The Boy Ranchers on the Trail by Willard F. Baker (page 3)

Once more they were on the way, and shortly afterward they left the grim and rocky defile for a more fertile region, where there was grass for the animals. But they were still down between a range of high hills which towered on either side.

The trail twisted and turned, this way and that, winding back and forth. But ever there was to be seen, here and there, signs that the herd of cattle had been driven this way. Faint the signs were, at times, and at last they disappeared altogether.

“Where have they gone?” asked Nort.

“Looks like they dropped down a hole, but there isn’t any hole here,” said Yellin’ Kid.

“Oh, we’ll pick the trail up later on,” suggested Bud.

But even as they started off once more Bud, who had just consulted a compass he carried, uttered a cry of amazement.

“What’s the matter?” asked Slim.

“We’re going the wrong way,” declared Bud. “We’re heading north instead of south. We’re all turned around! Something’s wrong!”

CHAPTER XX

A SURPRISE

Some of those in the rear, who had heard Bud’s exclamation, but who had not clearly heard what he said, came crowding up. Among them was Snake Purdee, and his eyes sparkled with hidden emotion as he inquired:

“Did you see any rattlers? This is just the place for ’em!”

“Yes, we came acrost a nest of baby ones what had lost their mother, an’ they’re countin’ on you t’ bring ’em up on th’ bottle!” laughed Slim. The men, more or less, poked fun at Snake because of his great fear of reptiles, and Slim could not forego this chance.

But Snake understood the game, and realized that he had nothing to fear. He shot a look at Slim, however, which indicated that there would be an attempt, later, to get even.

“What’s wrong?” asked Slim, for in his endeavor to play a joke on Snake he had not paid much attention to what Bud was saying.

“We’re all turned around,” spoke the western lad. “All in a maze. We started out, heading south, and we’ve kept, generally, to that direction ever since. But now we’re heading back north. Looks like we’d lost the trail.”

Slim and some of the more experienced cowboys studied the trail for several minutes. Surely it did seem to “peter out,” as Yellin’ Kid expressed it, though it had been fairly plain up to this point.

“They couldn’t get up on either side,” declared Nort, looking at the steep, rocky walls which hemmed the trailers in right and left.

“And they haven’t gone on ahead, for there isn’t a sign,” added Dick, who had ridden up the defile for some little distance, returning to make his report. “Nothing short of an air ship could have lifted up a bunch of cattle from this gorge and set ’em down farther on.”

“Unless they went through a hole in one of the side walls,” suggested Slim, “like that underground river you fellows discovered in the tunnel.”

“There are no side passages here,” declared Bud. And he seemed to hold the correct view of it, the others agreeing, after a careful inspection of the rocky and shale-covered walls on either hand. “It looks just as if they came up to this point and–vanished!”

“Pretty slick work–I’ll give Del Pinzo credit for that,” said Slim, as if it were already established that the wily Greaser halfbreed had made the descent on Happy Valley. “How he and his bunch could haze cattle this far into a rocky pass, an’ then make ’em disappear, gets me!”

“It shore do!” shouted Yellin’ Kid.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re all switched around,” declared Bud. “We’re going north instead of south!”

“Not so hard to account for that,” said Snake. “This vale just naturally twists and turns like a windin’ river. I wouldn’t wonder but what we’d been going north other times, only you never noticed your compass, Bud.”

“Well, maybe so,” admitted the boy rancher, rather dubiously. “But it looks as if we were back-trailing, instead of keeping on after those rascals.”

“We’re keeping on all right!” asserted Slim. “By some hook or crook they’ve fooled us, but we haven’t passed ’em, that’s certain, and they must be somewhere up ahead. It would take Rocky Mountain goats to scramble up there,” he added, motioning toward the steep walls of the gorge. “Some trick ponies might do it, but no cattle ever could, unless they’re like some of them Swiss cheese brand I seen in pictures!”

“Then do you think we should keep on?” asked Dick.

“I shore do!” declared the foreman.

“Forward march!” cried Bud, with a little laugh. “We want to get our cattle back, and catch the rustlers who took ’em!”

And so, though all signs of the trail seemed to have vanished, they kept on. Night saw them in even a wilder region, though there was a spring of water–not boiling this time–and some grass for the animals. So it was decided to camp there and take up the search in the morning.

They were in the enemy’s country in every sense of the word, and could afford to take no chances. So after a fire had been built, and coffee made, bacon and flapjacks being the other items on the bill of fare, the men and boys were told off into watches.

Bud and Slim, Nort and Snake, and Dick and Yellin’ Kid were assigned to divide the night among them working as partners in the order named. The others were to be allowed to roll up and get what sleep they could, Bud and Slim taking the first watch.

That passed off uneventfully, as did the vigil of Nort and Snake, nothing more important occurring than the distant howls of the coyotes.

When it was the turn of Dick and Yellin’ Kid they rolled out, albeit sleepy and tired, to stand guard until morning, when the trail would again be taken up.

“Zimmy! But it’s chilly!” said Kid in a low voice, as lie tossed some wood on the fire and wrapped his blanket more closely about him.

“Yes, it always is just before sunrise,” added Dick. “I wonder what we’ll find after daylight?”

“I hope we find that ornery bunch!” murmured Yellin’ Kid, keeping down his voice so as not to awaken the sleepers.

“So do I,” said Dick.

Then they sat about the fire, occasionally strolling around the improvised camp, to make sure that none of their enemies were creeping up on them in the darkness.

The stars shone clear and bright in the sky above, and occasionally a little wind swept up the dismal defile. Now and then a loose stone rattled down the sides of shale and volcanic rock, and at such times Dick, and even Yellin’ Kid started, and felt for their guns. But all the alarms were false ones.

That is, the watchers decided they were, for no sight was had of anyone until Dick, after a stroll about the fire, suddenly started back and whispered to Yellin’ Kid:

“Isn’t that a head looking up over that rock?”

The Kid glanced to where Dick directed his gaze, and, in an instant, the cowboy had his weapon out and leveled. His finger was even pressing the trigger when he laughed silently and thrust the .45 back in its leather case. “Why didn’t you shoot?” asked Dick.

“It was an owl,” answered Kid. “It was his ears you seen stickin’ up! Listen!”

And, a moment later, there was the mournful hooting of the nocturnal bird, which had flown away, but on such downy-feathered wings that it made no sound.

“An owl!” murmured Dick. Then he was glad he had not shot first, as he had intended. He would only have awakened the others and been laughed at for his pains. Sometimes, he reflected, it was better to hold your fire, even in the west, that region of quick action.

Soon there was a little grayish, pinkish light to be observed over the edge of the eastern hill. It grew slowly, and daylight came, though it was some time before the sun itself was seen, so deep were the searchers down in the defile.

After breakfast they set out again, looking carefully for signs of the rustlers, but they saw none, and at last they decided that, in some mysterious manner, their quarry had given them the slip.

“Though I don’t see how they did it,” declared Slim, somewhat vexed that he and his men were not better able to pick up the trail.

“There must be some side passage–like that!” suddenly declared Yellin’ Kid, leaping from his horse and then, as suddenly disappearing from the sight of his companions. “Hey! What’s the idea! Where’d he go?” asked Snake.

“In this side passage,” answered Yellin’ Kid, as suddenly reappearing. “Look, here’s a crack, or fissure in the rock, I saw it from where I sat on my pony. It goes off from th’ main trail, but I can’t see where it leads.”

They all dismounted and investigated. As the Kid had said, it was a traverse defile, opening out of the main one and almost at right angles. The opening was concealed behind a great pinnacle of rock, so that the cleft was only visible from a certain point, and it was at this point that the Kid saw it.

“Where does it go to?” asked Bud as they entered, single file. It was only wide enough for that.

“We’ve got to follow and see!” said Slim.

“If there was a place like that, back where we discovered we were in a maze, it would have been easy enough for the rustlers to have driven the cattle through, one at a time,” observed Nort.

“But there wasn’t any such place!” declared Bud. “We made sure of that. But where does this lead?”

That was what they all conjectured, and they were soon to learn. As they rode along, the side cleft widened, until there was room enough for three to ride abreast. And it was while thus progressing that Dick, who was in the lead with Slim and Snake, made a surprising discovery. He rode around a turn in the new trail, and at the sight of something beyond, in the smaller, rocky defile, he set up such a shout as brought all his companions to his side.

“What is it?” shouted Bud.

“Look!” answered Dick, pointing. “Del Pinzo and big gang!”

CHAPTER XXI

IN PURSUIT

Two deep-throated shouts echoed amid the winding mazes of the small canyon leading off from the main gulch that the boy ranchers and their friends had been following. One shout followed closely on that of Dick, announcing his amazing discovery. The other came from the band of rascals whose hiding place had at last been spied out, and by a mere chance at that.

One shout was that of joyful anticipation, and this came from Bud, Dick, Nort and the friends from Diamond X. This shout had in it an anticipation of righteous punishment to be inflicted on those who had stolen the cattle.

The other shout was of baffled rage that their hiding place had been discovered. This shout came from Del Pinzo and his gang.

For it was the lawless Mexican half-breed and his followers, numbering in all more than two score, whom Dick had seen as he made the turn in that winding and narrow gorge. At a place where the rocky defile flared out, making a sort of amphitheatre there were gathered about a spring of water, their horses tethered where they could crop the scanty herbage, the crowd of which our friends had long been in pursuit.

Following the two shouts–one of pleased discovery and the other of baffled rage at being discovered–there was quick action.

“Here they are!” shouted Bud, as soon as he had joined Dick, and had seen what the latter had fairly stumbled upon. “Here’s the Del Pinzo crowd!”

Up came riding Nort, Slim, Snake and the others.

“Oh, boy! We’ve got ’em just where we want ’em,” was the exclamation of Yellin’ Kid. And I leave you to judge in what tone he uttered the words.

“Unlimber, boys!” called Slim Degnan, grimly and significantly as he whipped out his .45. “There’s likely to be action!”

“Hold on! Wait a minute!” counseled Snake, as Bud and his cousins were about to urge their horses forward. The cowboy reached out, and his hand fell with a firm grip on the bridle of Bud’s steed.

“What’s the idea?” asked that boy rancher. “Now we’ve found the rascals, can’t we go in and clean ’em up?”

“That’s natural Bud, most natural,” conceded Snake. “But what’s th’ use runnin’ your head in a bee’s nest if yon can git th’ honey some other way?”

“You mean it won’t be safe to ride up to ’em and fight ’em?’?” asked Nort.

“Somethin’ like that, yes, son,” answered the cowboy. “I think Del Pinzo an’ his crowd have been waitin’ for just such a chance as this. They’d ask nothin’ better than t’ have us rush ’em, an’ then they’d have a good excuse for sayin’, afterward, that they popped us off in self-defense.”

“Snake’s right!” declared Yellin’ Kid, modulating his voice somewhat. “We’d better play this hand cautious like.”

Seeing that this was the sentiment of the more experienced men, Bud and his cousins held back, and a moment later, urged by the cowboys, the ranch lads had turned aside and the whole body of pursuers had retreated to a position somewhat away from the turn of the trail where Dick had looked through the defile and had seen the rascals encamped.

“What’s the next move?” asked Nort, as the party gathered together, giving their horses a breathing spell, for which the animals were, doubtless, very thankful.

“We’d better look for some shelter,” advised Snake, “an’ then see what we can do toward learnin’ th’ intentions of this bunch of bad actors.”

“You mean sort of spy ’em out?” asked Dick.

“That’s it,” chimed in Yellin’ Kid. “If this is goin’ to be a fight, an’ it shore looks as if there was, we want to take all th’ advantage we can. They outnumber us two to one!”

This was true enough. The fleeting glimpse our friends had of the outlaws, through the crack in the rocky wall, showed that there were more than two score under the leadership of the unscrupulous Del Pinzo.

Following the skilful advice of the cowboys, Bud and his cousins took their places behind some sheltering rocks, leading their horses in with them, for much depended on their mounts. Without them it meant giving up the chase. And even if one pony was killed or wounded, it meant that its owner would have to make his way back on foot, which was neither pleasant nor safe.

“Get your guns ready,” said Slim. “There’s going to be action, but not just yet. We want this to be a winnin’ fight if we can make it so.”

Once within comparative shelter, and feeling somewhat calmer after the first wild excitement, Bud, Nort and Dick looked to their older companions for further advice.

“Somebody’s got t’ go back t’ that crack, unbeknownst t’ them scoundrels, an’ see what they’re doin’,” decided Slim.

“S’pose they’re there yet?” asked Bud.

“Either that, or they’ve taken the alarm an’ are on their way, or they’re doin’ just what we are–gittin’ ready for a fight,” said the foreman grimly. “An’ what it is they’re doin’ we want t’ know. Snake, you’re pretty good at Indian tactics. S’pose you sneak up there an’ take a look in.”

“All right,” was the ready answer.

Of course Bud, Nort and Dick, each and every one of them, wished they had been selected for this duty. But while they were rapidly learning the ways of the west, in dealing with desperate characters, it was better at this time to have an experienced man spy out the movements of Del Pinzo and his gang. This Snake set out to do.

“An’ while he’s gone, th’ rest of us want t’ sort of make up our minds what t’ do,” said Slim. “If that bunch is gettin’ ready t’rush us, same as we may be able to do on our own hook, we want t’ have some plan of action.”

So a sort of council of war was held, during the absence of Snake, who was soon lost to sight among the rocks, the cowboy making his way in a crouching, crawling position that almost resembled the reptiles he so feared and hated.

There was some low-voiced talk among the remaining cowboys, in which talk Bud and his cousins had no part. For a moment the lads feared there was some scheme afoot to put them in places of safety, out of danger so to speak. And the boy ranchers weren’t going tamely to submit to this.

“I say, Slim,” exclaimed Bud, with this fear in mind, “we are going to do our share in this fighting, you know!”

“Shore I know it!” grunted the foreman. “You’ll have all th’ scrappin’ you want, if these fellows don’t vamoose without firin’ a shot! We was just talkin’ of the best place t’ put you.”

“Oh,” murmured Bud, “all right.”

After some little talk, and a survey of the ground to which the pursuers had retreated in order to make a temporary stand, each person’s position was designated, and then guns were loosed in holsters and the supply of cartridges was looked to.

“As soon as Snake comes back we’ll know what t’ do,” Slim said.

“He ought to be along soon now,” remarked Dick.

Hardly had he spoken than there was a noise among the loose rocks and boulders some distance up the gulch–in the direction the spying-out cowboy had taken.

“Here he comes!” exclaimed Bud, and his hand went to his gun, for it was very possible that Snake would be pursued, and have to retreat on the run.

However the alarm proved to be a false one, for, after waiting some time, Snake not having appeared, it was surmised that some rock had become loose and rolled down the steep side of the gulch.

The waiters and watchers were just beginning to get a bit worried, and Bud was on the point of suggesting that he be allowed to go look for Snake, when the cowboy came back.

So quietly did he approach, and so unexpected was his appearance that Nort and Dick, on whose side of the improvised “fort” Snake first showed himself, were startled.

“If that had been any of the Del Pinzo crowd they’d have been on top of us before we knew it,” confessed Nort.

“Not much!” laughed Bud. “Slim has seen Snake coming along this last three minutes; haven’t you, Slim?”

“Yep! I noticed him, but I didn’t say anythin’,” acknowledged the foreman. “I seen that he was alone. But what’s the verdict, Snake?” he asked, anxiously. “Are they gittin’ ready t’ come at us here, or are they leavin’?”

“Neither one,” was the answer, “but they’re gettin’ ready to do suthin! They’re all in a bunch in the middle of that place, holdin’ a confab, I reckon. It’s hard to say what they are up to. But I got a hunch that if we rushed ’em we could throw a scare int’ ’em, anyhow.”

“Do you think they know we’re here?” asked Bud.

“Oh, sure!” was the answer. “At least they saw us an’ heard us when we reached that crack. But of course they can only guess what we’re up to now, when we didn’t rush ’em first shot. They might have known, though, what our plans was, if I hadn’t cracked their spy on the head!” said Snake, calmly.

“You did what?” asked Slim.

“Just as I got t’ th’ place where I could look in,” went on the cowboy, “I saw one of them Greasers up t’ the same trick I was tryin’ to pull off. He was sneakin’ down this way, but I saw him first. Caught a glimpse of his head around the edge of a rock; I just reached out with my gun and tapped him on the noodle.”

“Kill him?” asked Dick.

“No. Guess not. Just stretched him out so he can’t go back an’ tell any tales for a time. Now the way I figger it is this: They’ll be waitin’ for a report on what their spy sees, same as you was waitin’ for me t’ come back. Only their spy won’t show up for a couple o’ hours, an’ that gives us a chance to act.”

“What had we better do?” asked Yellin’ Kid.

“Rush ’em!” instantly decided Snake. “Let’s git t’ that openin’ as quiet as we can, an’ rush right for ’em! This rest has freshened our horses, an’ we’re in better shape now.”

“Not so much so, as far as horses go,” dubiously declared Slim. “They’re pretty badly spent, and can’t do much racin’. But I guess maybe it is better for us t’ get into action, instid of waitin’ for that bunch t’ come here. As Snake says, they’ll be lookin’ for their spy t’ come back, an’ maybe we can take ’em unawares.”

So, after some further talk, it was decided to mount again, ride to the opening that led from the main trail into the hiding place of the outlaws, and boldly attack them.

True, our friends were outnumbered, but they had right on their side, and this sometimes makes a difference. Also they would have a little advantage, they hoped, in making the attack somewhat unexpectedly. For though Del Pinzo and his crowd knew the ranchmen were in the neighborhood they would, as Snake believed, await the return of the spy they had sent out, before doing anything.

“An’ that spy won’t come t’ his senses very soon,” declared the avenging cowboy. “When he does he’ll have an awful headache!”

As quietly as possible they made their way to the opening. Slim, as a sort of captain, was in advance of the others and looked in. He came back to say:

“They’re gettin’ ready for suthin’! They’re all standin’ near their horses, an’ seem to be plannin’ a move. Get ready t’ rush in when I give the word!”

There was a final look to arms and saddle leathers, and then the foreman cried:

“Get into action!” at the same time spurring forward his pony, an example followed by all the others as they rushed into the defile.

And action there was, but not exactly of the kind the boy ranchers and their friends anticipated. For Del Pinzo (easily recognized among the lesser lights of rascaldom) with his followers, after their first angry shouts, leaped for their horses. And their agility in that respect spoke well for their preparedness. In an instant, it seemed, every one of the two score, and more, was in saddle, and headed out of the defile. They were retreating–riding away from the following avengers, and going, it seemed, further into the maze of winding clefts amid the mountains.

To the credit of Del Pinzo–if credit it be and if he be entitled to get credit–he rode at the rear, not starting his horse until all his men had raced away ahead of him.

And then, as Bud, Dick and the others pressed into the defile after them, the Greaser turned and fired once, but with such quick action that eye could scarce follow the motion of his hand and weapon.

There was a sharp crack and the hat of Yellin’ Kid, who rode immediately behind Bud, sailed off his head, at the same time that a bullet zipped viciously over the pursuers.

“Close call that, Kid!” remarked Snake, leaning over as his horse galloped forward, and picking up his friend’s hat.

“Close nothin’!” snapped out Yellin’ Kid. “That was fancy shootin’! If Del Pinzo wanted to get me he could ‘a’ done it. He can mark out th’ pips on a ten spot card with his eyes shut, almost! He shot my hat off just to show he wasn’t aimin’ t’ spill no innocent blood! But wait until I get him! I’ll make him sweat for that! A hole through brim an’ crown! Why couldn’t he be decent about it an’ make it one?” grumbled Yellin’ Kid as Snake handed him the hat.

“Never mind that!” shouted Slim Degnan. “If we’re going t’ get them fellers we got t’ ride!”

That was evident, for even as he spoke Del Pinzo, the last of the outlaws, disappeared around a turn in the defile. He was “hazing” his men along to some other hiding place, it appeared. And he and his rascally followers seemed to know their ground, for they rode at break-neck pace, without fear of what lay beyond and unseen. It is likely they had traveled that route before.

Another advantage lay with the rustlers. Their horses were fresh, for from the negligent attitudes assumed by the men when Dick had discovered them, it was evident they had been at ease for some time, whereas the pursuers had been on the trail a long time, and the way had been rough and stony.

So it is nothing to the discredit of the boy ranchers that they and their friends were distanced in the first wild rush following the discovery and alarm.

“Come on!” cried Bud. “Come on!” and he and Dick for the moment were in the lead, the canyon being wide enough, here, for several to ride abreast. “We’ve got to get ’em!”

“And we won’t stop until we do!” added his cousin.

But they reckoned not with the roughness of the way, the start the rustlers had, their fresher horses and the fact that Del Pinzo and his crowd were more familiar with the trail than were the boy ranchers. So though our heroes rode on as fast as they could go with comparative safety, they did not, for some time at least, again come within sight of the enemy.

“Wait there! Hold on a little!” finally called Slim to Bud, Dick and Nort, who, in their youthful and natural eagerness, had forged to the front in a bunch. “Pull up! This isn’t a hundred yard dash! It’s going to be a long race!”

Bud was beginning to believe this, and some of his first exuberance was disappearing. He was getting more cool-headed.

“Let’s take it a bit easy,” he said to Nort and Dick. “I guess we’ve got a long trail to follow.”

“But we’ve got to get ’em!” declared Dick.

“You got rid of something that time!” commented his brother, meaningly, if slangily. “We’re going to make ’em give back our cattle!”

“Say!” suddenly cried Bud. “That’s the queer part of it! Where are the steers?”

And for the first time it occurred to the minds of the boy ranchers that of that quarry they had come most in search of they had had not a glimpse. Not a steer was in sight!

Something of the amazement they felt must have been depicted on their faces, for when Slim rode up to where the boy ranchers had halted he asked:

“What’s the matter?”

“Where are the cattle?” asked Bud, shouting almost as loudly as Yellin’ Kid would have done. “Did you notice they didn’t have a one with them, Slim?”

“Yes. Are you just waking up to that, Bud?”

“I reckon I am. But what does it mean?”

“It means that there’s a deeper game being played than we have any idea of, son. We’ve got to go some to get to the bottom!”

CHAPTER XXII

BUD’S DISCOVERY

Once it became evident that catching the rustlers was likely to be the work of a long chase on the trail, the whole party of pursuers came to a halt beside the boy ranchers. And after some rapid talk of what might lay beyond their stopping place, in a lonely, wild and desolate section of the defile, the conversation switched to what had surprised Bud and his cousins–the absence of the cattle.

“I s’posed they were driving the steers ahead of ’em all along,” admitted North “They drove the animals off our ranch, and I didn’t think but what they were hazing ’em along to some place where they could change or blur the brands, and then sell ’em.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” acknowledged Dick.

“Well, I must say I didn’t think much about it,” confessed Bud. “When I saw Del Pinzo and his gang in there all I wanted to do was to come to hand-grips with ’em. I forgot all about the cattle. But after we’d chased along a bit I did begin to wonder where my animals were–_our_ animals, I should say,” he corrected himself with a glance at his cousins. However, they understood.

“They must have gotten the cattle over to Double Z, or wherever it is they dispose of ’em,” suggested Dick.

“They couldn’t–not in this short time,” declared Slim. “We followed ’em too close. Besides, there isn’t a sign of any cattle having been here, nor in that place where we surprised th’ head Greaser and his gang. Not a sign of cattle!”

He looked up and down the gorge, as did the other cowboys. But not even the sharpest eye could detect the faintest “sign” of the steers having been driven along the passage.

“They must have them hidden somewhere,” said Dick. “We’d better go back to the place where the sign petered out. There must be some opening there out of the main canyon.”

“If there is it’s so well hid that it takes sharper eyes than I’ve got to find it,” declared Snake, and he was noted for his far-seeing and clear vision.

“Go _back_!” exclaimed North impulsively. “We aren’t going back, are we, until we get Del Pinzo and his gang?”

“Shoot ’em up–that’s what I advise!” cried Yellin’ Kid. There was a moment’s pause, and Bud spoke.

“We’re got two things to do,” said the boy rancher. “One is to get our cattle back, and the other is to nab the rustlers. But it’s more important to get the cattle, I think.

“If we don’t do that our ranch experiment will be a failure,” he went on. “But, of course, for the sake of other ranchers, it would be a mighty good thing if we could put Del Pinzo and his rustler crowd out of business.”

“Can’t we do both?” asked Nort.

“That’s what I was coming to,” his cousin continued. “If we can get on the trail of the hidden steers–for hidden they are, I’m sure–we can haze them back to the valley. Then we can keep on after this crowd,” and he nodded toward the winding trail that led down the narrow defile.

“Then you think we’d better go back!” asked Dick.

“Let’s see what Slim says” answered Bud. Naturally he would turn to his father’s foreman for advice.

“Oh, you’re leavin’ it t’ me, are you?” asked Slim, as he finished rolling his cigarette, a feat he could accomplish with one hand. Then he lighted it, took a satisfying puff and went on: “If you ask my advice I’d say to go back an’ see if you can’t locate the cattle. As Bud remarks, they’re dollars an’ cents. Th’ rustlers aren’t, though it would be a mighty good stunt t’ wipe ’em off th’ face of this cow country. But maybe we can attend to _them_ later.”

“Turn back she is!” exclaimed Bud, accepting, as did the others, the advice of Slim as being final. “We’ll see if we can find the cattle, and then haze them to a safe place. After that we’ll nab Del Pinzo and his bunch–if we can,” he added, as a saving clause.

“Suits me!” remarked Yellin’ Kid, taking off his hat and looking at the two bullet holes. “That nabbin’ part is what I want t’ play at,” and his grin suggested that when he and the Greaser met there would be some interesting happenings.

It having been thus decided that the pursuit would be abandoned for the time being, a sort of council of war was held to settle on the next course.

“I say grub!” exclaimed Bud, knowing that the suggestion would come with better grace from him than from some of the men who were working for him and his father. “Let’s eat!”

There was no debate on this question and when the ponies had been turned loose to graze on what scanty grass they could find, a fire was made and preparations started for feeding the hungry posse. For they were that–both hungry and a posse, bent on the capture of the lawless rustlers. Though, for the time, righteous revenge was given over to the more practical side of the question–getting back the cattle.

Probably you do not need to be told that little time was wasted over the meal, simple as it was. Cowboys, on the trail, or otherwise engaged in their work of the ranch or range, do not spend much time over the pleasures of the appetite. There is a time for feasting, and a time for chasing cattle rustlers, and there was no sense in combining the two. That, evidently, was the thought in the minds of Bud and his friends, for they hurried through their eating, and, having rested the horses, were soon in saddles again.

“Now,” remarked Bud, talking the matter over with Slim, “what is the best plan?”

“To get back, as fast as we can, t’ th’ place where we saw th’ last signs of th’ cattle,” was the foreman’s answer. “The unravelin’ of th’ skein of mystery, t’ use a poetical expression, Bud, is there!”

They all agreed with this view of it, and after a short ride down the defile, to see, if by chance, any of the Del Pinzo crowd might be in evidence, or returning, the back trail was taken.

“We aren’t going to discover much this day,” observed Bud, as he rode slowly along between Nort and Dick.

“Why, did you see a black rabbit?” Nort asked, remembering what had happened when a similar incident occurred, just before the strange events narrated in the chapter preceding this.

“No, I didn’t see a black jack,” Bud answered. “But it won’t be long until dark, for we don’t get the full benefit of the afternoon sun down in this gorge. And we can’t do anything except by daylight. No use looking for sign in the dark.”

“That’s right,” agreed Nort. “But I was afraid it was a black rabbit you’d seen.”

“As if we didn’t have enough bad luck without that,” commented Dick. “It’s as bad, losing your herd as it is not to have enough water to give ’em what they need,” and he referred to the time when, by the efforts of this same Del Pinzo, the supply for the reservoir of Happy Valley was cut off.

“Oh, well, it might be worse,” observed Bud, with a sort of cheerful, philosophical air, for he was of rather a happy disposition.

“How?” asked Snake, for he was rather “sore” because Del Pinzo and the rustlers had escaped. Perhaps Snake felt that he might have gone in and captured the outlaws single-handed when he was on the lone spying expedition.

“Well, I might never have had any cattle for those fellows to steal,” went on Bud. “But say, boys,” he went on, as they came to a place where the trail seemed to divide. “Let’s take this other road back. It looks a bit easier, and we want to favor the ponies all we can.”

“Go ahead,” advised Slim, to whom Bud looked for confirmation of his plan. “Anything that makes it easier for th’ horses makes it more sure for us. And we may have a long hunt ahead of us.”

The care taken by the boy ranchers and their friends of their animals was not exaggerated, nor unusual. In the West so much depends on a man’s horse–his comfort and very life, often–that it is a foolish fellow, indeed, who will not bestow at least some thought and care on his horse. The animal becomes a trusted companion and friend to the cowboys and prospectors.

So, in order, as he hoped, to provide an easier means of getting back to the place they wished to reach, Bud led the way along a different trail on the retreat.

It was practically a retreat, though one they had selected for themselves, since the outlaws had distanced them.

It was rather a dejected bunch of boy ranchers and their friends that were now back-trailing. There was not much talk, after the excitement of the attack which had “petered out,” and even Bud, gay and cheerful as he usually was, now seemed to have little to say.

It was Dick who startled them all by suddenly exclaiming:

“Look ahead there! Isn’t that a man on the trail?” He, with Nort and Bud were in advance of the others. Dick pointed toward the place where he thought he saw something suspicious.

“I don’t glimpse anything,” observed Nort.

“Nor I,” said his cousin.

“He’s gone now,” Dick stated. “But I did see some one, and I’m almost sure it was a Greaser. Looked just like one of their hats.”

“What is it!” called Slim, for he caught snatches of the rather excited talk of the boys.

“Dick thought he saw one of the Del Pinzo gang,” answered Bud.

“Maybe he’s the fellow I cracked on the head,” suggested Snake. For they had lost sight of that individual in the mad rush into the canyon, and had not seen him when they turned back.

“Say, wouldn’t it be a good thing to capture him?” asked Bud eagerly. “We could make him tell where the others are, and where our cattle are hidden.”

“If we can get him,” conceded Slim.

“There he is again!” cried Dick. “Come on, fellows!”

Disregarding, or forgetting the travel-weary horses, the ranch lad urged his own steed ahead at as rapid a pace as the animal could be induced to develop in a spurt.

“Take it easy!” advised Nort to his brother, but he might as well have called to the wind, for Dick was off and away.

“I don’t see anything!” cried Bud, and though he had looked eagerly forward at Dick’s call he had glimpsed neither hat nor face of any personage who might be suspected of being one of the Del Pinzo gang.

But, even with that, Bud was not going to miss a chance to be in at the finish of whatever was about to happen, so he spurred his animal forward.

“Come on, boys!” cried Slim to his comrades. “We can’t let those youngsters tackle this game alone–‘specially when if there’s one of the rustlers there may be more. _Pronto_!”

He galloped forward, as did the others, along the new trail that Bud had suggested taking. But Dick was in the lead, and, in a few seconds, was out of sight beyond an outcropping ledge of rock, which narrowed the trail at this particular point.

“Watch your step there, boys!” cried Snake, as he saw What was likely to prove a bad turning. “I don’t see how Dick got around it as he did, taking it at the gallop,” he went on.

And, as it happened, Dick had not exactly made it, for when Bud and Nort reached the dangerous turn, slightly after Dick had disappeared abound it, they saw no sight of their companion.

“Pull up!” cried Bud sharply. “There’s something wrong!” Nort was beginning to think so himself, and he hauled his steed back with such good will and energy that the animal was almost on its haunches.

“Where in the world did he go?” cried Bud.

Nort asked the same question, for there lay the narrow trail before them, running along a ledge, with a shelving bank of shale and sand on one side and a towering face of rock on the other.

Snake Purdee raced at such speed around the turn, in spite of his own admonition to the boy ranchers, that the cowboy nearly ran down Bud and Nort.

“Where’s Dick?” cried Snake, at once aware that the stout lad was not in sight.

“He’s vamoosed–somewhere,” said Bud. “Maybe he met-up with that Greaser and—-“

At that moment, however, there came a cry, unmistakably of distress, seemingly from some distance ahead and down below the high and narrow trail on which the party had come to a halt.

“There’s Dick now!” cried Nort, recognizing his brother’s voice.

“Where in the world is he?” asked Bud, looking about.

In answer Snake pointed down the sloping bank of shale and sand, and there, at the bottom, was Dick, half buried in the soft material, and his horse, with twisted saddle, was standing near by, looking rather the worse for wear. And if the countenance of the animal had been visible it would doubtless have shown pained surprise.

“What’s’ the matter? What you doing down there?” called Nort to his brother, as Dick proceeded to extricate himself from the sand and shale that covered him almost to his neck.

“You don’t s’pose I’m down here for fun, do you?” floated up the somewhat sarcastic answer. “I came around that turn too fast and the horse just sat down at the edge and slid here. It’s lucky I’m not killed!”

“It sure is!” agreed Slim. “You want to take a strange trail easy, boy. Are you hurt–or your horse?”

Dick was about two hundred feet below them at the foot of the slope. He got up and limped over to his animal.

“Guess he’s all right,” was the reply.

“How about you?” asked Bud, for Dick had followed the real westerner’s habit of looking first to his steed.

“Oh, I’m scratched up a bit, and lame,” was the rueful reply, “but I guess nothing is busted unless it’s one of my girths.”

The others watched him, while he straightened his saddle, which had slipped around under the horse. Then Dick called up:

“It’s all right. I can ride him, I reckon,” which he proved by vaulting into the saddle.

“How am I going to get back up there, though?” he asked. “It’s as slippery as an iceberg.” “You can’t get up,” Snake called down. “Don’t try it. The trail up here goes along the same direction as the one down there. Keep on it until we join you.”

Which Dick did, his pony, fortunately, proving to have suffered no injuries in the unexpected slide down the hill. And thus, by a narrow margin, was an accident diverted. For had the slope down which Dick plunged, because of taking the turn too suddenly, been of rock, both he and the horse might have been badly hurt, if not killed.

“Keep a lookout for that Greaser,” called Dick up to his chums above him.

“I don’t believe you saw any,” retorted Slim. “There aren’t any signs of him here.”

Nor were there, though the cowboys made careful scrutiny. And afterward Dick admitted that he might have mistaken the fluttering of a bush for the hat of someone he thought a member of Del Pinzo’s gang. In a short time the upper path merged into the trail below, and Dick rejoined his friends, exhibiting some scratches sustained in his perilous slide.

Together the posse rode on, making a trail back to the main defile, and out of the one down which the Greaser and his gang had turned, where they had been discovered by Dick. And then Bud’s prediction came true. The sun, which never shone directly into the main canyon for any great length of time, began to set, bringing gloom into the defile long before it would make its appearance on the level country up above.

Seeing the gathering darkness, Slim advised calling a halt, and this was done several miles beyond the place where the last trace of the stolen cattle had been observed.

“Shall we camp here!” asked Bud, deferring to the foreman, as was natural under the circumstances.

“We’ve got grass and water,” Slim remarked, indicating a spring toward which, even then, some of the horses were hastening. “Water for the ponies and us, grass for the animals, and there ought to be some grub left.”

“There is,” said Snake Purdee, who had assumed, or been given (it did not much matter which) the office of commissary. “We brought along plenty.”

“And we may need it before we reach the end of the trail,” remarked Bud. “I don’t believe it’s going to be easy to find where those cattle disappeared to.”

“There’s only two ways, or at th’ most three, in which they could be kept away from us,” said Slim, as he slid from his saddle.

“What are they?” asked Dick, who, like his brother, was always eager to learn from a true son of the West, such as was the foreman of Diamond X.

“Well,” Slim resumed, “they’ve either been driven down some side passage, or gorge, such like as we found Del Pinzo in, or they were back-tracked to th’ open an’ driven off there th’ same night they was run off.”

“That might be,” admitted Bud. “I didn’t think of a back track.”

“Well, I did,” Slim said, “but the signs of it was so faint I passed it up.”

A back trail, I might explain, is where an animal, or several of them, or even a human, for that matter, turns and retraces the way first traveled. A fox, fleeing before the hounds, will often do this, and as the scent does not indicate the direction in which Reynard is running, the dogs are often deceived.

But in the case of the fox the imprints of the animal’s paws are so light that perhaps only with a microscope could it be told when he had “back-tracked.” Except, of course, in some place where soft mud might retain the impression of both trails.

In the case of a large body of cattle, also, though the scent would not be relied upon, it would be difficult for the casual, or, in some cases, even the trained observer, to say where the herd had been turned and driven back over the same course originally taken.

Thus pursuers would be baffled. And when to this is added the fact that the floor of the gorge was of rock, in the main, which did not take, or retain, any impressions, the puzzle was all the more difficult to solve.

“Well, we’ll see what happens in the morning,” observed Bud, as preparations for the camp went on.

The usual watches were set that night, two of the posse being constantly on guard. It was rather nervous work for the boy ranchers, especially Nort and Dick, as they started at every chance sound which seemed to echo so loudly in the darkness. And once Dick, who was taking the tour of duty with Yellin’ Kid, suddenly fired at an object he saw moving.

It was only a luckless coyote, as was evidenced by the howl of pain that followed the report of Dick’s gun, and then the night was made hideous and sleepless, for the time, by the chorus of weird howls from the other slinking beasts who were hanging about, hoping for something to eat.

However, it was nearly morning when Dick did his shooting, and a little later they all turned out for an early breakfast, the odor of the coffee and sizzling bacon producing an aroma finer than that of the most costly French perfume.

“And now for the day’s work!” exclaimed Bud, when they were once more ready to set off on the trail.

“And may we find something!” was the fervent petition of Dick.

Off they started, refreshed by the night’s halt and eager for what lay before them.

I shall not weary you by a recital of all the minor incidents of the day, how they found many false trails and leads, several of which at first seemed promising, but all of which led to nothing.

It was Bud who made the real discovery which, eventually, led to the solving of the mystery. Bud had alighted from his pony, when the halt was made for the noonday lunch, and was climbing up the side of the rocky hill which extended for miles and formed one wall of the gorge.

“Looking for gold?” asked Dick, as he saw his cousin pick up and examine several rocks.

“Sure!” was the laughing answer. “Might find the bones of another Triceratops, too!”

Bud reached forward to pick up something else, and a rock slipped from beneath his foot. He had been resting heavily on it, and the sudden lurch threw him backward. To save himself he clutched at the nearest object, which happened to be a bush growing in the side of the hill. For a moment it seemed that this would save the lad from at least sliding down the declivity, but the bush was not deeply rooted and, in another moment pulled out in the ranch boy’s hands. He flung up his arms, and almost toppled over backward, but managed to throw himself forward, and then he slid down several feet.

“Hurt!” called up Dick, ready to hasten to his cousin’s aid.

“No, but my shoes are full of gravel. Next time I come up a place like this I—-“

Bud suddenly ceased speaking, and began to scramble up the side of the shale-covered hill almost as fast as he had slid down. Then, as he reached the place whence the bush had pulled out he seemed to be looking into some crevice or opening.

A moment later he turned, looked down on the party gathered in the defile below him, and shouted:

“I’ve found ’em! I’ve found ’em! Here they are, in one of the queerest places you can imagine! Come up here and look!”

CHAPTER XXIII

THE FIGHT

Scrambling up the side of the gorge, slipping and sliding back, almost like the frog in the well, Dick, Nort and the cowboys reached Bud’s side. He maintained his footing only by constantly working his way upward, for the shale, at this point, was almost like fine sand, and kept slipping down, taking the boy rancher with it. But there were bushes growing here and there, and by holding to these, taking care not to pull them out by the roots, Bud managed to stay about where he had been when he made the amazing discovery.

For it was an amazing discovery, as all the others admitted when they reached his side, and looked through the fissure which had been disclosed when Bud pulled out the big bush by which he tried to save himself a fall.

“What is it?’ cried Nort.

“And where are they?” demanded Dick.

“It’s our cattle! They’re inside there–a place like a football stadium only there aren’t any seats,” explained Bud, breathlessly. By this time he was surrounded by the others, all maintaining a precarious foothold in the shifting shale. And what they saw caused them all to join with Bud in wondering amazement.

For there, in what was a great natural bowl of the earth, with partly sloping green sides, and with a floor covered by grass, with a pool of sparkling water in the centre, were the missing cattle! The whole of the big herd that had been driven away from Happy Valley was there, it seemed. There they were, in that vast, natural amphitheatre with food and water at hand, and, apparently, as content as when they grazed on the range of the boy ranchers.

“By all the rattlers that ever rattled!” cried Snake. “We sure have found ’em!”

“And they’re all right, too!” added Yellin’ Kid, as he gazed through the crack which had been opened when Bud pulled out the bush. For it was only through the crack that they were able to view the steers contentedly feeding and drinking within that vast bowl. That is what it was–bowl much more immense in size than the one where Yale battles with Princeton and Harvard. More immense than the Palmer Stadium at Old Nassau. The walls towered higher, and it was greater in diameter. It was almost a perfect bowl in shape–that is as perfect as so natural a formation could be.

“But how did the cattle ever get in there!” exclaimed Nort.

“And how are we going to get them out?” asked Dick.

For it seemed, at first sight, that there was no entrance or egress. And certainly nothing could get in over the top, or out that way. For though the sides of the great, natural bowl were green up to a certain distance, beyond that, and between the rim and a point half way down, they were almost perpendicular in straightness. And, being of rock, they would, it seemed, afford scarcely a foot or hand-hold for the most expert “human fly.”

“There must be a way in,” declared Slim.

“And out, too,” added Yellin’ Kid. “Those rustlers never would have driven th’ steers in here unless there was some way of getting ’em out.”

“But what is this place, anyhow!” asked Nort. “It looks like the Yale bowl, but it never could have been built by man.”

“It wasn’t,” said Bud. “It’s the crater of an extinct volcano. It has been filled up, with land-slides, probably, and the winds and the birds have brought grass seeds here, year after year, until it makes a regular corral for cattle. There’s water, too, which isn’t surprising. That’s what it is, an old volcano crater. I heard there was one around here, but I never had time to look for it.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it myself,” admitted Slim, “but I didn’t think it was like this. Let’s have another look.”

Dick and Nort moved aside to give the foreman a place of advantage, and when he had looked through a spot where the crack was wider he said: “I see where they can get th’ cattle out. Here, take a look, Bud,” and Slim handed the ranch lad a pair of field glasses that had been brought along in case of emergency. They were of value now.

“Down at th’ far end, and a little to the left of centre,” Slim directed Bud’s gaze. “There’s a sort of fence of trees piled up. That’s th’ entrance all right–or one of ’em.”

“You’re right!” agreed Bud when he had taken a careful observation. “But is there more than one!”

“Must be,” said Slim. “The rustlers never drove th’ cattle in away around _there_. They sent ’em in from _this_ end. Th’ trail ends right here, an’ it’s here where th’ rustlers drove th’ cattle in.”

“But where?” asked Bud. “There isn’t a sign of an opening!”

“Because they closed it after them,” went on the foreman. “I begin to see it now. There must have been a break in the wall of the old crater right about here. They drove th’ cattle in an’ it was an easy matter t’ let some of th’ dirt slide down an’ fill it up again. Let’s take a look with a view t’ seein’ if I’m right.” It is easier to find a clue when you know just what you are looking for. And it did not take long for the experienced eyes of the cow punchers to discover where earth and shale from above had been recently dislodged and allowed to slide down to cover what must have been the same sort of natural opening into the side of the wall as that at the far end, closed by a fence of trees. This was to keep the cattle in without men being needed to ride herd.

“Yes, it does look as if they’d taken ’em in here,” said Bud, when it was found that the trail of the steers led to the foot of the crater wall, where all signs stopped. “If we had looked up a little, instead of sticking so close to the ground, we might have seen this clue before.”

“All in good time,” observed Slim. “The question is, now, how can we get in there?”

“It will be easy enough,” suggested Nort. “All you’ll have to do will be to enlarge the crack we looked through.”

“That’s all right for us getting inside that crater,” observed Dick, “but what about our horses? They can’t scramble up there.”

“Then what can we do?” asked Bud. “Ride around to the other entrance?”

“That would take too long,” answered the foreman. “I fancy that Del Pinzo and his gang are on their way to this natural corral now, t’ drive out th’ cattle they stole from us. We’ve got t’ get ahead of ’em!”

“But how?” Bud wanted to know.

“I think we can dig out enough of th’ shale an’ dirt they slid int’ th’ opening, so that we can get th’ horses through,” Slim answered. “We ought t’ have shovels, but we can use sticks t’ dig with. It will take longer, but it’s the best we can do.”

Little time was lost in putting this plan into operation. With a hatchet, which formed part of their camp equipment, some strong poles were cut from one of the few trees that grew on the slope of the gorge, and with these digging operations began. It was slow work, but many hands were engaged and soon an opening was made so that entrance could be had to the original crack in the rocky side of the bowl. For it was by this crack that the cattle had been driven in. And the crack had only been partly filled with broken rock and earth to conceal it from view.

“Yes, they did come in this way!” cried Bud as he and the others urged their horses through the opening and into the bowl proper– the crater of the extinct volcano. “Look, plenty of signs!” There was no doubt of it. The rustlers had driven the cattle into the defile, hazed them along until they reached the opening into this great natural hiding place, and then the rest was easy.

The animals had been run into this solitary place, passing through the narrow, fissure-like opening in the rocky wall, a crack similar to, but larger, than the opening through which Bud had made his discovery. Then shale and dirt had been started, in a miniature avalanche, down the side of the slope, effectually hiding the means by which the cattle were secreted away.

“No wonder we thought an airship had been used,” commented Dick.

Before them lay the vast crater of the old volcano, inactive for centuries. Nature had covered the hard lava with a layer of soil in which grew rich grass. And nature had further made the place an ideal corral for cattle by supplying a large spring of water. It was a “rustler’s paradise,” to quote Slim Degnan.

As the boy ranchers rode into the amphitheatre, the cattle at the far end, and in the middle, stopped grazing to look at them.

“We’re friends of yours!” called Bud, waving his hat in the joy at finding his lost stock.

“Yes, but here come some fellows who aren’t!” shouted Yellin’ Kid.

“Where?” asked Bud, quickly.

“There!” Kid pointed to the far end of the crater, if one may use the word “end” in referring to a circular bowl.

The cowboy posse saw, riding at top speed into the great depression, a crowd of men, who, as they came nearer, could be recognized as the Del Pinzo gang. The Greaser leader was not in evidence, however.

“They’re after the cattle!” cried Nort.

“Well, they won’t get ’em without a fight!” shouted Bud.

He drew his weapon, an example followed by the others, and as the two parties, one representing law and order and the other the wild, reckless element, started toward each other, the fight began.

CHAPTER XXIV

A DESPERATE CHANCE

“Come on, fellows; Come on!” yelled Bud, as he clapped his heels against the sides of his pony and rushed toward the rustlers. “Give ’em all they got coming!”

“We’re with you!” cried Nort.

“A fight to the finish!” shouted Dick.

The boy ranchers had their weapons out, as, indeed, had every one of the following cowboys. Nor was Del Pinzo’s gang a whit behind in this, though their lawless leader did not seem to be present. The sun gleamed on the flashing ornaments of silver worn by some of the Mexican Greasers as they rode to the fray.

“Don’t ride too far, Bud!” called Slim, for the boys were inclined to be reckless.

“We’ve got to ride ’em down or they’ll have all the cattle out of that far opening before we get there!” Bud answered. And, as he replied he fired one shot in the air, over the heads of the enemy. For Bud bore in mind his father’s injunction, not to shoot to wound unless it was absolutely necessary. And Bud thought perhaps a strong show of force would awe the rustlers, causing them to retreat.

However, they were in too strong force for this. And as the boy ranchers and their friends rode on into the vast, natural, volcanic bowl, and were able to take note of their foes, they saw that the rustlers outnumbered them two to one.

Bud’s shot–the first of the fight–was the signal for general firing, though, as usual in such engagements, the initial fusilade was wild on both sides; mercifully so, it seemed ordered, for no one was hurt by the opening volley.

“There’s going to be a hot time!” shouted Yellin’ Kid, as he spurred forward. “And I don’t see th’ skunk that spoiled my hat! Where is he?”

“Del Pinzo would rather his men’d get th’ lickin’s!” answered Snake. “He’s hidin’ out, I reckon.”

“I’d like to find his hole!” said Yellin’ Kid.

The clashing forces were nearer each other now, with the bunch of Happy Valley steers in between, but off to one side. In order that you may better understand what follows, and the positions of the contending parties, I will explain the situation briefly.

The boy ranchers and their friends had ridden in on what I might call the north end of the volcanic crater, in which bowl the rustlers had hidden the cattle. The opening by which the cattle had been placed in the bowl had been closed by a slide of dirt and shale but this had been partly cleared away by our friends so they could ride through the crack.

At what may be termed the south end of the crater was a larger opening, wide enough, in fact, for several horsemen to ride abreast or a large herd of cattle to be driven through. This opening had been roughly fenced off to keep in the cattle. And it was through this opening that the rustlers had ridden, advancing to meet the force of the boy ranchers coming from the north.

The cattle had been feeding in the centre of the bowl, but as the two parties began the fight, the steers drew off to the west. It was evidently the intention of the rustlers to take out the cattle if possible. Whether they could succeed in driving them away in spite of the pursuit of the rightful owners, or whether they hoped to hide them in some other secret place did not develop.

At any rate, here were the two contending parties racing toward each other, and firing as they galloped forward. And when they were all out in the open it was evident that the rustlers far outnumbered the boy ranchers and their friends.

One thing, however, was in favor of Bud and the others with him. They had advanced farther into the bowl than had the rustlers, and were past the centre when the actual fray began. Using the illustration of a football game, to which I am tempted because of the location of the fray, I might remark that the ball was now over the centre line and well into the enemy’s territory. It was up to Bud and his followers to rush it over for a touchdown.

But the rustlers were not going to give up without a sharp fight. They had come to take away the cattle, and this they now endeavored to do. Several Greasers separated from the main body and began to circle around with the evident intention of cutting out a bunch of steers, to drive them to the larger opening, where the fence had been torn down.

“We’ve got to stop that!” shouted Slim. “Here, Snake, you and Kid ride over and see what you can do!”

The two cowboys, shouting at the tops of their voices, wheeled to one side and started toward half a dozen Greasers. The odds were not so great as they seemed, for right and justice were on the side of the cowboys.

Suddenly Dick, who was riding between Bud and Nort, gave a little cry, and his weapon dropped from his right hand, on which a spot of blood appeared.

“Hit?” asked Nort.

“Only a scratch,” Dick answered. He halted his pony, snatched his neckerchief off and, with the help of his brother, bound up the wound. It was decidedly more than a scratch, being a deep cut where a glancing bullet had hit, and Dick’s hand would be out of commission for some time.

“But I can fire with my left,” he added, a feat to which he was equal, “and Star guides by knee pressure.” He was riding a pony he had taught to obey directions by means of pressure of the cowboy’s knees on either side. And Dick had been practicing left hand shooting for some time. His gun restored to him, he rode on with his brother and cousin.

With sudden yells, accompanied by as sudden a rush, a band of the Greasers now rode straight for Bud, Dick, Nort and some of the Diamond X outfit with our heroes. So fierce was the attack, and in such numbers, that there was nothing for our friends to do but retreat, for the time being at least.

This attack took place in a part of the bowl where there were a large number of immense boulders scattered. Seeing that these formed a natural protection, or breastwork, Bud called to his cousins and the men to get behind the stones.

“Make the horses lie down!” was his advice. “We’ll fight Indian fashion!”

And, at this point, at least, this became the style of the battle. The Greasers rode fast, endeavoring to cut off Bud and his party, but the latter reached the haven of rocks first, and with the horses on their sides, positions the steeds were glad enough to assume, doubtless, the advantage was on the side of the boy ranchers.

They were protected by rocks, from behind which they could fire, while the enemy was in the open. But the enemy far outnumbered our friends, and the latter, for the time being, were in the position of persons besieged.

For, no sooner had the Greasers seen what was the object of Bud and his followers, than the lawless ones took such small shelter as they could find, some behind their prostrate horses, and began firing at the boy ranchers’ party. And as the renegade Mexicans were, in a number of cases, armed with rifles, the odds against Bud and his chums were increased. True, the Greasers were not good marksmen, but a rifle in the hands of even a poor shooter is often more than a match for a .45 revolver in the hands of an expert.

“Pick ’em off!” cried Bud, as bullets zinged their way in among the rocks behind which he and his friends were hidden. “Pick ’em off, but don’t expose yourself!”

This was good advice if it could have been followed, but to fire effectively it was necessary for those of the Diamond X outfit to take aim over, or to one side, of the rocks, and when this was done, some part of the body was exposed. At such times the watching Greasers fired.

It was now an actual state of siege as far as Bud and his immediate companions were concerned, and they were outnumbered. Several of Bud’s party, including Nort this time, had been slightly wounded. But, in turn, they had wounded some Greasers, too, one vitally, as was learned later.

Meanwhile, Snake and Kid were having their own troubles with the party of Greasers they had been sent off to intercept and prevent from driving off the cattle. More Mexicans had joined their comrades, and Kid and Snake were obliged to beat a retreat, joining Slim and his forces, who were fighting the main, and larger body of rustlers.

And it was while these two separate fights were going on, and while the Greasers that had forced Kid and Snake to retire were gathering together a bunch of cattle to drive out of the main opening, that Dick, who was readjusting the bandage on his hand, saw something that made his heart sink.

This was a sight of another body of Greasers riding into the bowl from the south end–a body of Mexican horsemen led by Del Pinzo himself.

“I guess it’s all up with us now,” said Dick to his brother, calling the latter’s attention to the reinforcements of the enemy. “That’s what that half-breed was hanging back for. He wanted to get us well mixed up, and now he’ll drive off the cattle.”

“Whew!” whistled Nort. “It does look that way. What we going to do, Dick?”

The two brothers were behind a great boulder, off to one side. Bud and some of the cowboys were replying to a brisk fire on the part of the besieging Greasers.

For a moment, after having tied the bandage on his hand, Dick did not answer. Then, as if an inspiration came to him, he said:

“It’s only a chance, Nort, and a desperate chance at that. But maybe we can do it! Did you ever read Kipling’s ‘Drums of the Fore and Aft’?”

“Sure! But what’s that got to do with this?”

“A lot. You and I are going to be the ‘Drums’ and these are going to play the tune,” and he tapped his .45. “Come on,” he added, motioning to his brother. “As I said, it’s a desperate chance, but it may do the trick!”

CHAPTER XXV

LIEUTENANT WAYNE

Not to mystify you, when there is no need for it, I will say that the scheme Dick had hit upon was simple enough. If you recall Kipling’s famous story you know that two drummer boys, of a British regiment in India, when the main body was being defeated by a horde of natives, slipped quietly off to one side, and, by hiding behind rocks, played the fife and beat the drum to such advantage that the heathens thought another regiment was approaching to take them in the rear, while the British force was so heartened by hearing the familiar strains that they rallied, the retreat was stopped and the day won.

Dick and Nort had no fife or drum, and, if they had possessed those instruments, it is doubtful if they could have performed on them with any credit to themselves.

Each of them was slightly wounded, but they possessed their guns and had a plentiful supply of ammunition, and it was Dick’s idea to use this. “We’ll slide out, crawl along that gully there,” and he pointed to Nort the one he meant, “and we’ll take ’em on the flank. By keeping behind the rocks, and firing fast, we can make ’em think, maybe, that another force is coming.”

“You well said it–_maybe_,” murmured Nort. “But at that, the idea isn’t so bad. They may hold us here all day, and with Slim and his bunch having their hands full, it looks as if the cattle would be driven off.”

For while some of the rustlers were holding Bud and his band in check behind the rocks, and while others were fighting Slim and his cowboys, still others were driving the cattle toward the opening in the old volcano bowl. It was Dick’s idea that if by a cross fire on the part of himself and his brother, hidden among the rocks, they could scare away the band besieging Bud and his friends, a diversion might be created which would rout the enemy. At any rate, it was worth trying.

Bud was busy, as Nort and Dick slipped off, tying a bandage on the arm of one of the cowboys who had been shot. And the brothers were glad to try their desperate venture unnoticed, for they did not want to explain. And they did not want to be observed going away, as it looked a little like desertion in the face of the enemy. But, for the time being, there was a lull in the fighting. The Greasers who had been holding Bud’s force behind the rocks, had quieted down. The fighting between Slim and his cowboys out in the open, however, was going on fiercely, and several had fallen on both sides.

Once Dick and Nort were down in a gully, off to the right of the rocks behind which the band had taken shelter, the eastern lads were screened from observation, both by their friends and by the Greasers.

“Cut along, North!” advised Dick, and, in spite of their wounds, the boy ranchers ran in crouching positions, their guns in readiness.

It did not take them long to reach a point which they regarded as favorable for the trick they were going to play–for it was nothing more nor less than a trick. If they could succeed, by quick firing, in deceiving the enemy, and causing a retreat, a sudden rush on the part of Bud and his friends might turn the scale.

“All ready?” asked Dick of his brother, as they reached some sheltering rocks on the flank of the party besieging Bud.

“Wait until I lay a lot of cartridges ready on the ground. It will be easier to reload them.”

“Good idea. I’ll do the same.”

It was rather awkward for Dick, with his wounded right hand, to reload his gun, but he could manage after a fashion, though not so well as Nort, whose hurt was in his upper left arm. The lads saw to it that their weapons were ready, with a goodly supply of cartridges in front of them. Nort looked across at Dick, behind the sheltering rock, and at a nod from the latter they both began firing.

The effect on the Greasers, poorly screened as they were, was instantaneous. Several leaped to their feet and turned in surprise toward the sound of firing on their flank. These made good targets, and by firing at them Dick and Nort brought more than one to the ground.

Bud and his companions, hearing the firing in a new direction, where, as yet they did not know they had supporters, were also taken by surprise, but it was of another nature.

“Come on! Rush ’em!” yelled Bud, when he had looked around, and, missing Dick and Nort, guessed what had happened. “We’ve got ’em in a cross fire now! Rush ’em!”

But the Greasers, disheartened by the firing of Dick and Nort on their flank, did not stop to be rushed. Those who were able leaped up and ran toward their horses, which had strayed off to one side. Bud and his party emerged from behind the rocks, firing as they rushed the enemy.

“This is the stuff, Dick!” shouted Nort, as he reloaded his gun and sent another fusilade of bullets into the ranks of the now retreating Greasers.

“I’m glad it worked!” remarked the proposer of the Kipling scheme. “Now we can go help Slim and his bunch. They’re having trouble!”

Indeed the tide of battle did seem to be turning against the foreman and his forces. They were outnumbered, and had lost several cowboys, by wounds if not by death–just which it was impossible to determine then. And, meanwhile, the other Greasers, under the leadership of the wily Del Pinzo, were hazing the cattle toward the main entrance.

“Good work, boys! Great work!” Bud greeted his cousins with as he rode out to meet them, when the besieging Greasers had been routed by the cross fire of the two lads. “How’d you think of it?”

“It was Dick,” spoke Nort.

“It was Kipling!” Dick answered.

“Get mounted and join us!” Bud requested. “We’ve got to help Slim!”

This was evident, as the foreman and his cowboys were now hard pressed. But as Nort and Dick rejoined Bud, having leaped to their saddles they, as well as the others from Diamond X caught sight of something which, for the moment made them sick at heart.

For the sight was that of another body of horsemen riding into the old volcano bowl. On they cantered, the sun glinting on their arms.

“More of Del Pinzo’s rustlers!” burst out Bud. “We may as well give up! They’re too many for us!”

But he did not pull rein, intending it seemed, to fight it out to the bitter end. A cry from Dick was the cause of wonderment. He pointed to the new body of advancing horsemen.

“Look! Look!” Dick shouted. “Those aren’t Greasers! They aren’t rustlers or Del Pinzo’s gang! They’re United States troopers! By all the jack rabbits that ever jumped we’ve got the rustlers now! The United States cavalry is on the job!”

And a moment later, as the notes of a bugle gave a musical order, causing the advancing troop to deploy to right and left, it was evident that the tide of battle had turned in favor of the boy ranchers and their friends.

For the newcomers were, in reality, a troop of United States regulars, and with a dash and vim, exceeded nowhere in the world, and among no other fighters, this band of grim-faced men entered into action. Carbines were unslung and their short and ugly bark was added to the din.

“Come on, fellows!”

“Now we’ve got ’em!”

“Over the line!”

“Touchdown!”

These were only a few of the excited shouts of the boy ranchers themselves, while the cowboys of Diamond X riding into the fray with new hearts, sent up their shrill, yipping yells. It was all over then but the shouting, so to speak. The Greasers were fairly trapped–Del Pinzo and all his gang. In vain they attempted to ride around and escape by the main entrance. But the troopers had stationed a guard there, and the bowl was “bottled up.” One or two Greasers, sneaking around to the north, did manage to escape through the crack by which Bud and his friends had entered, though the main body was captured and the cattle saved.

“Whew, but that was hot work!” commented Bud, toward sundown, when the rustlers had been caught, disarmed and corraled under guard.

“You told the truth for once,” remarked Dick, whose wound had been rebandaged by the surgeon accompanying the troopers.

“And I guess this is the end of Del Pinzo,” remarked Nort, for the outlaw Greaser half-breed had been caught red-handed, so to speak.

“I hope so,” mused Bud. “But we paid a price for it.”

“And so did they,” observed Slim. “We accounted for quite a few, but I’m sorry for our boys.” Several of the Diamond X outfit had been grievously wounded, and one was killed outright. But the casualties on the side of the enemy were greater.

The fight was over. The cattle of the boy ranchers were saved, and the rustlers captured. Tired horses were staked out near grass and water, and while the cavalry established their camp, Bud and his friends began to wonder how it was the troopers had arrived in the nick of time.

“Well, it was more by chance than anything else,” said Captain Parker, who was in command. “We’d been on the trail of these outlaws for some time, and finally we saw a chance to corner them. It was due to the work of Lieutenant Wayne that we were able so to effectually bag them here, though. He has been on scout duty in this section for some time, endeavoring to get information so that we might round up this gang.”

“Lieutenant Wayne,” repeated Bud, wonderingly.

“Yes, here he comes now. He says he knows you boys.”

“Knows us!” murmured Dick, as a trooper approached, saluting his superior and smiling at the boy ranchers. “Yes, don’t you know me?” asked Lieutenant Wayne, holding out his hand to Bud. “Perhaps if I had on my glasses, you would be better able to—-“

“Four Eyes!” burst out Nort. “At least–I beg your pardon–Henry–er–Mr. Mellon–Lieutenant Wayne!” he stammered.

“Yes, Four Eyes!” was the laughing answer of the trooper. “Those glasses were only fakes! I wore them as a sort of disguise, and very effectual they were, it seems.”

“Four Eyes!” gasped Bud. “And were you in the United States cavalry all the while?”

“Yes, on scout, or detached duty,” was the answer. “The government has had many complaints of this band of Del Pinzo’s rustlers, and we were detailed to put them out of business. I was assigned to go on duty as a cowboy, which wasn’t so hard, as I had been one nearly all my life before joining the army. I worked on several ranches, picking up bits of information here and there, and I completed all I needed to get in Happy Valley,” he added.

“And we never tumbled!” remarked Dick.

“Glad you didn’t!” laughed Lieutenant Wayne, to give him his proper title. “I thought you were suspicious of me, more than once, though,” he said.

“We were, after you built that signal lantern on the watch tower–you did do that, didn’t you?” asked Bud.

“Yes, but only as a decoy for the rustlers. I managed to overhear some of their plans, and part of their scheme called for a light on the tower when the time was ripe for a raid on your cattle, boys. So I flashed the signal myself, and, indirectly, it led to this capture today. For I joined my troop right after that, and we have been rounding the rascals up ever since.

“We knew they had made a big raid at your place, but we didn’t know where they had hidden the cattle until I happened to think of this old crater, which I discovered one day when I was working for you, Bud. So we made our way here and–well, this is the end, I believe,” he added, as he looked over at the bunch of miserable prisoners.

“I hope it’s the end,” said Bud. “We want to get back to business. And I’m sorry we suspected you, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, that’s all right. In fact, I’m glad you did. It shows I lived up to the character I was supposed to represent.”

There is little more to tell. That night, around the campfire many things, hitherto a mystery, were explained. The stethoscope the boys found was the property of Lieutenant Wayne. He had dropped it when paying a secret visit to Happy Valley. He had intended to pose as a doctor to deceive the rustlers, but, on losing the stethoscope he gave up that plan. It is needless to say that he had nothing to do with the robbery at Diamond X, the real thieves never being discovered. Lieutenant Wayne apologized for cutting his way from Bud’s tent the night he disappeared after the signal from the tower. This was the only way he could disappear and accomplish his plans, he said. And it was he who had fired and broken the bottle, and had also fired mysterious signal shots, in order to play up to his character of being in with the rustlers.

“Though the bottle-breaking was only a joke I indulged in,” he admitted, “I’m sorry it worried you so.”

The soldier, of course, had nothing to do with the prairie fire, and who set it, if it was set, was not discovered. Lieutenant Wayne finally recovered his black horse Cinder, the animal having made its way back to Curly Q ranch, where the officer once posed as a cowboy.

The cattle first stolen by the rustlers were not recovered, but it was found that when they seemed they had been spirited off in an airship they had been merely back-tracked and hidden until an opportune time to dispose of them. Del Pinzo’s gang was in hiding, waiting for a chance to drive off the main body of steers, when they were surprised by our heroes. Whether Hank Fisher was in with the rustlers was not decided, though suspicions pointed toward him. The outlaws were sentenced to long terms after being captured by the troopers, and their secret meeting place, having been discovered, was destroyed.

After these explanations had been made, it was decided not to try to drive the cattle out of the crater until the next day.

The night passed without incident, though none of the boy ranchers turned in early. They were too excited, and they wanted to talk over what had happened.

The existence of the old crater was not generally known, but Del Pinzo and his rustlers appeared to have the secret of it. They had driven off Bud’s cattle, put them into the natural corral and then filled in, with dirt, the only entrance visible from the defile trail leading from Happy Valley. They intended to use the larger opening out of the bowl, to the south, to get the cattle away. But their plans were frustrated.

The next day the troopers drove off before them the discomfitted Del Pinzo and his disheartened followers, Yellin’ Kid taking the Mexican’s elaborate hat to replace the cowboy’s with the bullet holes. Lieutenant Wayne said farewell to the boy ranchers, promising to come and see them again, in his real character.

The wounded were transported as tenderly as possible out of the main egress from the bowl, it being impractical to use the other. And it was from this larger entrance, after the fence had been torn away, that the cattle were driven, by a long winding trail amid the mountains back to Happy Valley. Only a few were lost by the raid, which was the largest ever perpetrated by the rustlers in that part of the country.

“But I guess, now that the troopers have Del Pinzo, and not the local authorities with their flimsy town jails, that this Greaser won’t be foot-loose for some time,” observed Bud, when, once more, the boy ranchers were back in camp.

“I don’t want to hear his name again,” murmured Dick, nursing his wounded hand.

“And to think that Four Eyes was working in our interests when we thought him a spy! That was pretty good!” laughed Nort.

“Yes, it all worked out pretty well,” spoke Bud. “And do you know what I’d like to do? I’d like Dad to buy that old volcano crater for us. It would be a peach of a place where we could winter a herd of cattle, and have ’em fat for spring selling. I’m going to speak to him about it,” he concluded.

“Well, you can speak right now, for here he comes, and your mother and sister, too,” added Dick, as Mr. Merkel’s auto chugged down the trail from Diamond X.

“Well, boys, I hear you beat Del Pinzo at his own game!” greeted the rancher, while Nell expressed her sorrow at Dick’s wound, to the somewhat jealous regard of Nort, whose hurt was more slight.

“Yes, he’s where he won’t blur any more brands right away,” Bud answered. “But it looked like touch and go for a while. The troopers came just in time!”

“Well, you fellows seem to know how to take care of yourselves and the cattle,” observed Bud’s father. “Guess I’ll turn one of my main ranches over to you. What say?”

But the boys did not answer. They were busy eating slices of a large chocolate cake that Nell had brought over. This is reason enough, isn’t it? However, the adventures of our heroes did not end with the capture of the rustlers. And those of you who wish to follow them further may do so in the next volume of this series which will be entitled: “The Boy Ranchers Among the Indians; or Trailing the Yaquis.” In that volume we shall meet many of our old friends again, and, should Bud permit it, I may tell you about Zip Foster. But with the capture of Del Pinzo, and his rustlers, this book is finished.

THE END