CHAPTER V
AT THE QUICKSANDS
“Sounds like it’s coming from the east, which means that herd is safe!”remarked Bob, as he and his chum stood in the faint light of earlymorning, listening eagerly to the sounds of cattle moving—the clickingof long-horns striking, the peculiar snap of hoofs, and every now andthen a low bellow from some steer that had been prodded to keep him inline with the course leading to the big corral.
“Listen again!” exclaimed Frank, with evident satisfaction in his voice.
“Did you think you caught sounds, too, from over in the otherdirection?” asked Bob, seeing his chum appeared to have his attentionturned that way.
“Yes, I’m sure of it,” came the reply.
“That would mean both herds are safe, then, Frank?”
“Glad to say it looks that way,” replied the other, whose keen hearingcould often catch sounds that were unheard by the less keen ears of Bob.
Presently there could be no doubt about it. From two directions camegreat herds of prime cattle, steers, cows and calves partly grown, andmany ready to be branded at the fall round-up so near at hand.
For a time there was more or less excitement, as the herds were driventhrough the gateway into the great corral, where they could findabundant pasturage for a day or two, while the main body of cowboys wereaway. Several men must be left behind to attend to the cattle, and thesecould during the day drive the big herd forth to the nearest grass andwater.
After breakfast ponies were looked after, and a thousand and onepreparations made that had an ominous significance. Had the rustler,Pedro Mendoza, only been able to look in on Circle Ranch just then, itmust have flattered his pride to know what an upheaval his raid hadcreated. And possibly it may have also rendered him a bit uneasy,because of the warlike signs which those determined cowboys manifestedas they prepared to take to the trail.
Colonel Haywood would not hurry, however.
“We’ve got the whole day before us, boys,” he said, when some of themore impatient urged that they get away faster, “and others to follow,if need be. They can’t drive a big herd away faster than we can follow,if only we keep to the trail. We must watch out all the while fortrickery. Mendoza has won out that way every time he ran off a bunch ofcattle, deceiving those who tried to follow. And this time we mean tofollow him to his secret cache, remember that, boys!”
“Hurrah! that’s the talk!” shouted several, their confidence in thewisdom of their employer returning.
In due time, then, a determined body of cowboys galloped away from theranch buildings, heading for the range where Andy and Clem had beenwatching their herd at the time of the night raid.
Besides the Colonel, and the two saddle boys, there were ten well armedmen in the group of riders that clattered away, with the customary vimof their class, waving their hats to those who could not take part inthe ride, and apparently filled with the utmost enthusiasm.
Bart Heminway was there for his advice would prove valuable undercertain conditions; because the foreman was a veteran in the cattleline. Besides, he had long been known as something of a fighter, and incase they came to a pitched battle with the rustlers, his experiencewould be worth considerable.
Bob was naturally deeply interested in everything he saw and heard.While he had now been in the Southwest more than a year, this was hisfirst experience in a dangerous foray against those pests of thestockmen, the cattle rustlers. And Bob had heard so much about Mendozaand his night riders that, boylike, he was anxious to actually see theclever Mexican at close quarters.
“What do you think your father will do, Frank, if we manage to findwhere Mendoza hangs out?” he asked his chum as they galloped along,Domino and Buckskin having little trouble in keeping up with the balanceof the horses.
“That depends a good deal on what Mendoza does himself,” replied Frank.“If he’s wise enough to vamoose at sight of us, perhaps we won’t get acrack at any of the bunch. But if he tries to stand by the herd, andfight for it, I reckon there’ll be some warm doings, Bob.”
“I hope we can follow the trail; and for the life of me I can’t see howthey could hide the marks of fifty head of cattle. It must take prettyfine work, Frank, to do that, don’t you think?”
“Oh! they’re up to all that sort of thing,” Frank replied. “I’ve heardsome of our boys say an Indian would be clumsy at hiding tracksalongside a few of Mendoza’s best hands. But wait and see what happens,Bob; perhaps we’ve got a few fellows along just as smart at finding atrail as they are at hiding one.”
“I hope so,” Bob rejoined. “I’d just hate to have to go home like awhipped dog, that carries his tail between his legs. And Frank, don’tyou remember what your father said about Thunder Mountain, and how wesaw a string of horses being led into the canyon that night?”
“Sure,” replied Frank, quickly and significantly; “that’s part of thegame. We’re bound to scratch Thunder Mountain all over with a fine-toothcomb before we give up beat. If Mendoza does have a hidden cache in somelittle valley, where he keeps his stolen herds, and changes the brandsbefore driving them to market, we expect to find it, and get back ourproperty.”
“We must be getting near the place where Andy wrangled his herd lastnight,” Bob went on.
“Right ahead there,” replied Frank. “How are you feeling just now, Bob?”
“Fine and dandy; and just wild to know how we’re going to come out,” Bobanswered. “Fact is, I wouldn’t have a single care or worry on my mindright now, if it wasn’t for that knife!”
“Oh! rats! will you never forget that, Bob? I was in hopes you’d dreamwhere it was,” laughed Frank.
“Well, I didn’t, and that’s a fact,” the other went on, with a quicklook at his chum’s face; “and I don’t suppose you did, either, Frank?”
“I should say not, Bob. I give you my word I’ve never set eyes on thatblade since I saw you use it the day before yesterday.”
“Oh! where was that, Frank; perhaps you might give me a little clue, andthere’s no telling what it might lead to,” demanded the Kentucky boy,eagerly.
“Why, don’t you remember about it?” asked Frank.
“No, I can’t just seem to get a line on it,” Bob answered, gloomily.“Seems to just come to me, and then it slips away. I used the knife, yousay; was it when we were eating lunch on that little hunt we took,Frank?”
“No. Have you forgotten that you started in to show me how much you knewabout cutting up a deer the right way?” Frank asked, still laughing athis chum.
“Well, I declare, that’s a fact, Frank; of course I had to use my knifewhen I carved that antelope you ‘tolled’ up with your red handkerchief,and knocked over before he was able to satisfy his curiosity. But,Frank, I’m nearly _dead_ sure I can remember having the knife_after_ that—while we were eating, for instance.”
“Perhaps you did, Bob, but honest, that’s the last time I can rememberseeing you use it. Here we are at the place now. And watch how ourtrailers get busy.”
Two of the cow punchers, who were known to be superior hands atfollowing an obscure trail, were thrown out ahead. The rest kept just alittle to the rear, since they did not wish to interfere.
Even one who was known as a greenhorn could have followed the broadtrail of fifty head of cattle, leaving that spot. These men were doingmore. As they rode back and forth, their keen eyes on the constant watchfor signs, they began to pick up facts that would presently tell themjust how many of the rustlers there had been in the party.
“Eight all told,” one of the men reported presently; “an’ the pony withthe cloven hoof is one Spanish Joe used to ride when he was on ourrange.”
Bob listened to this with growing wonder. He could not for the life ofhim see how the actual number of the thieves could be discovered soearly in the pursuit.
“I’m sure to learn a heap before we get back to the ranch again,” hementioned to his chum.
“I just reckon you will,” Frank replied, with a grim smile;
for he knewbetter than the boy from Kentucky what difficulties would have to besurmounted, and what dangers encountered, ere they could wrest thatstolen herd from the lawless men in whose possession it now remained.
An hour’s riding, and the party brought up beyond the Purple Sage mesa,where, on that former occasion, the dozen cattle that had vanished incompany with Old Baldy had been traced, to have the trail end near thedreaded quicksands that had swallowed occasional stray mavericks foryears.
Some of the cowboys looked serious, as though they feared that awholesale sacrifice had been made to the deceptive sands, which nevergave up anything upon which they had fastened their terrible grip.
“Don’t you believe anything of the sort for a minute, boys,” declaredthe stockman, positively, as they sat in the saddles looking at thedeceptive hole which seemed to invite them on, as offering a short-cutacross the nearby mountain passes. “Fifty head of fine cattle didn’tdrop in there last night; and driven by expert cow punchers at that. Getbusy now, and find out just where the trail turned to the right or left,no matter how it was covered up later. Here’s where we turn over a page,and expose Senor Mendoza’s fine hand. On the jump, everybody now!”