The Broncho Rider Boys on the Wyoming Trail Part 2

"I never just knew," replied Donald, seriously; "but the boys took after him, and from that day to this I've never set eyes on his yellow face again. I sometimes think they must have lynched the scoundrel, though n.o.body would ever let on."

"Well, he sure deserved it," muttered Billie; "but say, I hope now we ain't going any further this same day. I'd like Jupiter to have some rest; and besides, I want to rub his poor blistered back here with some witch hazel, and put some salve on. When I ride tomorrow I'll see there's a good pad under my saddle, you hear me."

That was just like generous, good-hearted Billie. He would never harm any sort of domestic animal, which accounted for his anger toward the thoughtless hostler who in order to have a little fun, and see the fat boy throw his arms around the neck of his mount, as he imagined would come to pa.s.s, had taken advantage of his opportunity to play such a wicked trick.

"Oh! we'd already decided that!" declared Adrian.

"And we stop somewhere close by, do we?" asked Billie, anxiously; "because, like as not this terrible work will give me something of an appet.i.te, and I'll be wanting to start supper a little earlier than usual tonight-now, don't laugh, boys; I know it's hard on the rest of you that nature made me so big I have to eat for two; but I just can't help it. And that work used up all my dinner, you see."

They had long ago stopped arguing with Billie with regard to his abnormal appet.i.te. Sometimes one or the other would joke him about it, but they never tried to cut him short on his rations.

Looking around Adrian quickly decided that they had come upon as good a place to spend this the last night on the Wyoming trail as any that could be found.

"What better could heart wish?" he put it up to them; "with this fine little watercourse running zigzag along, and right here a motte of timber where we can make our camp? And there are several riders heading toward us, that perhaps we might try and pump, so as to get some information about the Bar-S Ranch. That landlord at the tavern didn't seem to know anything."

"Look like cowboys too," declared Billie, after an anxious glance toward those who were galloping in their direction; for Billie knew that on the plains it is hardly wise to trust any one you happen to meet until they have proved their t.i.tle to be looked on as friends.

"Oh! come, don't keep feeling for your gun that is strapped so safely to your back, Billie," said Adrian, laughing. "There are only three in the bunch, and they're sure enough punchers. Let's give them the cowboy salute, and show that we happen to be of the same stripe; though I reckon our outfit tells that already."

"Yes," added Donald, "and don't forget, Billie, that we said we'd keep mum about Adrian here being the owner of the Bar-S Ranch. Just say we belong down Arizona-way, and have come up here to look around. People mind their own business generally speaking, here on the plains, and they won't pry into our affairs when they see we don't care to open up."

"All the same, I'd like to ask a few questions myself," Adrian went on to say. "It might be right useful to us if we could get a line on what's going on up around the Bar-S, before we arrived."

"A good idea," commented Billie, quickly. "They say forewarned is forearmed, you know; and if we learn something is crooked, why, you'll be able to figure on what you ought to do, eh, Ad?"

"Just what I will, Billie," replied the other, grimly; "though it's hard for me to even suspect my uncle of stealing. If you knew what a spirited little man he used to be, and what a high sense of honor he had, you'd understand that. But keep quiet about these things now, Billie, for here they come galloping up, waving their hats, and whooping like mad."

The three cow-punchers quickly pulled in when apparently about to ride the others down, and hearty salutations followed on both sides.

They were just such rough riders as may be found scattered all over the country where cattle are raised for the market, requiring a host of das.h.i.+ng fellows to herd them, brand the mavericks and youngsters, and keep the drove from being stolen by rustlers or preyed upon by wild animals.

Just as they had planned to do, the three boys told that they were from a ranch away down in the Southwest, coming up in the Northern country just to look around, and see how things were done here. Adrian had quickly made sure that he did not know any one of the men, and this seemed to promise that they could not have the least suspicion regarding his own ident.i.ty.

It was Donald who led the conversation to the subject of the ranches within a radius of fifty miles; and when one of the others happened to mention the Bar-S among several, the Arizona boy remarked:

"Seems to me I've heard considerable about that same Bar-S Ranch. And whoever it was told me must have said it was a bang-up outfit, as smart as any in Wyoming. Let's see, it's owned by a man named Comstock, ain't it, pards?"

He saw the three cowboys turn toward each other, and thought a flicker of a smile pa.s.sed over their weather-beaten faces, while one winked his eye at the same time.

"Oh! Fred Comstock he's on'y manager of that Bar-S Ranch," replied one.

"He _used_ to be," chuckled a second, "and as husky a little manager as you'd be apt to run up against in a month out here."

"Why, who's the manager now, then?" asked Adrian, rather startled; for he had not had any intimation of a change; and certainly nothing of the kind had ever been inst.i.tuted with his consent.

At that the three cow-punchers chuckled some more.

"Why, you see, everybody reckons as how _Mrs._ Fred Comstock she holds the whip hand over pore old Fred; and runs things as she feels like at the Bar-S," came the puzzling reply.

Then Adrian remembered that a year and more ago he had heard that Uncle Fred, being an old bachelor, had married; though the woman whom he had taken to his heart was utterly unknown to the boy. He had sent them his best wishes, and a generous present at the time, and then forgotten all about it, because a boy of Adrian's age could hardly be expected to care in the slightest degree about such things.

"Oh! is that it?" remarked Donald, elevating his eyebrows. "Seems to me I heard that this same Fred Comstock was a little terror, and his punchers minded him from the word go. Has he changed any since he got in double harness, boys?"

"Changed any?" echoed one of the rough riders, with a grin; "well, you'd never know it was the same old Fred Comstock these fine days. He ain't got a bit of s.p.u.n.k any more, seems like. She just orders him around like he was a waterboy. Reckon that woman must be a terror when she gets mad, and everybody says as how Fred he had both his eyes black for a month before he give in. She runs the ranch as she sees fit. But that ain't the wust of it, neither."

"Why, what more could there be, with poor old Fred Comstock sat down on in such a way?" demanded Donald, noticing that the three men looked toward each other, and acted in a mysterious fas.h.i.+on, as though afraid about saying too much.

"Well, we don't want our names mentioned in the matter," said one, finally; "but you see, this Mrs. Fred was one of the Walkers before she got spliced."

"And who are the Walkers?" continued Donald, bent on learning all he could, for the benefit of his chum, who was listening eagerly, his face filled with surprise, because all this was indeed news to him.

"The Walkers-well, they happen to be a pretty numerous family in Wyoming at the present time," replied his informant, cautiously.

"They got three ranches down south from here, and people says as how-"

began a second cow-puncher, when one of his mates held up a finger warningly-"well, all I'm agoin' to say is that lots of people believe they ain't runnin' them three ranches jest for the cattle they raise.

Some say the Walkers are bootleggers in the dry counties, acarryin'

licker when it's against the law. Others have gone further and call 'em a bunch of cattle rustlers; but as for _me_, kids, remember that I ain't asayin' anything agin that bunch, I don't know a thing; I'm just tellin'

what I heard other folks say."

"It may be true, and agin it might be a pack o' lies," a second remarked, as he prepared to start off again, after shaking hands with Adrian and his chums.

"But where there's smoke there's nearly always fire," observed Donald, sagaciously, as he in turn took the hand of each of the three genial punchers in his.

"You never spoke truer words, my friend," said the last man, leaning down to speak in a low tone, as though he feared that the trees might carry what he said to hostile ears; "and while you're around these diggin's best remember not to get _too much_ interested in what the Walkers are adoin'. They seem to have a wide chain o' friends, and n.o.body ain't ever had the grit to round that bunch up, so far. We used to work on the Bar-S before _she_ came there, but it soon got too warm for us, and we quit. So-long, boys; hope you get safe back again down in old Arizona, where some of us may drop in later on; and if we do, we'll sure hunt up the Keystone Ranch, and ask for Donald Mackay."

With that he too whirled his cow pony around, and waving his hand to the boys, went off at a reckless pace in a cloud of dust.

CHAPTER IV.

THE NIGHT ALARM.

"That was a time you got some news that looks like it staggered you, Adrian," remarked Billie, after the three cow-punchers had dashed away, on their road west.

"Seems like it," declared the one addressed, who was scratching his head in a puzzled way; "but do you know, it's hard to believe that any sort of woman could get the whip-hand over my Uncle Fred. Why, there never was a more fiery and determined character. He ran things with an iron hand, even that puncher admitted as much. How he could be brought under a woman's thumb is more'n I can understand."

"Oh!" spoke up Donald, sagaciously, "you don't know how some women can manage. And from the way that fellow mentioned Mrs. Fred I reckon now that she's that big she can just fling her hubby around like a cat, when she's riled up. Two black eyes is going some, and for a whole month too!

Looks like you might be getting a little closer to an explanation of the queer things that have been going on up here on your Bar-S Ranch, Chum Adrian."

"Yes, it looks like it," agreed the other; "but I'll never believe Uncle Fred is ruled by a petticoat till I see it with my own eyes. He's a small man, but a masterful fighter. I can remember him flinging a fellow twice his heft in a wrestling match; for Uncle Fred has been in j.a.pan, and learned the ju jitsu way of doing an antagonist up."

"Mebbe he has," remarked Billie, who was taking pains to search his pack for the bottle of witch-hazel, meaning to get to work easing the pain of the lame back Jupiter had; "but seems like it don't work with a female sc.r.a.pper; or else your unk is too gallant a gentleman to apply such strong tactics against the wife of his bosom, so he lets her get the best of every scrimmage, till his spirit is broken-leastwise that was what our cowboy friend seemed to imply just now."

"It's something to think about, anyhow," observed Donald; "and for one I'm right glad we ran across those punchers. And we know about the Walkers, too. Fine bunch to have around, ain't they, now? And Mrs. Fred, he took pains to tell us, was one of the Walkers before she got married!

There's a n.i.g.g.e.r in this woodpile somewhere, Adrian, and looks like it might be up to us to find out just where."