The Broncho Rider Boys on the Wyoming Trail Part 19

"That's right, Billie!" he remarked, in some excitement; "and as sure as you live I can see that the boys are shoving them along quite lively. I hope now they haven't sighted the Walker clan coming with a rush; because, until we get those herds in the corrals with the rest here I'll never feel satisfied," and he fingered his gun, as though half tempted to jump on a horse, and gallop out to meet the drivers.

CHAPTER XXII.

SAFE IN THE CORRAL.

"Well, I feel some easier now that they're getting in closer, and no signs of a pack of rough riders anywhere in sight beyond!" announced the rancher, after a little while had elapsed, which counted anxious minutes for both himself and Billie.

Even Mr. Thomas had deigned to limp out, and offer to a.s.sist in any sort of work he might be able to do; but the stockman, after taking one look at his shrinking figure, told him he need not bother, since everything had been done looking to the safety of the corrals.

And so the pilgrim of the trail hung around; but as before, he impressed Billie as a very timid sort of a fellow, and ready to run or dodge at the first sign of any trouble.

Now the first herd was well in, and the punchers could be seen waving their hats as they darted this way and that on their active ponies, cutting off the dash of an obstreperous cow that took a sudden notion she did not want to head for the corrals, when the gra.s.s was so sweet away out on the hills, and under the trees growing along the watercourse.

"I'm glad to see that all the boys are working with a vim," Billie heard the late manager of the ranch say to himself, as he took note of the way the punchers carried on their business, every one seeming to be actively employed; and the boy could easily understand what he meant by those significant words.

In each party, it will be remembered that there were several of the men who secretly sided with the sister of Hatch Walker, the rustler, Uncle Fred's wife; and apparently the stockman had been uneasy lest these fellows do everything in their power to create discord in the ranks, and delay the drive until their friends the rustlers came along.

It seemed however, that from some cause or other they could not have deemed it good policy to attempt this tricky play. Perhaps they saw from the way things were working that they were outnumbered in both bands; and the belief that this must have been done for a reason caused them to go slow about provoking trouble. Doubtless Fred Comstock may have given orders to the faithful few to keep their eyes on the alert and at the first sign of treachery to use their guns freely. That was the sort of reputation he used to have before the widow came into his life, and changed its current; and there were signs that Mr. Comstock might be getting near the point where he would a.s.sert his manhood once again, and break away from "petticoat rule."

The two herds arriving at nearly the same time there was a scene of tremendous excitement around the ranch buildings, with cowboys das.h.i.+ng this way and that, whooping at the top of their voices, and shouting out orders to one another.

Billie wanted to be with them, but that injured knee gave him a nasty wrench now and then; so he concluded to forego that pleasure. He could see that both of his chums were doing as fine work as any one belonging to the Bar-S Ranch; and more than once a fellow whom Billie suspected might be under the ban would follow the flying form of Adrian with his eyes, as though trying to figure out what difference the coming of the real owner of the ranch might make in the final outcome.

By degrees the cattle were being separated as Mr. Comstock wished, and driven into the separate corrals. During this period of intense excitement those who were not engaged in the work watched operations with more or less interest. Even Charley Moo, the Chinese cook, could be seen leaning on the rail of a corral taking it all in; and there in the doorway of the ranch house stood Mrs. Comstock, apparently laughing scornfully to herself at all this confusion, just because a few of her relatives might be expected to make an evening call on her.

The day was not far from done when the last of the cattle had been chased through the jaws of the big corral, and the bars placed in position that made them prisoners, until such time as the stockman deemed it wise to let them out again. Meanwhile they would have to be fed from the store of hay that was kept on hand in big stacks, over in one of the fields away from the buildings, and intended for just such emergencies as this, or a bitter spell during a wintry blizzard, when forage could not be found by the herds in the sheltered places.

Once more Mr. Comstock was making use of his gla.s.ses to look anxiously toward a certain quarter. But now he was not antic.i.p.ating the coming of the rustlers, who, upon finding that the stock had slipped through their hands, and were safe in the corrals, were likely to remain aloof until late in the night, when they might with impunity approach close to the ranch, and try some of their sly games looking to effecting a breach in the stockade, and the release of the herds.

"Will they come from that direction, Uncle Fred?" asked Adrian, halting beside the other, as he mopped his steaming face with his red bandana handkerchief, which of course he carried, cowboy fas.h.i.+on, knotted about his neck, with the loose folds hanging in front, so that while riding swiftly along they could be utilized to wipe his eyes free from dust, without releasing his bridle hand.

"Well, you see, son," replied the other, as he lowered the gla.s.ses, and showed by his disappointed look that he had failed to glimpse some object he had been hoping to discover; "I'm not bothering about the rustler crowd just now. Since they didn't get along in time to stop the drive, and run off the cattle, chances are they'll hold off till midnight, or along about there. But I did hope to pick up a little dust over yonder. That's about where the sheriff and his posse'd be apt to show up, when they do come along."

"No signs of them yet, then, Uncle?"

"I'm sorry to say not, Adrian; but then, as the officer is a new hand he might find it a little difficult to gather a posse. You see, these Walkers have a lot of friends scattered around, and that's going to make it hard to knock 'em out; but the new sheriff was elected for just that purpose, I was told, and they say he's a nervy man. Reckon he'll need all the grit he's got to tide him over; but at last the stockmen around this county have made up their minds this wholesale robbery has got to stop, no matter what sort of war comes along. And I'm going to join hands with them, in spite of what the rest of the house says."

He made this a.s.sertion boldly; but habit caused him to give a quick glance over his shoulder when speaking, just as though he half feared to discover Mrs. Comstock standing there, with upraised hand, and a bitter smile on her strong features.

But from the sigh of relief that broke involuntarily from the lips of Uncle Fred it was apparent that the coast was clear. Really, Adrian believed that if things kept going on in this way much longer, his relative would presently turn out to be as timid as some other men he had known, for instance that pilgrim of the trail, who gave his name as Mr. Thomas, and who acted as though he might be dodging a threatening hand most of the time.

Having completed their work the punchers were grouped together, exchanging many remarks after the manner of their kind; while the sweating ponies stood around, each with his bridle rein trailing on the ground.

As yet the loyal workers did not know the full extent of the opposition; they seemed to sense something unusual in the air, and as they already knew the sentiments of the men who were in touch with Mrs. Comstock and her relatives, perhaps they could give a good guess that mighty interesting developments were bound to come about in the near future, and that a change in the way things were run up in that section of country was imminent.

This was shown to Donald by the way the four loyal punchers kept in a bunch, and rubbed elbows with the three new hands, whom the young owner of the ranch had employed to help out.

The night was not far away, and from indications it promised to be one calculated to be marked with a red star in the history of the Bar-S Ranch.

Adrian wondered how his father would have handled such a situation. The thought caused him to grit his teeth, and determine that come what might he would never knuckle down to those greedy Walkers; if forced to the wall he would give up trying to run the ranch, and leave a barren desert behind him when he retired; but not one dollar of tribute would he ever knowingly pay in order to purchase immunity.

Presently he saw Donald beckoning to him, and went over to where the other chum was standing, leaning on the bars of the nearest corral.

Donald seemed to be amused over something, and of course Adrian was immediately curious to know what it meant.

"Tell me, so I can laugh with you, Donald," he remarked; "things look so serious all about us that it'd do me a heap of good just to have one little chuckle, if only I knew of anything funny. What's been happening around here?"

"Why, it's this way," replied the other, looking to right and left first, as though he did not want any one to overhear what he meant to say, for Donald never hurt anybody's feelings if he could avoid it; "your Uncle Fred came along here, and chancing to see Charley Moo, he made all sorts of gestures until he caught his eye, and then beckoned him over."

"Sure," Adrian went on to say, "to give him orders for supper, I reckon; because there's a raft of hungry punchers to feed tonight; and they tell me that Aunt Josie never bothers her head about what the boys get to eat, because her supper is cooked privately, and as a rule she eats it alone, uncle preferring to mess with his hands."

"Well, I guess this night Uncle Fred's a little mite afraid your aunt might take a notion to eat with the boys, like lots of women folks do on ranches down our way, so as to civilize the savages, they say. Anyhow, I heard him give the c.h.i.n.k his orders all right, and after he was through he called Charley Moo back; and what d'ye think he told him?"

"How do you expect me to guess?" demanded Adrian.

"Well," continued the amused boy, "he explained that he wanted the cook to fetch some supper for him out to the corral, when all the rest were busy working their jaws-said that he felt that some one should be on guard _all_ the time, and knowing how hungry the hard-working punchers were, he didn't have the heart to keep any one of them away from his feed. What do you think of that; a poor excuse is better than none at all, ain't it, Ad?"

"So they say," chuckled the other, who of course knew full well just why Uncle Fred did not care to enter the long room where the men took their meals, lest he see the figure of his wife at the head of the table, and be made to appear small in the eyes of the punchers.

"There, look at Mr. Comstock now!" exclaimed Donald, suddenly; "he seems excited, and keeps looking through his gla.s.ses as though he had sighted something or other. I wonder whether it turns out to be the sheriff's posse, or the rustlers?"

CHAPTER XXIII.

TO HAVE AND TO HOLD.

"I can see dust over there," Adrian hastened to remark, after he had taken a good look; "and it doesn't seem to be in the quarter where Uncle Fred told me he expected to see the sheriff's posse show up, sooner or later."

"Then that means it must be the rustlers coming!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Billie, who had arrived in time to catch this last remark on the part of the other chum.

He handled his rifle nervously as he stared toward the point on the horizon, already growing dim as the day faded.

"Well, don't worry, Billie," Donald told him, "because they ain't going to come down on us in the daytime. P'raps, after all, it's only a few wanting to take a survey, so as to report what's been done."

"They'll see all the cattle penned up in the corrals, then, won't they?"

asked the fat boy, anxiously.

"Easy enough," replied Donald; "but much good that'll do them. If they want to, let 'em go back and tell Hatch Walker what we've been doing."

"I really believe you wouldn't mind much if they just did take a notion to drop in on us tonight, and make a try to break away with all the long-horns?" Billie observed, as he saw the look on Donald's dark sun-burned face.