CHAPTER V.
AT THE HARKNESS RANCH.
"Silver Tip!" echoed Rob, as the immense monarch of the Arizona forestcrashed his way off through the undergrowth. "Well, when you told usabout him on the steamer, you didn't exaggerate his size. He's as big asa pony."
"Plenty of bear steaks on him," remarked Tubby judiciously.
"I guess you'd find them well seasoned with lead," laughed Harry. "Everyhunter in this part of the country has shot at Silver Tip, and plenty ofthem have hit him, but he always managed to get away. The Indians andthe Mexicans are scared of him. They think he is not a bear at all, butsome sort of demon in animal form. Eh, Jose?"
"Silvree Teep mucho malo bear," grunted the Mexican. "Only can kill withsilver bullet."
"What do you think of that," laughed Harry. "But our hunters have wastedtoo many lead bullets on old Silver Tip to try him with silver ones. Butin spite of his wonderful good fortune hitherto, that bear's day willcome."
"Like a dog's," commented Tubby. "You know they say every dog has hisday--I guess it's the same way with that old sockdolliger."
"That's so, I guess," rejoined Harry.
Soon afterward they clattered and rumbled down a steep grade leadingfrom the canyon into a wooded, green dip in the foothills. Before themsuddenly spread out the vista of apparently illimitable pasture grounds,dotted with feeding cattle. In the foreground, half hidden by bigcotton-wood trees, and overtopped by a windmill and water tank, stood along, low ranch house, with numerous outbuildings and corrals about it.
"That's the range," said Harry, pointing. And as the boys broke into anadmiring chorus, the mules plunged forward into a brisk trot. In a shorttime the outer gate was reached, and opened by dint of pulling a hangingcontrivance which worked on a system of levers, that opened and closedthe gate at the will of whoever was entering or leaving, withoutobliging them to dismount.
Around the bunkhouse stood a group of cowboys in leather chapareros andrough blue shirts, awaiting the call to supper in the low, red-paintedcook-house. Some of them were gathered about a tin basin, removing thegrime of the day. In a large corral were their ponies, browsing on arailed-off stack of grain hay, and occasionally kicking and biting andsquealing, as some fractious soul among them instigated a fight.
Suddenly a door in the ranch house opened, and a figure, which the boysrecognized as that of Mr. Harkness, emerged. His hands were extended ina hearty welcome, and a smile wreathed his bronzed features.
"Hulloa, boys!" he hailed. "Welcome to the Harkness ranch."
The boys broke into a cheer, and leaping from the wagon, ran forward togreet their kind-hearted host, whom they had last met on the deck of astranded steamer on the Long Island shoals.
After the first chorus of greetings and questions had passed, Mr.Harkness inquired what had delayed them.
"Indians," rejoined Harry. "They tried to steal mules going down, andthey robbed the boys here of their small change on their way up."
The face of the rancher grew graver.
In response to his questions, Rob had soon placed him in possession ofthe facts surrounding the appearance of the Moquis at the water hole andthe subsequent events.
"We shall have to keep a sharp eye on the cattle, then," he saidsoberly. "I've got a bunch over on the far range, right up in thefoothills. If these gentry get hungry they are likely to make a raid onthem, or they may even do it out of pure wantonness."
"Yes, it wouldn't be the first time," said Harry. "By the way, pop, wemet Mr. Mayberry, the Indian agent, on the way up. He's after them."
"That's bad," gravely commented the rancher.
"Bad!" repeated Harry. "Why, dad, I've heard you yourself say that hewas the best Indian agent you ever knew."
"So he is, in a sense. But he is too kind-hearted. What those renegaderascals need is a file of soldiers with fixed bayonets and a burningdesire to use them. However, come in, boys. Jose, wake up and put thosetrunks off. Get two men to help you bring them into the house. Come in,boys, and make yourselves at home in a rancher's shanty."
Mr. Harkness may have called it a shanty, but to the boys' eyes therehad seldom been presented a more attractive interior than that of theHarkness ranch house. The furniture was dark and heavy, and the wallswere hung with trophies of the hunt. Bright-colored Navajo rugs were allabout, lending a brilliant dash of brightness to the dark woods andwalls. At one end of the room was a huge open fireplace, which was nowfilled with fresh green boughs.
"Why--why, it's great!" exclaimed Rob, glancing about him admiringly.
"Glad you like it," said the rancher, evidently well pleased at theboy's pleasure. "Those heads there are all the tale of my rifle."
"The collection is only lacking in one thing--a single item," commentedRob.
"Which is----"
"The head of Silver Tip, the giant grizzly."
"You know about him, then?" Mr. Harkness seemed much surprised. At thetime of his leaving the stranded ship he had not overheard theconversation between his son and the Boy Scouts.
"We've seen him," put in Tubby, nodding his head very sagely.
Then of course the story of their glimpse of the monster had to comeout.
"It is unusual for Silver Tip to be about here at this time of year,"commented Mr. Harkness. "He usually does not visit us till later. That'san additional peril to the cattle."
"How is that?" inquired Rob.
"In two ways. In the first place, Silver Tip is what we call a roguegrizzly. He lives all alone, hunts by himself, and has nothing to dowith any others of his kind. He is as cruel, wantonly so, as he isformidable. For instance, last winter he killed fifty or more head ofsteers just for the sheer love of killing. Then, too, he is dangerous inanother way. It takes very little to stampede a band of cattle. I haveseen them started by a jack-rabbit leaping up suddenly from the brush.The sight of such an appalling monster as Silver Tip would be sure tostart them off. No, I certainly don't like to hear that he is about."
Not long after this remark the announcement of supper put an end tofurther discussion of Silver Tip and his ways. Then and there Robdetermined in his own mind that, if it were possible, the skin of thatinaccessible monster would journey East with him when he returned.Absurd as the idea seemed, of him, an Eastern boy, green in the ways ofthe West, winning such a trophy, still Rob could not help dwelling onit. After the meal Mr. Harkness left the house for the bunkhouse, togive some orders to the night-riding cow-punchers. The news of the nearneighborhood of the Moquis had made him nervous and unsettled.
The evening passed away in further discussion among the boys of theproposed mounted patrol of Boy Scouts, and before they knew it, teno'clock had arrived. Pretty well fatigued by the events of the day, theywere not unwilling to seek their beds, which were situated in threesmall upper rooms, directly above the big main living room.
Rob was just dropping off into unconsciousness when he heard aclattering of hoofs outside. Somebody had ridden up to the ranch houseat full speed.
"Who is it?" he heard asked in Mr. Harkness's voice.
"It's me--Pete Bell," an excited voice rejoined, evidently that of thehorseman who had just arrived.
"Well, Pete, what is it?" inquired the voice of Mr. Harkness once more.
"Why, sir, you know I was one of the bunch you sent to the far pastureto-night."
"Yes, yes! Go on, man! What is it--the Indians?"
"No, sir, no Indians. But, sir, we've seen it again."
"What, that foolish ghost-story thing! Haven't you fellows got overharping on that yet?"
"It ain't imagination, Mr. Harkness, as you seem to think," Rob heardthe cow-puncher protest. "I seen it with these eyes as plain as I seeyou now. It come out on the cliff where the old cave dwellings are, andwe saw it wring its hands a few times and then vanish just like it'salways done before."
"Nonsense, Pete," replied the hard-headed rancher. "I thought you knewbetter than to take stock in ghost stories."
"So I do, sir; but when you see
the ghost itself, that's getting closeto home."
"Well, get back to the pasture now, Pete, and I'll guarantee the ghostwon't bother you any more. Come on, get some color in your face. You arechattering like a child."
"Won't you send somebody back with me, sir? That thing ought to belooked into."
"Nonsense! I wouldn't waste time, men or thought on such rubbish. If youget track of any Indians, let me know, but don't bother me with anyghost stories. Now be off!"
"Y-y-yes, sir," said the cow-puncher obediently, but Rob noted that hispony didn't travel back toward the far pasture as fast as it had comeaway from it.
"So," thought Rob to himself, "there are haunted cliff dwellings nearhere, as well as a rogue grizzly and a bunch of bad Indians. Well, itlooks as if we had fallen into an ideal spot for Boy Scouts."