as directed. It took some time to arouse the cowboy, Jack Blowfen, but once aroused, the man quickly took in the situation, and arming himself, joined the boy in a rush after Dottery.

"The pesky rascals!" he muttered. "Yer brother told us about 'em when he stopped here on his way to the railroad station. It's a pity Ike Watson didn't plug every one of 'em when he had the chance. Next thing yer know they'll be runnin' off with a bunch o' cattle."

"Be careful when you shoot; my brother Chet is there," continued Paul, not wishing Chet to be mistaken for a horse thief in the dark.

"I know the lad, and I also know this Saul Mangle and his crowd," returned Jack Blowfen. "I owe Mangle one for the way he treated me in Deadwood one day."

He ran so swiftly that Paul had hard work to keep up with him. Dottery had already disappeared in the darkness of the night.

Bang! Bang! The shots came from behind the barn, while Paul was some distance away. It was Dottery firing at the thieves. Jack Blowfen was chasing them down by the wire fence.

"Paul! Paul! Hold on!"

It was Chet's voice. As he cried out the lad arose from the grass and caught his brother by the sleeve. Paul had passed so close that he had almost trodden on Chet.

"Come on, Chet."

"I'm coming. But hadn't we better look to our horses?"

"In a minute. Let us find out what that firing means."

Paul led the way in the direction of the barn. There, in the gloom, they saw two men struggling violently. They were Dottery and the negro, Jeff Jones. The other horse thieves and Jack Blowfen were nowhere in sight.

Two horses were running about wildly, alarmed by the shots in the dark. Both were bridled but had no saddles.

"Catch the hosses!" yelled Dottery, as he made out the forms of the boys. "Don't let 'em get out of that break in the fence!"

"Have you that man?" cried Paul.

"I will have in a second."

The brothers ran for the animals as directed. It was no light work to secure them. When it was accomplished they ran the horses into the barn and closed the doors. As they came out panting from their exertions, they heard a gunshot from the brush on the opposite side of the road, and then the voice of Jack Blowfen calling out:

"Let them hosses go, you rascals! Take that, Saul Mangle, fer the trick yer played me in Deadwood!"

"Rush and Lilly!" gasped Chet. He said no more, but started in the direction of the encounter. He was determined his horse should not be taken again. Paul came on his heels. Both boys were now sufficiently aroused to fight even with their firearms. The wire fence was cleared at a single bound and into the brush they dove pell-mell.

That Jack Blowfen was having a fierce hand-to-hand contest with his antagonist was plain. The boys could hear both men thrashing around at a lively rate.

"You've hit me in the leg, and I'll never forgive you for it!" they heard Saul Mangle exclaim. "How do you like that, you milk-and-water cow puncher?"

"I don't like it, and ain't going ter stand it, yer low down hoss thief and gambler," returned Jack Blowfen, and then came the fall of one body over another, just as Paul and Chet leaped into the little opening where the battle was taking place.

They saw Jack Blowfen on his back with Saul Mangle on top of him. The horse thief had the butt of a heavy pistol raised threateningly. He looked alarmed at the unexpected appearance of the boys.

"Let up there!" sang out Paul. "Let up at once!"

The cry and the glint of the boys' weapons decided Mangle. With a low muttering he gave Jack Blowfen's body a kick and sprang for the bushes.

Chet and Paul went after him, leaving the cowboy to stagger to his feet and regain his pistols.

The boys followed Mangle not over a dozen feet. Then they came upon Darry Nodley, who had several horses in a bunch, among them Rush and Lilly. The man had been waiting for the leader of the gang to finish his row with Blowfen.

Saul Mangle was ahead of the two boys, but ere he could leap upon the back of the nearest animal Paul ran up to him and seized him by the arm.

"Stop!" he ordered. "You cannot take those horses. We will shoot you both if you attempt it!"

"The Winthrop youngsters," muttered Darry Nodley. "How did they find their way here?"

He attempted to move on, thinking Mangle would follow. But now Chet barred the way.

The ranch boy had his gun up to his shoulder and there was a determined look on his sunburnt face. He was fighting for Rush as much as for anything else.

"Get down!" was all he said, but the tone in which the words were uttered left no room for argument.

Darry Nodley hesitated and thought at first to feel for his own gun. But then he changed his mind. He saw that Chet was thoroughly aroused, and saw, too, that Jack Blowfen was coming up.

"We'll have to make tracks," he cried to Saul Mangle, and leaped to the ground, putting the horse between himself and Chet, and ran for the bushes.

In the meantime Paul and Saul Mangle were having a hand-to-hand fight. The boy fought well, and the wounded man had all he could do to defend himself. Finally he went limping after Nodley, but not before Paul had relieved him of his gun. The brave lad could have shot the thief with ease, but could not bring himself to take the risk of killing his antagonist.

"Where are they?" roared Jack Blowfen, coming up. "Which way did they go?"

Paul pointed in the direction. At once Blowfen ran off. In another second Chet and Paul were left alone with the horses. The sounds from the distance told them that Saul Mangle and Darry Nodley were doing their best to escape from the neighborhood.

"Our money!" cried Chet. "We ought to have made an effort to get that seven hundred dollars!"

"That's so – but it's too late now, unless we go after the pair on horseback."

"Let us return Dottery's horses to the barn first and see how he has made out with the negro."

They took the horses in charge and passed with them across the road and through the break in the wire fence. At the barn they found the ranch owner in the act of making Jeff Jones a close prisoner by tying his hands and legs with odd bits of harness straps.

"Got this one, anyway," growled Dottery. "Whar are the others?"

"Jack Blowfen has gone after them," replied Paul. "Here are your horses."

"Good enough. Say, will you watch this man if I follow Jack?" went on the ranch owner, anxiously.

"Of course," exclaimed Chet. "If you can capture Saul Mangle, do so. We believe he has seven hundred dollars belonging to us."

"So Allen told me."

The boys took charge of the negro, and mounting one of the horses Caleb Dottery rode out of the inclosure. He took the lantern with him, thus leaving those behind in darkness.

"Strike a light, Chet, and see if you can't find another lantern in the barn," said Paul. "I'll watch Jones so he don't get away."

"Dis am werry hard on a poah man," moaned the negro. He was fearfully frightened, for he knew full well how stern was the justice usually meted out to horse thieves in that section of the country.

"You ought to have thought of that before you started in this business," replied Paul.

"It was Mangle coaxed me into de work, sah. He said as how he had a right to de hosses."

"Indeed! I suppose he said he had a right to our horses, too," went on the youth, with a sarcasm that was entirely lost on the prisoner.

"Yes, sah."

"In that case you will have to suffer for your simpleness," was Paul's short response. He did not believe the colored man.

"No lantern in the barn, so far as I can see," called out Chet. "Better march the fellow up to the house."

"He can't march with his legs tied."

"I reckon he can hobble a bit."

Jeff Jones was unwilling to move, thinking he had a better chance of escape while out in the open. But Chet and Paul each caught him by the arm, and groaning and trembling the colored man was forced to move slowly toward the ranch home.

Before moving to the house Chet had driven the horses into the barn and locked the door, so now the animals were safe, at least for the time being.

It was found that Jeff Jones had received an ugly wound in the shoulder. This Paul set to work to dress, taking good care, however, that the prisoner should be allowed no chance of escape.

"Wot is yo' gwine to do wid me?" asked Jeff Jones as the work progressed. "Ain't gwine ter tote me ter town, is yo'?"

"That depends upon what Mr. Dottery says," replied Chet. "He's the boss of this ranch."

"Better let me go," urged the colored man. "If yo' don't dar will be big trouble ahead."

"Don't imagine we are to be scared so easily," returned Chet, smartly. "We have a bigger rascal to deal with even than you," he added.

"Yo' mean Saul Mangle?"

"No, I mean Captain Hank Grady," replied the boy, without stopping to think.

"Captain Hank Grady! Wot yo' know ob him?" ejaculated Jeff Jones. "Did yo' know about him and yo' Uncle Barnaby – " the colored man broke off short.

"My Uncle Barnaby!" exclaimed Chet. "What made you think of him in connection with Captain Grady?"

"Oh, I know a lot about him an' de captain," said Jeff Jones suggestively. "A heap dat maybe yo' boys would gib a lot ter know about."

CHAPTER XVII.
Something about a Letter

Allen Winthrop knew full well that he had a long journey before him and one that would, perhaps, be full of peril, yet his heart did not fail him as he and Noel Urner rode away, bound first for Dottery's ranch, and then for the railroad station, over a hundred miles away.

"You must keep up a stout heart, Allen," said the young man from the east. "Perhaps all is well with your uncle in spite of appearances."

"I am not daunted by what lies ahead," said the young ranchman. "But I am convinced that Uncle Barnaby has been led into some great trouble. Were it otherwise we would surely have heard from him ere this."

At Dottery's they put up over night, and set off at sunrise in the morning; Allen riding the animal from the ranch and Noel using a large and powerful beast hired to him by Dottery.

"Thirty-five miles to-day," observed Allen, as they pushed on along a somewhat hilly trail, lined on either side by cactus and other low plants.

"Is that the distance to Daddy Wampole's hotel, as you call it?"

"Yes – by the roads. The direct route would not make it over thirty miles, but we can't fly as the birds do."

"We ought to make thirty-five miles easily enough."

"We could on a level. But you must remember we have several hills to climb and half a dozen water courses to ford. I imagine, too, you will get tired of the saddle before nightfall."

"Oh, I can stand it," laughed Noel Urner, "thanks to my experience in the riding schools in New York and my frequent exercises in Central Park."

"A big difference between Central Park and this, eh? I would like to see the park some time," returned Allen.

On they went, taking advantage of the early morning while the sun was still low. The level stretch was passed and then they came to a good-sized brook. Beyond was a belt of timber and the first of the hills.

They watered the horses and took a drink themselves, and pushed on without stopping further. Allen knew they must keep on the move if they expected to reach Daddy Wampole's crossroads ranch before the evening shadows fell.

On through the forest of spruce and hemlock, with here and there a tall cottonwood, they spurred their horses. The foot of the hill was soon reached, and up they toiled.

"A grand country," murmured Noel Urner.

"And big room for improvements," returned Allen, grimly. "It will take a deal of labor to put this land in shape for use."

"We never realize what the pioneers had to contend with when they first settled this country until we see things as they are here. To cut down forests, level the land, build houses and barns, and fix roads – it's an immense amount of labor, truly."

At noon they halted near the top of a second hill, and here started up just enough of a fire to boil themselves a pot of coffee. They had brought jerked meat and crackers from home and made a comfortable, if not luxurious meal. In twenty minutes they were again on the way, the horses in the meantime having also been fed.

"Daddy Wampole's ranch is our post office," explained Allen, as they rode along side by side. "The mail comes down from Deadwood once a week. It's not very extensive and Wampole usually puts everything in a soap box and lets every comer pick out whatever belongs to him."

Noel laughed. "I've heard of such doings before," he said. "I suppose he has another box of letters to be mailed."

"Exactly."

"It's not a very safe way to do. Letters might easily be stolen or taken by mistake. Who knows but what some communication from your uncle was carried off by another?"

Allen's face grew serious. "I never thought of that. But who would be mean enough to do it?"

"The man who sent that forged letter to me would be mean enough."

"So he would! I must ask Wampole if he remembers any letter addressed to us."

It was now the hottest part of the day. The road was dry and dusty and the horses hung out their tongues as they toiled onward. All were glad when they reached a portion of the road overhung by huge rocks a hundred feet or more in height.

"A day in the saddle seems a long while," said Noel Urner.

"And we have four more days to follow," smiled Allen. "I was afraid it would tire you."

"Oh, I am all right yet, Allen. But look, what is that ahead, a building?"

"That's the crossroads hotel. Come, we have less than a mile more to go."

The sight of the rude building ahead raised Noel Urner's spirits. Off he went on a gallop, with Allen close at his heels. In ten minutes they drew up at the rude horse block and dismounted.

Old Daddy Wampole, then a well-known character throughout Idaho, came out on the porch of his ranch to greet them.

"Back ag'in, hey?" he called out to Allen. "Wall, thar ain't no new mail in sense ye war here afore."

"I know that, Daddy," replied the young man. "I didn't come for the mail, exactly. My friend and I are bound for the railroad station."

"Goin' ter San Francisco?"

"Yes; we want to stop here to-night."

"Ye air welcome ter do thet," and Daddy Wampole gave Noel a friendly nod.

The young man was introduced and all three entered the ranch, one room of which did duty as a general store, barroom, and post office. Before anything else could be spoken of, Allen questioned Wampole concerning the letters which had been in the box for several weeks back, and the people who had called for them.

"I don't remember much about the letters, but I recerlect thet Cap'n Grady took most all ez came in," was the suggestive reply from the so-styled postmaster.

"So he took most of the letters, did he?" said Allen, slowly. "How many of them, on a rough guess?"

"Seven or eight."

"And you can't remember if any of them were addressed to me?"

"No, I don't recerlect thet, Allen, but hold on – do ye suspect the cap'n o' tamperin' with yer mail?"

"I don't believe he is above such an action," replied the young man, bluntly.

"Wall, neither do I, privately speakin'. I was goin' ter say," went on the ranch owner slowly, "when the cap'n got the letters he walked over there to the old place and tore 'em open. Maybe – "

There was no need for the man to go on. Allen had already left the apartment and was hurrying across the road to what had in former days been the only house in the section.

It was a rude affair, now half fallen into decay. Outside, under the overhanging logs of the roof, was situated a bench sometimes used by travelers as a resting place. Here many a yarn had been told, and many a "hoss deal" talked over and closed.

Straight to the bench went Allen, and in the fading light looked eagerly on all sides for bits of paper of any kind. He found a great number and gathered them all into his empty dinner pouch. When he was sure there were no more scraps in the vicinity he returned to the house.

"Well, what have you?" asked Noel Urner, with interest.

"I have nearly fifty scraps of letters," said Allen. "I must look them over at once."

A lamp was lit, and, spreading out the scraps on a large, flat board, Allen set to work to sort out the various pieces. It was tedious work and Noel Urner assisted him.

Suddenly the young ranchman uttered a low cry.

"Look! Here is part of a letter that was addressed to me," he said.

And he held up a scrap which bore the words: " – you and Chet can meet me and Paul – "

"Is it in your uncle's handwriting?" questioned the young man from the east.

"Yes."

"Then it would seem as if some one had stolen your letter, certainly."

"That's just what was done!" ejaculated Allen. "I wonder – " he stopped short.

"What do you wonder?"

"I wonder if Captain Grady had anything to do with Uncle Barnaby's disappearance."

"The cap'n air a slick one," put in Daddy Wampole. "I never liked him from the day I fust sot eyes onto him. An' seem' as how he's achin' ter git thet ranch from ye boys, why, it ain't surprisin' he took thet letter and would do more, if 'twas fer his own benefit."

"It won't be for his benefit if I find he is playing such an underhand game," rejoined Allen, grimly. The thought that Captain Grady had stolen his letter angered him thoroughly. "He fancies that we are only three boys, but he'll find out that even boys can do something when they are put to it."

"It's a pity you didn't find the rest of the letter," observed Noel Urner. "No doubt that letter was of great importance. It might be best to hunt up this Captain Grady and learn the truth from him before we push further for the railroad station."

"The trouble is the cap'n air hard to find," said Daddy Wampole. "He ain't on his ranch more 'n a quarter o' his time. Ye know he's as much interested in mines ez he is in cattle."

The mention of mines gave a new turn to Allen's thoughts. Had that communication from Uncle Barnaby contained any reference to the valuable claim over by the Black Rock River?

"If it did, then Captain Grady will rob Uncle Barnaby as sure as fate," thought the young ranchman, with an inward groan.

CHAPTER XVIII.
Allen Changes His Plans

A moment later a clatter of horse's hoofs on the road outside betokened another arrival. Catching up his gun, Daddy Wampole strode out to see who it was.

"Ike Watson! Wot brings ye here?" Allen heard him cry, and then ran out to greet the old hunter.

"Allen, by all the good fortunes o' the Rockies!" ejaculated Ike Watson. "Jes' the boy I'm pinin' ter see."

"And I'm mighty glad to see you, too, Ike," returned the young ranchman. "I want a bit of advice, and you are just the man to give it to me."

"Advice? I'm ready to give ye bushels o' it, if it will do ye the least bit o' good, lad. But wot are ye doin' here? Why ain't ye hum?"

"I came here on my way to the railroad station, I am bound for San Francisco to hunt up Uncle Barnaby."

"Gee whiz! Now thet's what I call fortunate! If I hadn't a cotched ye, ye would be goin' off on a wild goose chase, with no end to the trail."

"A wild goose chase? O, Ike, have you word from my uncle?"

"No, I ain't got no word from him, but I got word in a way thet two rascals didn't dream on."

"But what do you know?" questioned Allen impatiently.

"Not much, ter tell the truth, an' yet a good deal. It happened this mornin', when I wuz down to Casey's Fork. I wuz ridin' along the old B'ar Trail when along comes a couple o' the worst lookin' bad men ye ever seed. Sez one to tudder, 'If we can make him tell us whar the mine is, we will all become millionaires.' Then sez tudder, 'We'll make him speak. We didn't trap Barnaby Winthrop inter leavin' San Francisco fer nuthin'.' The fellers wuz on the bottom trail, while I wuz up on the rocks. I tried to git to 'em to make 'em tell me wot wuz the meanin' of it all, when they spied me comin' down, an' by the grasshoppers o' Kansas! ye ought ter hev seed 'em put an' scoot. They got out o' sight in a jiffy, an' I couldn't locate 'em, try my best. I hung around an hour, an' then I made up my mind ter ride over an' tell ye wot I hed heard."

Not only Allen, but also Noel Urner and Daddy Wampole were astonished by the revelation Ike Watson made.

"Uncle Barnaby trapped into leaving San Francisco!" gasped Allen. "Did they say where they had taken him?"

"Didn't say nuthin' more'n I told ye," responded the hunter from Gold Fork. "Leas'wise, didn't say nuthin' ez I could hear."

"Who were the men?"

"I don't know, 'ceptin' I seed 'em hangin' around Jordan Creek about six months ago. Like ez not they belong to the old Sol Davids gang. Nearly every one up thet water course belonged to thet gang."

"Would you know them if you saw them again?"

"Sartinly – I'm powerful good at recerlectin' faces onct I see 'em."

"Where do you suppose the men went to?"

"Rode off in the direction o' Black Rock River Canyon."

Allen started. Could it be possible they suspected the claim was up in that neighborhood? It was more than possible.

The young ranchman turned to Noel Urner. "Noel, I'm going to change my plans. I am going after those two men instead of going to San Francisco."

"It would certainly seem a useless trip now," replied the young man from New York, slowly. "There is not the slightest doubt but what your uncle was decoyed away from San Francisco. Where he is now is a mystery which those two men must solve for you – they or – "

"Captain Grady," finished Allen, impulsively. "I feel it in my bones that he is in this plot against Uncle Barnaby."

"It would seem so."

"How do ye make that out?" asked Ike Watson.

In a few words Allen told the old hunter about the missing letter.

"Gee, shoo! He are one o' the gang, sartin!" cried Ike Watson. "The best ye can do is to start in an' round 'em all up."

"Thet's the talk," put in Daddy Wampole. "The state would be a hundred per cent better off with 'em fellers out o' it."

Allen gazed at Ike Watson earnestly.

"Will you help me in this work?" he asked. "You know more about these bad men than I do."

"Will I help ye? Allen ye ought ter know better than ter axt sech a question. O' course I'll help ye. I ain't got much ter do. Them new claims up the Salmon kin wait well enough."

"I would help ye, too, if I could git away," said Daddy Wampole. "Thet gang worried me enough for six years, goodness knows!"

"And what of you?" Allen turned to Noel. "You see how matters stand. I don't want to ask you to go, for we may have some rough times, and – "

"I came out to see rough times," interrupted the young man from the east. "So unless you think I'll be too much of a hindrance, I would like greatly to accompany you wherever you go. You must remember that I, too, am anxious to find your uncle."

"Then, thet's settled," said Ike Watson. He did not much fancy having the company of a "tenderfoot," but Noel's manner pleased him.

A long discussion followed. While it was in progress Mrs. Wampole prepared a hot supper, to which later on Allen and the others did full justice.

It was decided to remain at the crossroads hotel all night, and the three retired early, that they might make a start before sunrise.

It must be confessed that the young ranchman slept but little. His mind was in a whirl over all he had discovered, and he shuddered whenever he thought that his uncle might possibly be in peril of his life.

"Those men would indeed dare all for gold, as those initials on the cross imply," he said to himself. "What a pity they were not exterminated the time old Sol Davids was lynched."

Toward morning Allen dropped off into a troubled slumber, to be awakened with a start by a touch from Ike Watson's hand an hour later.

"Time ter climb below an' feed up, Allen," cried the old hunter. "We hev a long ride afore us, ez ye know."

"That's true!" cried the young ranchman, springing to his feet; and Ike went off to arouse Noel Urner.

The young man from New York felt rather stiff from his ride of the day previous. Yet he did not complain, and did all he could to make the others believe he felt in perfect trim for another day in the saddle.

After a substantial but hasty breakfast the horses were saddled and they were off, Daddy Wampole waving his hand after them and wishing them the best of luck.

"We'll make for Casey's Fork fust o' all," said Ike Watson. "Perhaps I can pick up the trail thar. If I can't we kin push on toward the Salmon an' trust ter luck."

Allen was doubtful if the old hunter could pick up the trail after having once lost it, but in lieu of something better, he agreed to Watson's plan. Noel, of course, was willing to go wherever the others led.

It was high noon when Casey's Fork, a rough lot of rocks in a bend of the Umihalo Creek, was reached. Allen and Noel were glad enough to dismount in the shadow of the rocks while Ike Watson went off on a tour of inspection.

The old hunter was gone so long that Allen at last grew alarmed.

"Something is wrong, or he would be back ere this," he said. "Let us go after him."

But hardly had they mounted when they heard a shout ahead. Looking beyond a belt of bushes they saw Ike Watson waving his hand to them.

"Found it!" he cried as they came up. "They took the creek road over ter the forest trail. The marks are fresh, showin' they didn't move on until dark last night."

"Then they can't be many miles ahead!" cried Allen. "Oh, if we can only keep the trail till we catch up to them!"

"No time ter lose," said Ike Watson, and once more they continued the pursuit, this time faster than before.

Yet at the end of two miles they came to a sudden halt. The trail led down to the bank of a shallow stream and there disappeared from view.