Ted Strong in Montana Part 12

"What was it?" asked Stella, when Ted, having finished his gruesome task, returned to her side.

"The chap who was mutilating the cattle is dead," he replied. "The bulls turned upon him and gored and trampled him to death."

"Horrible! Do you know who he was?"

"Yes, I recognized him."

"Is that a fact! Who was he?"

"An old enemy of yours."

"An enemy of mine! I didn't know I had one."

"Not really of your own, for no one who knows you could feel any animosity toward you, Stella. But you have enemies through me. Those who would seek to hurt me do so by making trouble for you, knowing that they can hurt me worse by injuring you than they could by torturing me personally."

"That's why you have so often warned me to be careful where I go alone."

"That is why. It is not fair that you should be put to discomfort or in danger of death merely because I make enemies by trying to force men to obey the laws."

"I understand. But who was the man who was killed?"

"Sol Flatbush."

"Sol Flatbus.h.!.+ How does it happen that he is in this country?"

"I'm sure I don't know, unless he and Shan Rhue, after escaping from the Wichita Mountains, came directly here, having previously been members of the notorious Whipple gang."

"Then I suppose we shall see Shan Rhue one of these days. Ted, I'm afraid of that fellow. When they had me in the Hole in the Wall I heard him make the most horrible threats against you."

"Threats don't hurt, Stella. The threatened man lives long. You know the old proverb: 'The man I most fear is he who says nothing, but smiles in your face while he is planning to stab you in the back.'"

They were turned toward the ranch house, and as darkness was falling swiftly, conversation was suspended as they put their ponies to their highest speed, galloping across the snow-covered range toward where they could see the lantern of the house s.h.i.+ning like a beacon through the gloom.

For the safety of the boys and the cow-punchers traveling toward the ranch house in the dark, Ted had placed a large lantern on the top of the flagstaff which stood in the front yard, so that it could be seen for miles at night to guide wanderers.

This had been suggested by his experience the first night they had spent at the house.

Those of the boys who were not riding line were stopping at the house, and they were all in the big living room awaiting the coming of Ted and Stella.

When Stella was late in arriving at the house, Mrs. Graham began to grow anxious and worried, and this was communicated to the others.

But when they heard Ted's ringing yell outside, as he and Stella galloped up, there were shouts of gladness inside, and the big door was thrown open, allowing a broad path of light to fall across the prairie, as two cow-punchers came bounding down the steps to take the ponies to the corral.

After supper Ted told of the maiming of the cattle and the death of Sol Flatbush.

It was part of the life at the ranch that bad news of any sort was never told at the table during meals, and if any of the fellows had a grievance or was in trouble he tried to keep that fact out of his face and look as merry as he could while the others were eating. If he wanted to tell his troubles later, and any one was willing to listen, all right and good, but mealtime was glad time where the broncho boys and their friends sat down together.

While they were sitting before the great fireplace after supper, Clay Whipple was looking into the flames with a preoccupied air.

He had been silent all evening, an unusual thing for him, for usually he injected humorously dry comments into general conversations.

"What's the trouble, Clay?" asked Stella, who was always the first to notice when one of the boys was not his usual self.

"Oh, I don't know," said Clay uneasily.

"Reckon he's worryin' some on account o' this yere mountain bandit bein'

ther same name as him," laughed a cow-puncher named "Pike" Bander.

"I reckon you're only jos.h.i.+n', Pike," said Clay quietly, but growing a shade paler.

"Why, sh.o.r.e, Clay. Yer didn't think I wuz in earnest?" Pike hastened to say.

Clay's Kentucky blood would not permit him to receive without resentment any reflections against the South or the people of his family, while he could stand any amount of personal jos.h.i.+ng without growing in the least touchy or angry.

"Then what's the matter?" asked Ted, as Clay returned to his gloomy contemplation of the fire.

"I'm worried some, that's all," was the reply.

"Tell your troubles to the policeman, that's us."

"Well, I might as well out with it. Only I don't want to appear as if I was gettin' panicky over nothing."

"What is it, Clay? You are so provoking when I am just dying to hear about it," cried Stella with a laugh. "Out with it."

"Injuns!" said Clay explosively.

"Indians!"

Every one around the fire sat up with a jump.

Clay nodded his head slowly without taking his eyes from the fire.

There was silence for a few minutes, for every one was turning this new menace over in their minds.

The danger from Indians in this far-away Northern country was very real.

It was not that the Indians would make any open or daring attacks, but that they were lawless and fearless of the authority of the United States, and despised the "buffalo soldiers" at the near-by army posts.

"Buffalo soldiers" is a name of contempt given by the Indians to the negro troops who had been stationed near the Blackfeet and Crow Indian agencies, on account of their curly, woolly hair, which, in the fantastic minds of the Indians, resembled the short, curly hair on the shoulders of the buffalo.

The negro troops were too near their own color to demand much respect from the Indians.

But the danger did not come so much from the reservation Indians, as from the fugitive Indians who had left the reservations and had become outlaws, allying themselves with the white bandits in the mountains, and living by thievery from the ranchmen and sheep-herders.

Some of these Indians had rallied around Running Bear, a young Blackfeet, son of a chief, a graduate of the Indian School at Carlisle, in Pennsylvania.

Running Bear was a young fellow of magnificent physique, for he had been a member of the famous Indian football team of Carlisle that had a year or two previously cleared all white teams from the gridiron.

Running Bear was well educated also, and a man of fine address and manners, when he wished to be so. But he was unprincipled, and when he returned to the tribe lost no time in breaking all the laws imposed by the United States for the government and welfare of the Indians.