The Sign Of The Crooked Arrow Part 11

The boys held their breaths, intent on catching the sound that Joe had picked up.

"I hear it!" Frank said hoa.r.s.ely. "It's a rider. Maybe the same one coming back!"

107 The brothers raced into the shadow of a shed which stood near the corral, and waited.

The hoofbeats grew closer. A few minutes later a cowboy reined in his mount at the corral gate and flung himself off the saddle. Lifting the bar, he slapped his horse on the rump and the animal bounded inside.

All the while, Frank and Joe craned their necks to get a glimpse of the stranger. But a deep shadow, thrown by his broad-brimmed hat, concealed the face of the rider.

The boys noted that he was tall and rangy, but so were many other cowboys. If only they could get a good look at him!

The man hastened toward the bunkhouse. As he neared the hiding place of the Hardys, Frank and Joe flattened themselves against the side of the building. The beating of their hearts sounded like trip hammers in their ears.

When the cowboy pa.s.sed them, he suddenly whipped off his hat, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. The moon shone full on his face. It revealed a thin nose and jutting jaw, giving his face the sour demeanor of a man who is dissatisfied with the whole world.

He hurried on, and soon the boys heard the bunk-house door shut lightly after him. When all was 108 quiet again, the brothers made their way silently to the house.

"We'll spot him in the morning," Frank whispered. "Something's up!"

They opened the back door, which they had left ajar. Then, taking off their shoes, they crept back to their room.

In the morning the brothers were awakened by the bright sun. It burst into their window with a brilliance unlike that in Bayport.

"Swell country, this," Joe commented.

"Sure is. We've got to see to it Cousin Ruth doesn't lose this ranch," Frank declared.

The Hardys roused Chet, who rolled sleepily from bed.

"Hi, it's time to get up," Joe said, as he prodded his friend.

"Lemme sleep," Chet protested.

"You're going to miss breakfast," Frank teased. "They don't serve it in bed, you know."

Hearing the word breakfast, the stocky boy quickly shook off his drowsiness and dressed. Cousin Ruth greeted them in the living room.

"While breakfast is being cooked," she said, "suppose we go outside and I'll introduce you to the men."

They stepped onto a rambling porch, which shaded one side of the building, then walked to-109 ward the bunkhouse. A group of cowboys, whom the Easterners had not seen the day before, were making ready for their day's work.

"I'd like you to meet my two cousins Frank and Joe and their friend, Chet," the widow said pleasantly, approaching the cowboys. "They're from Bayport and are spending a little vacation with us."

"Howdy," said the men, shaking hands with the trio.

Ruth Hardy introduced them one by one. Presently she stopped beside a little fellow with s.h.i.+ny, black braids falling over each shoulder. His leathery face was as weather-beaten as a mountain rock, but the crinkly expression around his eyes indicated a keen sense of humor.

"I know you'll like Crowhead's Pye," their cousin said, turning to the boys.

"Pie?" Chet said enthusiastically. "Are we going to have pie for breakfast?"

A few of the cowboys laughed. The others registered a look of disgust.

"No." The woman smiled. "This is Pye. P-Y-E. His real name is Pymatuno, and he's the best Indian in all of New Mexico!"

A broad smile forced Pye's eyes into little slits as he shook hands with the boys. Then Cousin Ruth looked around, as if she had missed somebody.

"Where's Hank?" she asked. Turning to her 110 visitors, Mrs. Hardy said, "He's my foreman."

As she spoke, the bunkhouse door slammed and a tall man emerged. He had a thin nose and jutting jaw.

The cowboy was the mysterious rider of the night before! As he approached the group, Ruth Hardy introduced him.

"Howdy," he said, extending a long, bony hand and showing no enthusiasm at the meeting.

"Up purty early for city kids, ain't yo'?" he commented, looking at the trio with a poker face.

The boys resented the cutting remark, especially Joe, who wasn't endowed with the same even temper as his older brother.

"It seems to me," he came back pointedly, "that certain cowboys as well as city folks stay out late at night!"

Hank tensed. The muscles in his lean cheeks bulged in and out.

"Sometimes," he snapped, "a cowboy has to run coyotes off the place."

Just then the mellow strum of a guitar eased the situation. A pint-sized cowboy, wearing a bright red-and-yellow s.h.i.+rt, walked from the bunkhouse. bright red-and-yellow s.h.i.+rt, walked from the bunkhouse.

"That's Terry," Ruth Hardy said.

"He's mighty fleet-fingered with the gee-tar," one of the men spoke up.

"I don't know what I'd do without Terry."

111 Cousin Ruth smiled. "He's a joy, but an awful tease."

The singing cowboy grinned, showing a straight set of white teeth. He strummed a few chords, then said, looking directly at the visitors from Bayport: "Howdy, howdy, all o' you," then broke into song.

Ef yo' wanna be a cowman, Tippee, yippee-yay, Yo' gotta ride to beat the band Every single day.

But take a soft guy from the city Ah, how his hoss will play, It sh.o.r.e will be a pity When his rider hits the sand!

Terry gaily tw.a.n.ged out an extra chord as the cowboys roared with laughter.

"Oh, we can ride some," Frank volunteered with a laugh.

"If yo' can't, then we'll larn yo'," Terry said.

At that moment the ranch house bell rang. Ruth Hardy and the "city soft guys," their faces red, went off to breakfast. When they finished, Frank took his cousin aside in one corner of the room, and said: "I don't mind being razzed because I'm from 112 the city, but it seemed to me that your foreman Hank was not kidding us. Is he always like that?"

"Oh, Hank's all right," their cousin a.s.sured the boy. "He's a little dictatorial, but I think Hank means well enough."

"Seems mighty queer to me," Frank said with a worried frown. "Maybe your men are leaving on account of him."

"I hardly think so. Hank just doesn't like what he calls 'city dudes.' I'm sure you can grow to be friends, though."

"I hope so," Frank said. But the boy was afraid that his cousin's foreman might be mixed up in some way with the strange disappearance of the Crowhcad cowboys.

Frank strolled onto the porch and told Joe of their cousin's confidence in Hank. Joe shrugged.

"Just the same," he suggested, "I think we'd better start looking for clues right now, and we'll not leave Hank out."

"Say, where did Chet vanisL?" Frank asked aloud.

Ruth Hardy, coming outside, laughingly called from the doorway, "He ate a littie too much breakfast to go riding just now, he said."

"We'll leave him here," Joe decided, "while Frank and I take a look around Crowhead."

"Hank will give you horses," Mrs. Hardy said.

113 The brothers walked to the corral, eager to ride over the meandering acres of Crowhead in search of clues to their cousin's mystery. When they asked for horses, Hank lifted the corral bar and went inside. He returned with two lively mounts.

"Saddle 'em yoreselves," he said gruffly.

The horses pranced and pawed, but finally the boys got the saddles strapped in place.

Hank looked amazed, and as the brothers swung into their seats he watched intently.

Suddenly a figure raced toward them-it was Pye, the Indian.

"No ride!" he shouted excitedly. "Bad horse."

Hank glared at the Indian.

"Yo' stay out o' this!" he ordered.

As he spoke, Joe's horse reared. The next instant the animal did a sunfish, tossing Joe off his back into the dust!

CHAPTER XIII.

The Whizzing Arrow.

hank guffawed at Joe's bad spill but made no attempt to subdue the rearing horse.

It was Pye who rushed in and grabbed the animal's bridle, yanking him and his cras.h.i.+ng hoofs away from the boy.

With a cry Frank had dismounted and rushed to his brother. But Joe picked himself up and brushed the dirt from his jeans.

Hank's laughter suddenly turned into an angry frown as he saw Terry, the singing cowboy, approaching with two other horses.

"Who told yo' to bring 'em?" he shouted.

The little cowboy grinned, at the same time letting forth in a high tenor voice: Yo' can't ride a bronc The very first day Yippity-yay. Yippitay-yay!

114.

115 "Shut up!" Hank bellowed. "Yo're not gettin8 paid for singin'."

"I'm only tryin' to make the boys feel at home,'" Terry said.

"Leave that to me," the foreman snarled.

He turned to Pye, who had led the mean horses back into the corral.

"Look here, Indian," he snapped. "Get these tenderfeet to work ridin' fence."

"Me savvy," Pye replied. "Take other men along, too?"

"I can't spare any good men," Hank sneered at the Indian. "Now get goin'!"

The foreman strode off, leaving the boys with Pye. He offered to saddle the new mounts, but Frank and Joe cinched their own.

Pye mounted a little pinto and the three started for the fences.

"Boys good riders." Pye grinned in surprise, seeing the ease with which the Hardys handled their mounts.

"We've done some riding back East," Frank replied.

"Nice paint you got there, Pye," Joe said admiringly.

Pye and his horse moved in perfect rhythm. It looked as if he and the little animal had been born riding together.

116 "Him fine horse," the Indian said proudly. "Him know two language-white man and Nav-aho."

With that he spoke an Indian word. The pinto stopped and dropped to his forelegs. Then Pye spoke in English. The pony arose and started off again.

Pye looked at the boys gleefully. "See?" he said. "Pony ver-y smart. Never go to school, either."

The boys laughed. "What's his name?" Frank asked as they cantered along.

"Cherry," the Indian replied. "Cowboy make fun with Pymatuno. Call Pye and horse Cherry Pye." The friendly Navaho grinned until his eyes almost disappeared.

The country over which the three rode was rough and scrubby. Here and there a few cattle grazed on the green patches which dotted the terrain.