Ted Strong in Montana Part 41

"I don't know you, bub. I'm from Missouri. You'll have to show me."

Ted exposed his star of authority.

"Does that go?" he asked. "Because if it don't, this will."

His revolver was out of its holster like a flash, much to the surprise of the liveryman, who had been somewhat of a bad man himself in his day, and gun plays were not uncommon at Rodeo.

He gazed mildly into the bore of the big, silver-mounted forty-five, and then murmured:

"It goes, pal."

CHAPTER XX.

KNIFE AND FANG.

Several days had pa.s.sed since the fight at Helen Mowbray's house, and Ted Strong and the broncho boys were again at the Bubbly Well Ranch.

The remains of Helen Mowbray had been laid to rest near the major's ranch house in a little lot surrounded by a low fence, and her treasure was safely stored away in the safe in the major's bedroom.

The period of their visit to the ranch house was past, but still they stayed to help the major to get word of his brother Frederic Caruthers, alias Fancy Farnsworth, alleged to be the worst man in Arizona.

Where he might be none knew, of course, but Ted was of the opinion that he was still somewhere in Arizona, and not far away, either.

He could not have told why he believed so, but he had one of his "hunches" to that effect, and believed it as surely as if he knew it for a fact.

Ted had seen his hunches turn out true so often that he did not attempt now to distrust them.

Somehow, he felt that everything was to come out all right some day, and that he would find Farnsworth, or Frederic Caruthers, to be more exact, and Ted always reproached himself when he thought of the young fellow by his false name.

One morning Ted awoke before the dawn, sitting upright in bed, listening for a sound, but heard nothing unusual.

This was one of Ted's habits--to be aroused by some unknown sense in the night when danger threatened.

Hearing nothing, he got out of bed, and sat on its edge and listened again.

"Wonder what waked me?" he muttered to himself. He was not in the least sleepy, as he would have been if he had wakened naturally.

"I don't think I was dreaming," he continued to mumble to himself. "And it wasn't a noise. Must have been a hunch. Guess I'll get up and see if there's anything wrong about here."

He slipped swiftly into his clothes, and sauntered through the living room.

It was just beginning to get light outside, and the windows were gray, while all else in the room was still dark.

He opened the door and stepped out into the chill morning.

Then he heard a noise, but so faint that it couldn't have been that which had disturbed him from his sound sleep, he thought.

But as the sound came nearer on the clear, thin morning air, and he recognized it and realized its significance, he knew that it was this fine, almost indistinguishable sound that had penetrated in some mysterious manner to his inner ear and called him from his sleep.

It was the cry of a hungry and angry wolf.

At last he located the sound off to the east, but as yet he could see nothing, for it was not yet light enough, and a thin mist, like a mirage, hung over the surface of the sandy prairie and obscured the view.

For a long time he stood listening to the long-drawn and savage howl, thinned out by the distance and mist, but he knew that it was coming nearer, and that the animal that was making it was not only hungry, but that it was a master wolf. It was none of the gaunt, half-starved, cowardly brutes that follow in the pack and take what the master wolf leaves of the sc.r.a.ps of the murdered calf or sick cow or sheep which the leaders of the pack have pulled down.

He had heard before the yells of these kings of the packs of savage prairie wolves, and they were masterful indeed, and could easily be distinguished above the feebler pipings of the wolf rabble.

Suddenly the sun came up and the mists disappeared as by magic, and it was light.

Ted looked steadily toward the place from which the howls had come when it was dark, and saw a spot against the earth.

It was either a pony or a cow, and it was in trouble, for it came on very uncertainly, running sideways, stopping for a moment to kick, then running on again.

Ted immediately saw what was the matter. It was being pursued by the wolves he had heard.

The wolves were running with it, perhaps had been chasing it all night, and were snapping it its heels, trying to hamstring it.

He thought it was a small, lean cow from this distance, and wondered at its courage, and if it would last until it got close enough to where there were human beings to be safe from further pursuit.

At first he thought of going inside and putting on his coat and boots and getting his arms and starting out toward it on his pony. But this was too much trouble, and he stood watching the tragedy of the plain, hoping for the plucky animal that was doing its best to outrun and outwit the wolves, for they were close enough now for him to see that there were four of the gray devils of the prairie.

But only one of them was worthy of a second look--a great, gray brute much larger than his mates and twice as courageous.

Ted thought it strange that the wolf king was not doing as the others did; that is, running up behind their victim and making a slash at his legs with their razorlike fangs, then retreating with a whining howl when they felt the heels of the poor brute they were tormenting.

No, the big wolf was leaping high into the air from the side, evidently trying to reach something that was fastened to the pony's back--for now Ted was able to distinguish what it was.

It was a bay pony, rather small, and almost all in with fatigue.

Something baggy was tied to its back, which resembled a bundle of old clothes.

Once, as he watched, Ted saw the pony go to its knees, actually tired out and weak.

But it was up again, and struggling bravely on again.

"Plucky little beggar," muttered Ted, in admiration. "Wish I had taken my first hunch and ridden out to help it. By Jove, it's not too late yet!"

Without going into the house Ted jumped to the ground and ran out to meet the pony and its enemies.

It did not occur to him that he was not armed until he was halfway to them. Then he felt in his pocket and found his big-bladed knife.

Taking this out, he sprang open the big blade and carried it loosely.

He had stooped and picked up a large stone, which he carried in his hand.