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Title: Ted Strong's Motor Car

Author: Edward C. Taylor

Release Date: October 11, 2004 [EBook #13717]

Language: English

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[Illustration: cover of The Western Story Library No. 41, Ted Strong's
Motor Car, by Edward C. Taylor]

Ted Strong's Motor Car

OR, FAST AND FURIOUS


By EDWARD C. TAYLOR
Author of the Ted Strong Stories

1915




Ted Strong's Motor Car

CHAPTER 1.

TALKING ABOUT SMART HOGS!


Carl Schwartz burst into the living room of the Moon Valley Ranch house
with fire in his eye and pathos in his voice:

"As sheur as I standing here am, dot schwein I'm going to kill!"'

"I'll jest bet yer a million dollars ter a piece o' custard pie yer
don't," said Bud Morgan, rising from the lounge where he had been
resting after a strenuous day in the big pasture.

"I'll pet you," shouted Carl. "Der pig pelongs mit me der same as you."

"Go ahead, then," said Bud, lying down again. "But I want ter tell yer
this, and take it from me, it's ez straight ez an Injun's hair, yer kin
kill yer own part o' thet hawg if yer want ter, but if my part dies I'll
wallop yer plenty. I've spent too much time teachin' thet pig tricks ter
lose it now."

"Vich part der pig you own, anyvay?"

"Ther best part; ther head."

"Den I dake der tail. By Chiminy, I get skvare yet so soon. I cut der
tail off, und dot vill make der pig not able to valk straight ven he
can't der tail curl in der opposite direction. Den ve see how mooch der
tricks he done. Vat?"

"I'll hev ther law on yer if yer interfere with thet pig."

"What's the matter with you two fellows?" asked Ted Strong, the leader
of the broncho boys, who was writing some letters at the big oak table
in the center of the room.

"Der pig, he moost die," cried Carl tragically.

"Why, what has 'Oof' done now?"

"He has ate all mein gabbages," answered Carl, with almost a sob.

"Well, s'posin' he hez," said Bud. "What in thunder is cabbages fer, if
they ain't ter be et by pigs?"

"Yes, you, but not fer dose kind of pig. Maybe you might eat dem und it
vould be all right, but not der pig mit four feet."

Carl had a small garden back of the ranch house, in which he had been
raising cabbages, devoting all his spare time to them and good-naturedly
taking the joshing the boys gave him. They were of the opinion that a
cow-puncher was degrading himself by working in a garden.

"Jumpin' sand hills, he'll be takin' up knittin' when winter comes on,
an' makin' of his own socks," said Bud, in disgust.

"No, he's going in for tatting," said Ben Tremont. "He's going to make a
lot of doilies for the chairs so we won't soil the satin upholstery with
our oily hair."

As all the chairs in the living room were very plain, made of solid oak,
with bullhide seats and backs, this remark was received with laughter.

"Go aheadt!" said Carl. "Ven you ain'dt drough, let me know. I know your
own bizziness. Ven der vinter comes und I haf dot deliciousness
sauerkraut, und am eating it, und ven your mouts vater so dot you
slobber like a colt off der clover, den--ah, den, I gifs you der ha-ha,
ain'dt it? Den you see who der knitting und der tatting do, eh?"

Carl laughed at the thought of how the boys would miss the sauerkraut
which he was going to make. But now "Oof," the pet pig of the
establishment, had eaten them nearly all, and was standing in his sty
too full even for the utterance of his usual lazy grunt. He looked like
an animated keg of sauerkraut with four pegs at the corners for him to
stand on, so full was he of Carl's cherished and esculent cabbages.

"How in the world did he get into the cabbage patch?" asked Ted. "I
thought you had made it pig tight."

"So did I," answered Carl. "No pig but vun mit der teufel inside him
vould haf got der fence over."

"Got over ther fence!" snorted Bud. "Why, yer feeble-minded son of a
downtrodden race, thet thar pig couldn't hev got over ther fence without
a balloon. Thet fence is six feet high. A deer couldn't jump it."

"I didn't saying so. He cannot yump, dot pig. He cannot moof, so full
mit gabbages are he. No, he didn't yump, he yoost sving himself over mit
dot fence."

"Slush! Yer gittin' plumb dotty. No pig could swing hisself over thet
fence."

"But it's der only vay vat he could, und Song, der Chineser cook, saw
him did it."

"You don't believe what a Chinyman tells yer, do yer?"

"What did Song say? How did the pig do it?" asked the boys, roused to
interest in the squabble by this statement.

"Vell, Song he say dot he vos looking der vinder ouid und he saw der pig
take der end of dot long rope vot hangs down mit der roof of der hay
house in his teeth, und he svings on it some. Song say he t'ought it vas
some of Pud's foolishment he vas teaching dot pig, und didn't no more
look at him for a leetle vile. Ven he looked again der pig vas svinging
avay oop high by der rope. Den I coom along und see der pig in der
gabbages, und I takes me a stick und vallops him goot ofer der hams,
und drife him his pen into."

"Shucks! Is that all ther story? That don't prove nothin'. Thet pig,
Oof, is a animile of high intelligence. He wuz needin' exercise before
dinner. He found a hole in ther fence, er maybe he tunneled one fer
hisself, an' he wuz jest kinder doin' some gymnasium work ter git up a
good appetite. Yer cain't make me believe a Chinyman, nohow."

"I don't know," said Ben thoughtfully, "pigs are mighty smart. He might
have swung himself over by the rope, and, if so, I think he was entitled
to his dinner as a reward for his ingenuity."

"I don't pay for no pig's inchenoomity mit my gabbages," said Carl
hotly. "Vere I get more gabbages fer der sauerkraut, tell me dot?"

"Yer don't git no sauerkraut, that's all," growled Bud. "But speakin'
about pigs bein' smart, I jest reckon they aire."

"There are three animals that people persist in calling stupid, when
they are only strong-minded and more intelligent than the other
animals," said Kit Summers, quietly breaking into the conversation.

"What aire they?" asked Bud.

"The pig, the mule, and the goose," answered Kit.

"Come ter think o' it, yer right ez a book," said Bud, rising from the
lounge and joining the other boys in front of the fireplace. "Why, I
remember onct down on the Pecos--"

Ben Tremont rose lazily and stretched himself.

"Well, so long, boys," he said. "If I ain't back for supper don't wait
for me."

"Whar yer goin'?" asked Bud, with a black look from under his brows.

"I've got some work to do this evening, and I don't want to be getting
drowsy," answered Ben, with a wink at Kit.

"Go then, yer varmint," said Bud savagely. "This yere incerdent what
I'm goin' ter relate is fer intelligent persons only."

"In that case I shall have to remain," said Ben, throwing his huge bulk
into a chair, that creaked like a house in a high wind.

"How about that Pecos story?" said Ted.

"'Tis erbout pigs."

"I didn't know there were any pigs down in that country," said Ted, with
a sly smile.

"Oh, yes, there aire. Some folks calls them peccaries, an' others
alludes ter them ez wild hawgs. Yer pays yer money an' chooses what yer
likes best."

"Well, what about them?"

"'Tain't noways what ye'd call much o' a story, but it 'lustrates ther
intelligence o' ther hawg, which in my 'pinion ez almost ez great ez
thet o' some collidge gradooates what I hev mixed with."

Bud stopped and looked hard at Ben, who seemed to be taking a nap in his
big chair.

With a snort of disgust Bud turned his back on the big fellow and began:

"Me an' 'Peep-o'-day' Thompson wuz ridin' herd on a bunch o' cattle
belongin' ter ole man Bradish. All we hed ter do wuz ter keep 'em from
driftin' too fur, which nat'rally left us much time fer meditation an'
conversation.

"But it wa'n't long before I'd told all my stories, an' Peep bed plumb
fergot I'd tole them ter him, an' wuz tellin' them all over ter me,
claimin' they'd happened ter him.

"I stood it fer a spell because I didn't want ter make no friction
betwixt him an' me, but it made me sore jest ther same, because ther
derned lump allays got ther story balled up so's I hed trouble in
reconnizin' it sometimes. An' he inveribly got ther p'int o' ther story
hindside fore, which made me jest bile. But when yer on a long watch
with a feller, an' got ter see him from sunup ter moonrise, it's better
ter overlook a lot o' things.

"Well, 's I wuz sayin', we wuz on this stunt, an' had been out all o'
three month, takin' turns cookin' an' watchin' so's one o' us could git
erway from ther other fer a spell, an' go off an' sit down an' tell
hisself what a awful chump ther other wuz, an' how yer hated him.

"We hed a chuck wagon with us filled with flour, salt sowbelly an'
saleratus, with some coffee an' a few pounds o' fine terbaccer fer
makin' cigareets. I ain't sayin' nothin' erginst sowbelly ez ther
national food o' ther plains an' ther staff o' life in farmin'
communities, but ez a steady diet it begins ter pall when taken day in
an' day out with nothin' ter wash it down with but weak coffee made
outer alkali water.

"I reckon both me an' Peep wuz gittin' tired o' one another's cookin',
if ther truth wuz knowed, fer Peep could make ther wust biscuit I ever
et.

"My biscuit jest suited me ter a ty-ty, an' I reckon Peep felt ther same
way erbout hisn. Every time we set down ter vittles, if it wuz my week
ter cook, Peep w'd begin ter talk o' ther fine cookin' his wife uster do
before she run erway with er Sant' Fe conductor down ter Raton, Noo Mex.
He'd tell me how she'd make beef stoo an' hot biscuit thet would melt in
yer mouth. 'I don't like them kind,' sez I, one day. 'I like somethin' I
kin chew on. What'd ther Lord give us teeth fer if grub is ter melt in
ther mouth? No, sir; give me mine gristle an' hide. Ther tougher they be
ther better I like 'em,' sez I.

"'Is thet thar meant ez a reflection on my wife?' sez Peep, bristlin'
up.

"'I never met yer wife,' sez I, 'an' we'll let thet part o' it pass, fer
ye knows me well enough thet I never make no remarks erbout wimminfolks
what ain't smooth an' complimentary. But I stands on ther
gristle-an'-hide propersition ontil I'm ready ter fight fer it.'

"Yer see, I wuz gettin' some peevish erbout Peep. Ole man Bradish hed
left us alone tergether too long. It ain't right fer two fellers ter
camp side by each fer so long without a third party buttin' in ter break
ther monotony.

"'All right,' sez he, unlimberin' his six foot three o' len'th from ther
ground. 'Thet,' sez he, real dignified, 'is either a challenge or a
invitation ter fight.'

"'It be,' sez I. 'Either way yer wanter take it.'

"We both riz up.

"'How d'yer want it?' sez he.

"'Please yerself,' sez I. 'Any ole holt is my fav'rite.'

"'Anythin' goes, then,' sez he, makin' a rush at me.

"Jest then we hear a turrible noise, gruntin', squealin', an' sich. We
both stopped an' looked eround, an' thar stood watchin' us a big band o'
wild hawgs.

"'Fresh meat!' we both hollers simultaneous. At this ther hawgs ups an'
runs.

"It wuz my day off, an' hostilities stopped right thar ez I runs an'
gits my rifle an' leaps my cayuse an' takes after ther hawgs, Peep
hollerin' after me ez friendly ez yer please.

"I chased them hawgs a couple o' miles ter ther river bank, whar they
hid in ther canebrake. I couldn't get ther cayuse ter go in after them,
so I gits down an' breaks my way in tryin' ter git a shot at one o'
them, my mouth waterin' fer fresh pork so's I wuz almost wadin' in it.

"Purty soon I come in sight o' them. A ole boar wuz in charge o' them,
an' he wuz a hard-lookin' citizen, I want ter tell yer. He hed tushes
five inches long an' both o' 'em ez sharp ez razors. I took a shot at
him, but his hide wuz so tough thet ther ball just glanced off him, an'
he made a break fer me. I turned an' fled. Ther river wuz not fur erway,
an' I knowed thet if I beat them hawgs ter it I wuz safe.

"I jest did it, an' waded out ez fur ez I could an' started ter swim.
'When I gits ter ther other side I'll take some long shots at yer,'
thinks I, 'an' we'll hev hawg meat yit.'

"I gits out inter ther middle o' ther stream when I hears a puffin' an'
a gruntin' behind me. I looks over my shoulder an' here comes ther whole
herd swimmin' right after me as--"

"That settles it," said Ben, as he rose with a snort of disgust.

"What's ther matter with yer?" asked Bud calmly.

"Yer story is what I thought it would be--wild and woolly and full of
cockleburs."

"How is thet ag'in?"

"It's rotten. Don't you know, as long as you have been on earth, that
swine cannot swim without committing suicide?"

"Go ahead. Will you kindly tell us fer why, perfessor?"

"Certainly. The hoofs of pigs are so sharp, and their forelegs are set
so far under their bodies, that when they attempt to swim their hoofs
strike their fat throats, cutting them, and they die from loss of
blood."

"Thet's c'rect, my son. Every schoolboy knows thet thar p'int in nat'ral
history."

"Then why are you insulting our intelligence by stating that a herd of
hogs followed you into the water and swam after you? Now don't spring
any such flower of your fancy on us as to say that the hogs all killed
themselves crossing and that you and Peep-o'-day had all the fresh meat
you wanted during the rest of your stay on the Pecos, for we won't
stand for it. I don't believe there is any such thing as a Pecos,
anyway."

Bud looked so crestfallen that the other boys felt sorry for him.

"You think you're smart, don't you?" said Kit, taking Bud's finish out
of his own mouth. "You big chump, it wasn't your story, anyhow."

"Don't worry, Kit," said Bud, smiling confidently. "Ben's so
intellectooal thet it hurts him ter pack his knowledge eround in thet
pinhead o' hisn. But he didn't finish ther story none. I knows ez well
ez him thet hawgs can't swim fer ther reasons he give. But these yere
hawgs I am tellin' erbout wuz different."

"How was that?"

"Yer see, thet thar ole boar wuz ez smart ez a copperation lawyer. He'd
fixed them hawgs ter swim. First they got thar hoofs all balled up with
gumbo, er sticky clay, then they worked ther dry grass inter ther clay
and mixed 'em good an' stiff, lettin' 'em dry in ther sun. This made a
hard ball on their toes thet jest slipped off their throats when they
struck."

Ben slipped into his chair with a grunt.

"O' course, I didn't know thet when I was swimmin'," continued Bud, 'an'
I thinks I've run ercross a new web-footed breed o' hawgs. When we come
ter ther other side I waited fer them ter land, then I turns an' swims
back, ther hawgs follerin'. Back ercross I goes erg'in, an' ther pork
keeps right on my trail.

"Purty soon I see they ain't swimmin' so spry, an' I allow they're
gittin' some tired. Ther last time over ter our side o' ther river they
come slow, an' I picks out ther kind o' pork I likes best, an' ez they
land I nails what I want an' slits thar throats, an' I hev my pork. But
when ther rest o' them lands they's full o' fight ez ever, an' I takes
ter ther water ag'in, but they won't foller me. This seems strange, an'
I looks ter see what ther matter is.

"Ther ole boar wuz mighty smart, but he'd overlooked one p'int. He'd
fergot thet ther water would melt his balls o' clay, which it did, an'
they couldn't swim no more. I jest stood hip high in the water with my
Winchester an' popped erway at them until they got tired an' run off,
leavin' me enough fresh pork ter start a packin' house."

A hollow groan escaped from Ben.

"What's the use?" he moaned. "You can't beat him."




CHAPTER II.

BUD'S BAD BRONCHOS.


It was time for the fall round-up, and Stella had written from her
uncle's ranch, in New Mexico, that she and her aunt, Mrs. Graham, were
coming North to do their winter shopping in Denver, and would visit the
Moon Valley Ranch to take part in the round-up and the festivities which
the boys always held at that time.

Her letter did not say when she would be there, but the boys knew her
well enough to expect her at any moment following the letter.

Therefore they were not surprised to hear a clear, high imitation of the
Moon Valley yell one morning while they were all sitting at the
breakfast table.

They did not need to be told that Stella Fosdick had come, and without
ado they sprang from the table, overturning chairs in their haste to get
out of the house to greet her and her aunt.

"Hello, boys!" she called from the carriage, in which she and Mrs.
Graham had driven over from Soldier Butte. "You're a gallant lot of
young fellows not to meet us at the station, particularly when I wrote
you that I was coming this morning. I'm real mad." But her smiling face
belied the statement.

"You didn't say when you were coming," said big Ben, who was the first
to reach the carriage step and was helping Mrs. Graham to descend. "If
we had taken your general statement that you were coming, to meet you at
the station we would have camped right there forever. Never can tell
about your movements, young lady."

"But I did write that I was coming this morning, and to meet us and
take breakfast with us in the Butte."

"We didn't get that letter. When did you write?"

"Last night."

"That's good. Always take time by the fetlock. We'll get that letter
some time to-morrow. Why didn't you wait and write us to meet you after
you got here?"

"Saucy as ever, Ben. But we're positively starved. Hello, Song!" she
called to the Chinese cook, who was standing on the veranda grinning
like a heathen idol, "got anything good to eat?"

"Yes, missee, plenty good glub. Mebbeso you likee some fried ham and
eggs?" said Song, shaking hands with himself and bowing low.

"Ham and eggs! No! Positively, no! I'll be turning into a ham and egg if
I get any more of it. That's all the cook at the ranch knows how to do.
Anything else?"

"Yes, missee. Plenty paltlidge, what Misto Ted shootee lesterday. I
cookee you some plenty quick."

"All right, Song, cook us some partridges."

The boys stood around in a group of admiring servitors waiting to carry
Stella's hand bag and gun and saddle and other things with which she was
burdened.

Suddenly she looked toward the porch.

"Who's that?" she asked breathlessly, pointing to a little girl who
stood shyly beside a post looking on.

"Why, that's Lilian," said Ted. "I didn't know you were up yet," he
called to the little girl. "Come here, dear, and see Stella. You haven't
forgotten Stella, have you?"

"If it isn't Lilian!" cried Stella, rushing toward the child with
wide-open arms and folding her within them.

"I wouldn't have known you, honey," said Stella. "What have you boys
been doing to her? She's improved so much. Where did you get all these
clothes, and who takes care of her?"

"Isn't she a little beauty?" asked Ted Strong proudly, patting the head
of the blushing little girl.

"But how did you do it?" persisted Stella.

"Oh, I went over and saw Mrs. Bingham, the major's wife, at the fort,
and asked her to come and advise us what to do. She came and was
delighted with Lilian, and promised to oversee her wardrobe. She was
going down to Omaha, and when she returned she had a trunk full of
things for Lil. She also brought a colored woman to look after her, and
Mirandy has proved a blessing and a treasure."

"But the clothes didn't make themselves."

"No, and none of us made them, either, although Bud said he could sew,
and insisted upon trying. He cut up several yards of cloth, and at the
end of the week, when we saw the product of his needle, he narrowly
escaped lynching. If Lilian had not interceded for Uncle Bud, of whom
she is very fond, I'm afraid we'd have no little Buddy now. No, we sent
down to Omaha for a dressmaker and boarded her in town until she had Lil
all fixed up, as becomes the heiress of the La Garita Mines."

"Whose idea is this way of making the things?" demanded Stella, who was
looking Lilian over with critical eyes.

"Oh, we all had a finger in it. I sent away for a lot of fashion
magazines and things of that sort, and we sat up nights as a board of
strategy and picked out the sort of thing we wanted, and I reckon there
isn't a better-dressed kid in the State."

"I agree with you. Well, Ted Strong, you're a constant wonder to me.
Where in the world did you learn to do all the things you do so well?"

"The honeyed flatterer. Quit your joshing, Stella; hand it to Ben. He
likes it, and the thicker it is the more he can stand of it."

"Hello! Breakfast!" called Song from the veranda, and they all trooped
back to the living room to finish breakfast and talk about the things
they had passed through, and to lay plans for the coming round-up
festivities.

After breakfast Ted and Stella went out to the corral to look at the
saddle stock.

"Why, there's old 'Calamity Jane,'" cried Stella, as a bay pony came
trotting across the corral and put its velvet nose in the hand she held
out.

"Jane knows you, all right," said Ted.

"Sure. Why shouldn't she? I rode her all one season down here. I believe
she wants me to choose her for my own again. Do you, Calamity, old
girl?"

Calamity Jane, which had at one time been the wickedest and stubbornest
mare on the ranch, nickered and again rubbed Stella's hand with her
nose.

"Talk about your smart horses," said Stella. "Calamity can do everything
except talk. Who's been riding her?"

"Kit. He's wrangler, and he won't let any one on her. He's light, you
know, and he was saving her for you. You'll find that she hasn't been
spoiled at all."

"Then, if Kit has been riding her, she's all right, for if there ever
was a horseman it's Kit."

"Isn't she getting fierce?" said a quiet voice behind them. "Say, she's
getting to be one of these regular society jolliers. She didn't used to
be that way."

They wheeled around to see Kit, who had come up to them in his usual
quiet manner.

"Yes," said Ted. "She tried to hand me a package this morning."

"You mean things. That's what a girl gets for being civil and
confidential, and talking as she would like to fellows she thinks are
her friends. I'm going back to the house. I don't like you very much
this morning."

The boys winked at one another.

"Say, Kit, I want Sultan after a while. I'm going to ride down to the
lower end of the ranch to look at that bunch of new horses," said Ted
carelessly.

"Oh, may I go with you?" asked Stella eagerly.

"I thought you were mad at us, or I would have asked you."

"I was only fooling. I'll be ready in ten minutes. Let's take Lilian
with us."

"That was what I was going to do. It is time for Lilian's regular riding
lesson. I am trying to make her as good a rider and all-around cowgirl
as you, Stella, but I doubt if ever she will."

"Who is jollying now, Mister Ted?" cried Stella, with a laugh, but she
was blushing with pleasure at the compliment.

That is the difference between a boy and a girl. A healthy,
well-conditioned boy becomes embarrassed and cross at a well-meant
compliment spoken in the presence of another, believing that the person
who is complimenting him is making fun of him in some unknown and covert
way. But to a girl a compliment that is sincere is as grateful as dew to
a rose, and Stella always felt much elated when Ted complimented her on
her prowess in any of the arts of the range.

They rode away with Lilian, who was learning to ride well for her age
and experience under the best of riding teachers, Ted Strong.

As they were nearing the lower pasture they observed a great commotion
among the horses that were huddled in a fence corner.

"Hello, what's going on there?" exclaimed Ted.

"Looks like the worst sort of a riot," said Stella. "I believe those
boys need help."

They could see Bud and Ben and several cowboys circling around the
bunch of ponies, evidently trying to get into it, and break it up and
scatter it.

"What's the row?" asked Ted, galloping up.

"Thar's a cayuse in thar thet I'd plumb like ter electrocute," said Bud,
who was mad clear through. "My, but he's got er bad dispersition."

"Which one?" asked Ted, laughing. "From what I can see there isn't one
of them you could call angelic."

"Thar's ther meanest bunch o' horse meat thet ever come ter this man's
ranch, bar none, an' ther prize devil o' ther lot is thet black demon in
thar. He near broke my pony's leg a minute ago with a stem-windin' kick
sech ez I never see before. Thet hoss is shore double-j'inted."

The horses were bunched, heads in, heels out, around a splendid-looking
black stallion, which was biting and kicking at everything that came
near him.

"Let him kick his foolish head off," said Ted, viewing the squealing,
struggling throng.

"I reckon they're just showin' off because Stella got here this
mornin'," said Bud disgustedly. "They're tryin' ter knock us, Stella, by
showin' yer thet we aire a bum lot o' horsemen fer not makin' them
behave first off."

Stella laughed and nodded. She understood.

"Where did you pick up such a mean bunch of horses?" she asked.

"Them hosses is intended fer ther tourneymint what takes place after
ther round-up. We're goin' ter hev some roughridin' fer fair here, an'
if we all git out with whole bones we shore kin send up a balloon in
celebraytion."

"But where did you get them? Were they bred mean on purpose?"

"I reckon not. I bought 'em from ther wild range in Montana. They ain't
seen men closer than a mile, except'n' it wuz Injuns, an' they don't
count, until we butted in on 'em. They belonged ter ole man Stallings. I
reckon you remember him, what we met on our way ter Fort Grant, when yer
run erway an' got lost on Red Mesa."

Stella nodded.

"I wuz lookin' fer a bunch o' cow hosses. We sold a big run o' 'em ter a
Newbrasky cowman who was short o' saddle stock, an' who said he'd heard
we had the best-broke cow ponies in ther West, an' I reckon we had. He
was willin' ter pay a good price fer our spare stock, an' we unloaded."

"Then you will have to break in a lot of new ones. Isn't that a waste of
time?"

"Young woman, we're ranchmen, not rockin'-chair gents. It's part o' our
business ter take somethin' what ain't much good, an' make it better.
That's the way we earn our bread an' bacon."

"So I see."

"Ted says ter me ter go up inter Montana an' pick up a lot o' good,
gingery hosses, an' I struck John Stallings. He says ter me, when I made
my wants known, 'Go out on ther range an' he'p yerself,' says he.
'They're all mine, an' Ted Strong an' his boys kin hev anythin' I've got
except my fam'ly. But,' says he, 'you'll find some purty lively stock
out there.'"

"Well, you did," said Stella, laughing.

"I reckon I picked out ther orneriest hosses in the whole West, an' I'm
savin' them fer some o' these Smart-aleck cowboys who'll be here from
ther ranches round, who think they kin ride," and he winked wisely.

"Gracious, look there!" she cried. "What's Ted trying to do. He'll be
hurt, Bud."

"No, I reckon not, but I'll git in thar handy ter help him if he needs
it. Keep the kid outer ther way if that bunch breaks."

Ted had done what none of the others had succeeded in doing.

He had forced his way into the very center of the bunch of wild horses,
wheeling and doubling and riding like a circus performer, to avoid the
batteries of flying heels, until he was close to the wicked black
stallion, which was all that held the bunch together and prevented it
from being broken up and driven to the upper end of the ranch, where it
belonged.

There was not a moment when he was not in danger. A chance kick might
break his leg, or bring down his horse, in which event he must be kicked
to death or badly hurt by being trampled on.

But so far they had not been able to reach him.

"Be careful, Ted," cried Stella.

He waved his hand at her with a smile, and she hurried Lilian beyond the
reach of danger.

Ted wheeled his horse to face the black brute, which stood looking at
him with wicked eyes, its ears flattened like those of a panther. In
spite of its evil temper Ted admired it for its lithe beauty. It was as
clean of limb as a thoroughbred, and its black skin shone like polished
ebony. While he was looking at it thus it suddenly sprang at him, reared
on its hind legs, striking at him like a boxer. Had he not wheeled on
the instant it would have killed him. Ted was thoroughly angry, and went
to the attack himself, beating the horse about the head with his quirt.
When the horse rushed at him through a rain of blows across its nose Ted
retreated beyond reach of its hoofs, then attacked it again.

Suddenly the black horse wheeled and presented its heels, and Ted rode
around it, lashing it well, everywhere the whip could reach.

Although the horse continued to lash out with his heels he struck
nothing, and always his enemy was at his side or in front.

At last Ted resolved to bring the unequal combat to an end, as Sultan
was tiring of the exercise, so instead of riding around the enraged
horse, he pivoted with it, keeping in front of it all the time and
whipping it on the nose.

The "insurgent" stopped kicking at last and stood with drooping head,
trying to shield its face from that cruel, relentless, stinging thing
which the man creature wielded. He was cowed, but not conquered.

Taking advantage of the moment, Ted drove him backward and clear of his
companions. Seeing their leader retreat, the other horses broke their
close formation, and allowed themselves to be driven down the valley,
not without an occasional rebellious kick, however.




CHAPTER III.

STELLA GOES TO THE "RENT RAG."


"Oh, joy, an' pickled pelicans!" said Bud Morgan, skipping onto the
veranda one evening, when all the boys were sitting around Stella and
Mrs. Graham.

Bud had just returned from Soldier Butte, where he had been spending the
afternoon.

"What's devouring you now?" asked Ben Tremont. "Or is it just one of
your weekly sillies?"

"Who are yer alludin' at?" asked Bud loftily.

"As you were going to say--" suggested Kit, looking at Bud.

"Boys, thar's goin' ter be a 'rent rag' in the Butte ter-morrer night,
an' we all have an urgent bid ter be present."

"A what?" asked Stella.

"A 'rent rag.'"

"Who tore it?" asked Stella innocently.

At this the boys laughed loud and long, then apologized when they saw
Stella's embarrassment.

"It ain't tore yet," said Bud, "but it's lierble ter be before ther rosy
dawn."

"What are you talking about?" said Stella impatiently. "I never saw such
provoking boys. You say such strange things, then cackle over it as
though there was a joke in it, which nobody seems to see except
yourself."

"A 'rent rag' is a--'rent rag,'" said Kit, trying to explain.

"That sounds as sensible as the conundrum, 'Why is a hen?'" said Stella.
"Must I ask the question and get caught? All right, here goes. What is a
'rent rag'? Now, don't tell me, some one, that it is a rag that has been
torn, for I exploded that one myself."

"A 'rent rag,'" said Bud slowly and carefully, "is a rag for rent.
A--a--er--well, it's a--"

"Tell me, Ted," said the girl, turning to the leader of the outfit, who
was leaning back in his chair smiling at the ridiculous conversation.

"Well, as near as I can make out it is a bit of slang that means this:
The word 'rag' is the slang for a public dance. When a man in town who
is popular enough falls behind in paying his rent, through some
misfortune or other, and owes so much he cannot hope to pay it, he hands
out a flag that he wants help. In other words, it is an invitation to
his friends to organize a public ball for his benefit. It depends upon
his honesty and popularity whether or not they do so."

"That's the strangest thing I ever heard of."

"Well, if the thing goes through, a hall is rented and music is engaged,
the cost of which is to be deducted from the money taken at the door.
Then the man for whose benefit the ball is given and his wife prepare a
lot of sandwiches, fried chicken, and other eatables, and a tub or two
of lemonade, and help their profits along."

"So that is a 'rent rag,' eh? Who is the man for whom the dance is to be
given, Bud?" asked Stella.

"A feller named Martin, whose wife has been sick all summer," answered
Bud. "From what they say, I reckon he's all right. Jest ter be a good
feller I bought ten tickets, at one bean per ticket."

"Is that all they are?" asked Stella. "Only one bean? Gracious, they'll
have to dispose of an awful lot of tickets to get enough beans to sell
to pay their rent with! Why don't they make it something else? I'd like
to contribute a dollar, at least. A bean a ticket, pshaw! How awfully
cheap! I guess he doesn't owe much."

At this remark the boys fairly cackled.

"Now, what are you laughing at?" cried Stella, almost angry. "I seem to
be more humorous to-night than I ever thought possible. I can hardly say
a word but you all start to laugh at me."

This was too much for the boys. They couldn't restrain themselves and
went off into peals of laughter. When they saw the danger signals of two
bright spots in Stella's cheeks, they realized that they had gone too
far, and all hastily tried to explain. But Ted was before them, and
quietly told Stella that in the expressive, if scarcely lucid, language
of the day a "bean," in the sense in which Bud had used it, meant a
dollar.

"Such silly slang," said Stella, restored to good humor once more. "I
don't mind slang if it's clever and reveals or conceals or twists a word
in some sensible way, but a bean for a dollar--no, it won't do. The
fellow who invented that should try again. The only fun I can see in
slang is its aptness."

The boys murmured something to the effect that it wasn't a particularly
witty bit of slang, but they continued to grin at one another.

"Suppose we all go to the 'rent rag,'" said Stella suddenly. "I never
saw anything of the sort, and I'm crazy to go."

"It's likely to be pretty rough, and break up in a row before its
natural time," said Ted.

"We'll only stay a short while," said Stella. "But I should like to do
my share toward helping the poor fellow."

"It's done already. I bought ten tickets. Thet's as much ez they expect
from ther Moon Valley Ranch, an' it goes inter ther running expenses o'
ther ranch, anyhow, in ther charity account."

"I don't care, I want to go."

"I move we go," said Ben. "It will add some tone to the proceedings."

"Ben wants to air his spike-tailed coat and low-neck vest," said Kit.

"Not for me," said Ben, laughing. "I wonder what those cow-punchers and
miners and gamblers would do with a chap who sauntered in there in
evening dress."

"He shore would come up ter Stella's conception of a rent rag, which is
a torn rag," said Kit.

"Ted, won't we go?" pleaded Stella.

"Sure, if you want to; you are our guest, and whatever you want, all you
have to do is to ask for it," answered Ted.

It was agreed that they should wear their everyday uniforms, and Stella
was for going in her distinctive cowgirl costume, but this Mrs. Graham
would not permit, and insisted that she should wear a frock which she
had had made in Denver.

When, the next night, Stella walked into the living room, where the boys
were waiting to escort her and Mrs. Graham to the ball, there was a
general exclamation of wonder and admiration, at which Stella hesitated
with a blush, then came forward with smiling assurance.

Instead of the bold and dashing Stella in her bifurcated riding skirt
and bolero jacket, the boys saw a beautiful young woman in a pale-blue
gown of silk and chiffon, with her pretty hair piled on top of her head,
instead of flowing over her shoulders.

For a moment they were awed. They had never seen her so, and perhaps had
never thought of her as being a young lady. Most of them were content to
regard her just as Stella, their girl pard, and to-night she had given
them a surprise.

At her throat was a superb sapphire set in a brooch, which had come out
of the broncho boys' sapphire mines on Yogo Creek, and in her hair was
an ornament of diamonds and rubies which the boys had made from jewels
which had come as their share of the treasures of the Montezumas, which
they had discovered beneath the castle of Chepultapec, near the city of
Mexico.

Altogether Stella was very stunning, and in their admiration of her in
this new role of society girl the boys were between two preferences, as
she was now, and as they knew her in the saddle, throwing her lariat or
handling her revolver.

Most of them, however, came to the conclusion that she was still Stella,
no matter what she wore.

"Say, Stella, that's not fair," drawled Ben, "to dress up like that and
make us wear our working togs. I've got a good mind to go and get into
my spike."

"If you do, I won't go," said Stella. "Unless the other boys wear theirs
also. You and I would look fine going in there dressed up, and the other
boys as they are now. No, I wouldn't have worn this dress if aunt hadn't
insisted upon it, and this time I couldn't shake her determination. I
hate it, and would much rather have my working clothes on. But, never
mind, it won't be for long. How do you like me in this?" She revolved
slowly before them.

"Scrumptious!" said Ben appreciatively.

"Prettier than a basket of peaches," ejaculated Kit.

"Thar ain't nothin' in art er nature what kin show up more gaudy," said
Bud. "Except, mebbe, it might be a pink rose in er garden at airly
mornin' with ther dew on it."

"Say, hasn't Bud got us all faded?" said Ben. "I didn't know the old
sandpiper had so much poetry in his soul."

"So perfectionately lofely a younk lady nefer did I saw," exclaimed
Carl, clasping his hands and holding them before him, while he rolled
his eyes toward the ceiling.

"She's all thet," said Bud. "But come down ter airth. Stella ain't up
among ther rafters."

Ted had said nothing, and Stella looked at him. He was regarding her
attentively.

Her look said: "What do _you_ think?"

He answered it with a look of admiration that satisfied her that he
thought her perfect.

"I think I like you best in the everyday clothes," he said quietly. "But
that gown is as if you were made for it and it was made for you."

The thought had come into Ted's mind that some day, in the far future,
they would lose their girl pard, and society or duties elsewhere would
claim her.

Stella understood him and agreed with him.

Soon they were ready to start for the ball. The carriage was got out and
Carl volunteered to drive the horses, while the other boys rode.

Just as they were about to start Stella cried: "Where is Jack Slate? I
don't see him. Isn't he coming to the ball?"

"Haven't saw him," said Bud. "I reckon he'll be moseyin' erlong after a
while. We won't wait fer him. He knowed when we wuz goin' ter start."

"He came in a little while ago from the lower pasture," said Kit, "and
went to his room. He said he had been thrown by his horse, and that the
jar had given him a headache."

"Oh, don't let us wait for him," said Ben. "If he gets to feeling better
he'll be along. You couldn't keep Jack away from a ball with an
injunction."

So they proceeded to town, the boys acting as outriders to the girl,
whom they were convinced would be the belle of the ball.

When they arrived at the hall in Soldier Butte they found the people
flocking in, as Martin, the beneficiary, was a very popular fellow, and
any man in hard luck in the West always gets all the help he needs, if
he deserves it.

Ted escorted Stella into the ballroom, while Ben followed with Mrs.
Graham, the other boys taking the horses around to the corral.

As Ted and Stella entered the room there was a hum of admiration, and
conversation stopped as men and women craned their necks to look at the
handsome couple.

Ted was both proud and pleased, but a little bit embarrassed at the
attention they received, while Stella held her head up proudly, with a
look of indifference on her face, as if she had been used to admiration
all her life.

The ball certainly was a mixed affair.

In one corner were a lot of army officers and their ladies.

All down the sides of the ballroom cowboys were sitting with girls from
the ranches. Town girls and boys had a corner to themselves. The
gamblers flocked together, and miners and others wandered here and
there, mixing with cavalrymen from the fort.

When the boys returned from the corral they found that Mrs. Graham and
Stella and their escorts had preempted a vacant corner.

There was a piano in the room, but no one to play it. Soon, however, a
fellow dressed after the cowboy fashion entered and took a seat on a
raised platform, producing a fiddle from a green bag.

A round of applause greeted him.

He tuned his instrument, and after a few preliminary scrapes began to
play a monotonous tune, repeating over and over again the same few bars.

At the first scrape the cowboys and their girls leaped to the floor and
began to dance, but none of the people from the fort cared to dance to
such music.

Suddenly the door flew open and a band of a dozen cow-punchers walked
into the room, and were greeted by joyous shouts by the other cowboys in
the hall.

At their head was a handsome young fellow, slender and dark, with a
resolute face and a pair of piercing eyes that flashed around the room
for the purpose of seeing and locating his possible enemies.

"Who is that?" asked Stella.

"That's Billy Sudden," answered Ted.

"And who is he?"

"Foreman at 'Cow' Suggs' ranch. That's the Suggs bunch of cow-punchers.
There'll be something doing here to-night."

"Why?"

"There are a lot of fellows in this part of the country who don't like
Billy, and some of them are liable to tread on his feet."

"Oh, is he quarrelsome?"

"No, Billy is the best sort of a fellow, but he won't let any one hobble
him. When he first went to the Dumb-bell Ranch, as the Circle-bar Circle
is called, they took him for a kid and tried to run over him. He kicked
them, then fired them, and they don't like him."

"Did you see him look around the room?"

"Yes, he has every man who is likely to make trouble for him spotted and
located. But we won't wait long enough to see the trouble. I never did
like trouble myself."

"Well, for a chap who gets into it as often as you do--"

"What's the trouble now, over there?" interrupted Ted, looking at the
door.

Around the entrance to the hall was a crowd of young town fellows led by
a youth named Wiley Creviss, the son of the local banker, a dissipated
and reckless young man, and a crowd of cow-punchers.

They were shoving some one here and there, making a punching bag of him,
at the same time laughing uproariously.

Just then Ted saw the head of Jack Slate in the mix-up.

"Excuse me," said Ted, turning to Stella. "Ben, take care of the ladies
until I return."

He strode across the floor toward the door.

As he neared it he heard Billy Sudden say:

"Be careful, there. That is one of Ted Strong's fellows."

"I don't care if it is," said some one. "I'd give it to Strong just as
hard if he was here."

"Here I am," said Ted, pushing through the crowd.




CHAPTER IV.

THE TROUBLE IS STARTED.


The crowd of men and youths opened out in front of Ted, and he strode
into the circle.

There he saw Jack Slate in a much disheveled condition, dressed in his
evening clothes.

Ted gasped as he stared for an instant at the youth from Boston.

He wanted to tell Jack that "it served him right," but that was not the
part of loyalty, and in the presence of the enemy it did not make any
difference to a broncho boy if his pard was right or wrong, if he was in
need of help.

"Where is the fellow who was going to throw me around?" asked Ted,
looking into the faces about him.

No one replied, although Ted waited for a moment or two before looking
at Billy Sudden.

Billy winked at him, but said nothing.

"Seems as if somebody's sand has run out," said Ted contemptuously.

"Oh, I don't know," said Wiley Creviss. "There's plenty of sand left if
you need any to prevent your wheels from slipping downhill."

"No, my sand box is always full," said Ted quietly. "But there is some
sneak in this bunch who hasn't the nerve to back up his brag."

"Are you talking to me?" said Creviss, swelling up as to chest.

"Oh, are you the misguided chump whom I heard make the remark about
pushing me about, as I came up?" said Ted, in a tone of surprise.

The cowboys from Suggs' ranch were snickering.

"Well, what if I was?"

"I'm going to make you try it."

"Oh, I can do it, all right."

"Well, why don't you? I'm the easiest proposition you ever saw to be
hazed by a bunch of hoodlums, such as you and your pals are!"

"For two cents I'd punch your nose."

"You're too cheap. I'll give you a heap more than that if you will. It's
been so long since my nose was punched that it feels sort of lonesome.
I'll pay you well for the job, if you succeed in pulling off the stunt."

"You think you're the whole works because you've got a crowd of dudes
around you. You're not the only dent in the can."

Ted flushed at this allusion to his pards.

"I'll put a dent in you if you open your face to remark about my friends
again," he said, with some heat.

"See here, you town rough, you better take in your slack and clear out
for home, or you'll begin to taste the sorrows that come from
inexperience and bad judgment," said Billy Sudden to Creviss.

"It's up to you to mind your own business," snarled Creviss. "What are
you but a lot of greasy cow-punchers. We haven't much use for your sort
in this town, anyway."

"Now, son, keep quiet and behave yourself," said Billy paternally. "If
you get me riled I won't be as patient with you as Ted Strong has been.
I'll fix you so as to keep two doctors busy the best part of the night."

"What are you fellows butting in for, anyhow?" said Creviss angrily.
"Can't this freak that comes here in a dress suit and tries to lord it
over us take care of himself?"

"Surest thing you know," drawled Jack Slate. "But there are ladies here,
a thing you don't seem to realize. If you'll step outside, I'd be glad
to whip you right and propah."

"What's the use, Jack, of fussing with these rowdies?" said Ted. "Let it
go until some other time."

"You bet," said Creviss, courage returning when he heard Ted propose
peace. "I guess you'd like to let it go forever."

"That settles it," said Ted. "Go to him, Jack, and if you don't give him
what's coming to him, I'll finish the job."

"Git!" said Billy Sudden, opening the door and shoving Creviss out into
the street. The rest followed.

As Jack stepped into the open air he peeled off his swallow-tailed coat
and threw it over Ted's arm.

He had no sooner done so than Wiley Creviss made a rush at him from the
front, while one of the crowd ran in on him from the rear.

It seemed an unequal beginning, and Ted was preparing to take on the
second fellow.

But Jack had seen him out of the corner of his eye, and as he came on
the Boston boy stepped backward and threw his right elbow up.

It was a timely and masterly trick, for the sharp elbow caught Creviss'
ally full in the nose, and he dropped like a limp rag to the ground,
with a howl of anguish.

At the same moment Jack swung his left. Creviss had struck at him and
missed when he back-stepped, and coming on swiftly ran into Jack's fist
with a thud that jarred him into a state of collapse.

"Finish him!" shouted the cow-punchers, who stood about the fighters in
a circle.

"Go to him," said Ted, in a low voice. "I saw him signal his pal to
tackle you from behind."

Creviss had partially recovered from the blow and was getting ready for
another rush, when Jack slipped in and to one side and hit like a
blacksmith at the anvil.

This time Creviss went down and out.

"Hooray fer ther bantam!" shouted a big cow-puncher, slapping Jack on
the back. "Say, I hear them say you're from Bosting. I'm goin' ter buy a
hundred-pound sack o' beans myself ter-morrer an' begin trainin'. If
beans'll do that fer you, a sack o' them will make me fit ter lick Jess
Willard."

But Jack was busy smoothing down his ruffled hair and pulling his white
lawn tie around into its proper place, and when he had put on his coat
he and Ted walked into the ballroom as calmly as if they had just
stepped out to view the stars.

"What was the trouble?" asked Stella, when they reached her side.

"Some town rowdies became noisy, and they were put out," answered Ted
carelessly.

But Jack's dress suit was the joy of the cow-punchers, who had never
seen anything like it before, although they all knew that it was the way
well-groomed men dressed for evening in the big cities.

"Say, pard," said a cowboy to Jack, as he crossed the room, "I axes yer
pardon fer buttin' in, but yer lost ther front part o' yer coat tails."

"That's all right," answered Jack. "Can't help it, don't you know. I
left the blooming coat hanging on the line at home to air, and a goat
came along and ate the front half of the tails off before I could get to
it. I was just on my way to apologize to the master of ceremonies for
it. You see, it is the only coat I have, and I was bound to come to the
ball."

"Ha, ha! that's on you, 'Honk,'" laughed the cowboy's friends, who had
overheard the conversation, and Jack passed on, the boys alluding to him
as a "game little shrimp," for the news of his summary punishment of
Creviss had got abroad.

But Jack was not through yet. He went into the men's dressing room to
leave his hat. As he was coming out he was met by a crowd of town
youths, friends of Creviss. There was no one else about.

They scowled and sneered at Jack, and one of them bumped into him.

"Heah, fellah, that will do," said Jack, with his Bostonese drawl.
"You're solid; you're no sponge."

"I ain't, eh?" answered the bully. "I'll tell yer, Mr. Slate, you're
covered with bad marks what I don't like, an' I'm just the sponge to
wipe them off."

"Step lively, then," said Jack, "for I've an engagement to dance the
next waltz."

"I'll waltz you all you'll need this evenin'."

But before he had finished speaking Ben Tremont stepped around the
corner.

"Hello, Jack! What is this I see?" said Ben. "Disgracing yourself by
talking with these hoodlums."

"Yas, deah boy," drawled Jack. "This--er, what shall I call
him?--stopped me to tell me he was going to rub the marks off me, at the
same time wittily making a pun on my name. I was just telling him to
hurry, or I'd miss the next waltz."

"Well, I'll take the job off your hands. Stella was asking for you a
moment ago."

"Yes, run along to your Stella," said the hoodlum. "I reckon she's
pining for the sassiety o' another dude."

That was where he made the mistake of his life.

It didn't really make much difference what these fellows said about
themselves, but the boys would not permit Stella's name to be bandied
about by the roughs.

So swiftly, that they didn't know what had happened to them, both Ben
and Jack sailed into them.

They went sprawling like tenpins before the ball as Ben jumped in among
them and mowed them down with his powerful blows, while Jack, hovering
like a torpedo boat around a battleship, sent in several of the telling
blows Ted had taught him during the boxing lessons at Moon Valley.

The fight was soon over, and Ben and Jack slipped quietly back into the
ballroom, leaving a well-thrashed crowd to stanch bloody noses, and
patch up swollen lips and black eyes as best they could.

Meanwhile, a diversion had been created in the hall by the joshing that
the Suggs' ranch outfit had directed toward the fiddler, who knew only
one tune, and sawed that off for a waltz, quadrilles, and two-steps,
without fear or favor.

The musician had been engaged because he was a friend of the
beneficiary, and had volunteered his services. As the ball grew more and
more hilarious the cow-punchers felt the restraint of the folks from the
fort and Moon Valley the less, and began to take it out of the fiddler,
who paid no attention to them, but kept on scraping.

Suddenly there was a crack from a revolver and the top of the fiddler's
bow was knocked off, and the playing and dancing stopped simultaneously.

There was more or less commotion, but the women did not scream or get
panic-stricken. They were used to that sort of thing.

Nobody knew who had fired the shot, but the cowboys and soldiers were
mad clear through because there was no more music to dance by.

The shot had come from the part of the hall in which the coatroom was
situated, and directly afterward two slender young fellows climbed out a
rear window, and a few moments later Billy Sudden and Clay Whipple came
calmly through the front door and joined the throng about the musician,
who said:

"Honest, folks, I don't blame no hombre fer takin' a shot at thet fiddle
bow o' mine, fer I never could make it work right. I know it was bum
music, but it was the best I could do."

Ted Strong had observed the quiet entrance of Billy and Clay directly
after the shooting, and he put this and that together. He knew that both
of them were finished musicians. Clay Whipple was an exceptionally good
violin player, and Ted had often heard Billy Sudden make a piano fairly
sing. Evidently they had got to the point where they could stand the
fiddler's music no longer, and had put a stop to it.

But for all the badness of the music the people should not be deprived
of their dance.

He hunted up the culprits, who were hovering on the outskirts of the
crowd, listening to the threats against and denouncing the vandals who
had "shot up" the fiddler.

"See here, you hombres, I'm on to you," said Ted. "Now you've got to do
the square thing. You've beaten the dancers out of the music, and you've
got to get in and furnish it, or I'll tell these punchers who plugged
the fiddler's bow."

"How did you get on to it?" said Clay, with a grin.

"Never mind. Is it a go?"

"I reckon it'll have to be," said Clay, looking suggestively at Billy
Sudden.

"All right," said Billy.

The cow-punchers, who had come to dance with the girls from the ranches,
were growing angry, and were telling what they would do to the fellow
who had spoiled their fun if they caught him, when Ted Strong stepped
upon the platform, and, holding up his hand for silence, said:

"Gentlemen, please do not get obstreperous. You shall have all the
dancing you want. Ladies, please be patient; the music that is to follow
is such as has never been heard at a dance in this part of the country.
Mr. Clay Whipple, of the Moon Valley Ranch, and Mr. Billy Sudden, of
the Dumb-bell Ranch, will play the violin and piano respectively. Both
of them are cow-punchers, so don't take any liberties with them, or some
one will get hurt."

There was such cheering that the roof almost went off as Clay hunted up
a violin and tuned it.

Then began a waltz such as they had never heard, and in a moment the
floor was covered with dancers, the officers in their uniforms, and the
ladies in their light dresses, adding beauty to the scene. But the
finest-looking couple on the floor was Stella and the leader of the
broncho boys.

Just before the dance began Bud approached Stella, and said:

"See that gal over thar? Ther one with ther corn-silk bang? She is mine,
an' I'm goin' ter dance this with her; see? She's ther kind o' girl I
admire. She's shore corn-fed, an' some woman."

"Don't you know who that is?" asked Stella.

"'Deed an' I don't, but I soon will. Who is she?"

"That's Sophy Cozak, from over on the Bohemian prairie. She's rich,
Bud."

"I don't care nothin' erbout thet. She's shaped up jest erbout right.
Yaller hair, and soft as feathers. Watch my smoke."

Bud sauntered over to the girl, who was really pretty and fat and pink.
Apparently he was talking his usual nonsense to her, for she smiled,
then arose from her chair, and went sailing around the room, Bud's
partner in the waltz, and every time they passed Ted and Stella in the
waltz Bud winked at them.

Later, however, he met the irate escort of the girl, when he took her
back to her seat, and they glared at one another for a moment; then the
escort walked off, leaving Bud master of the situation.

After this came the "sour-dough" quadrille, in which only old-timers
were permitted to dance, and Bud led it with Mrs. "Cow" Suggs to the
tune of "Turkey in the Straw."

But finally, as the ball was drawing to a close, Ted heard Stella utter
a slight scream, and saw her trying to draw her hand away from a young
fellow, whose back was turned to him.

He was across the room in an instant, and had the fellow by the
shoulders and swung him around. It was Wiley Creviss, who had been
drinking.

"What has this cur been doing?" asked Ted.

"He insisted on dancing with me, and when I told him I would not, he
said he'd make me," answered Stella. "Then he caught hold of me, and I
suppose I cried out, although I didn't mean to. That is what comes of
wearing these clothes. If I'd had on my others, I'd have had my gun with
me."

Ted had heard enough. There was a window close by, which was about ten
feet above the sidewalk. Ted rushed the struggling and cursing Creviss
toward it, and by sheer strength lifted him to the sill and threw him
out.

"I guess we've had about enough of this," he said quietly, when he
returned to Stella. "No more mixed balls for mine."

As Ted was escorting Stella to the carriage, Billy Sudden ranged up
alongside of him.

"Look out for Creviss and his bunch on the way home. They're telling
around what they're going to do with you. Want any help?"

"No, I reckon not, Billy. Our bunch can take care of them."

"They are going to try to kill you to-night."




CHAPTER V.

SHOTS FROM THE DARK.


As the broncho boys swung through the streets of Soldier Butte, after
leaving the ball, Ted Strong was in the lead, and Bud, Ben, Kit, and
Clay were riding on either side of the carriage, while Jack Slate, with
his black coat tails flapping in the breeze, brought up the rear.

They were passing an alley, at the corner of which an electric lamp shed
a path of light across the street, when a revolver shot cracked out, and
Ted's hat left his head.

The ball had just grazed his scalp, and the merest fraction of an inch
lower would have killed him.

Instantly every one pulled up, and Ted, wheeling suddenly, rode at full
speed for the mouth of the alley.

As he did so another shot came from the alley.

Ted's revolver was in his hand, and he fired at the spot where he had
seen the flash from the muzzle of the assassin's weapon.

He heard Mrs. Graham scream, and turned back to the side of the carriage
only to find that one of the horses attached to it had been hit by the
bullet, and was down, but that neither Stella nor Mrs. Graham had been
injured, and he rode straight into the dark alley, followed by Bud and
Kit, leaving Ben and the other boys to guard the carriage, for he did
not know from what direction another attack might come.

The alley was as dark as a pocket, and as Ted rode into it he well knew
that he was taking his life in his hands.

At the far end of the alley he heard the beat of feet running swiftly,
and fired his revolver several times in that direction, and heard a yell
of pain.

"Come on, fellows," he called. "I think I got one of them that time."

As he said this they saw two dark figures dart out of the alley into the
street at the end opposite that at which the boys had entered, and they
spurred in that direction.

But when they came to the street there was no one in sight, but
splotches of blood on the sidewalk testified to the fact that a wound
had been inflicted upon some one.

They rode up and down the block, but without discovering where their
attackers had taken refuge.

It was a low part of the town, and there was scarcely a house on either
side of the street into which a criminal would not be taken and
concealed.

"We'll have to give it up," said Ted, at last. "We could hunt here all
night without being any the wiser."

Disappointed, they rode back, after tracing the bloodstains along the
sidewalk to where they were lost in the dusty street.

They found that the carriage horse had been so badly hurt that its
recovery was impossible, and Ted mercifully put a bullet into its brain.

The carriage was surrounded by people from the dance hall, who had been
brought by the shots.

Among them was Billy Sudden.

"I reckon I called the turn," said he, as Ted came up.

"You sure did," said Ted.

"I ain't presuming to give advice none," said Billy, "but if it was me
that got his sky piece knocked off and had a horse shot I believe I'd
almost be tempted to round up this yere man's town and capture every
hoodlum in it, and sweat them to find out who fired them shots."

"It wouldn't do any good, Billy," said Ted. "The people in this town
have got it in for the ranch people. They think the ranches are taking
trade away from them. They'd sooner see the ranches split into farms of
forty acres each. They'd have so many more farmers to rob that way."

"I reckon so. But what are you going to do? I want to tell you that me
and my boys stand with you till the burning pit freezes over, whenever
and wherever you need us."

"May have to call on you one of these days, but not now."

"Ain't you going after that young imp, Creviss? Say, he's the meanest
boy I ever saw. If I was his father I'd make him behave, or I'd bust him
wide open."

"I understand his father thinks Wiley is just smart and spirited, and is
ready to back him up in anything he does."

"Ought to make the old man popular."

"Not so you can see it. But that boy is a tough citizen, and getting
tougher every day."

"I'm hearing a good deal about that kid these days. He trains with a
bunch of bad ones over at Strongburg."

"For instance?"

"Lately he's been running with 'Skip' Riley, a crook who has the
reputation of having made more money out of holding up trains than by
working."

"I know his record. How long has he been there?"

"Several months. He came there from the Nebraska penitentiary, and he
was smooth enough to work the reformed-criminal, first-offense racket on
the women there until they finally got him a job in the fire department.
He seems to be a hero in the eyes of a lot of tough young fellows here
and in Strongburg, and they follow him in anything he suggests."

"That's not a healthy proposition for a boy. Mr. Riley ought to be
conducted out of town."

"The worst of it is he has banded them into some sort of secret
organization."

"What do they call it?"

"I did know, but I've plumb forgotten. There's a young fellow uptown
whom I'm trying to keep straight on account of his folks back East. I
know his sister." Ted could see Billy's face get red as he said this.
"His name is Jack Farley. Perhaps you know him."

Ted shook his head.

"Well, he's a good kid, but he got into bad company at home and skipped.
I corresponded once in a while with his sister, and she wrote me about
him, and one day I run across him in a gambling house here. I hadn't
seen him since he was a kid, but I knew him straight off because he
looks so much like Kate--Miss Farley I mean--and I called him outside
and had a talk with him. He was mighty uppy at first, and threw it into
me so hard that I had to turn in and whale some sense into him."

"That's one way of doing it," said Ted dryly.

"It was the only way for him. He thought he'd get sympathy by writing
home about it, but all he got was that they reckoned he deserved it or
he wouldn't have got it. After that he was good. But he'd got in with
that Creviss bunch and didn't seem able to get out of it, so I let him
stay, only I made him come to me every day or two and tell me what he'd
been up to, and that's as far as I've got."

"Send him out to me."

"He won't work on a ranch, or I'd had him out at the Dumb-bell long ago.
He likes to work in town, so I got him a job, and so far he has stuck to
it. But the gang keeps him from doing any good for himself. He knows the
name of this organization of boys under Skip, and the next time I see
him I'll find out what it is. Then you keep your eye peeled for it, for
Creviss is one of the leaders, and I'm afraid, after to-night, he'll do
all he can to make things lively for you. He's a mean, vindictive little
cuss."

"I'll keep a weather eye out for him, never fear. Thank you for the tip.
This is the first time I've heard of the bunch, I've been away from the
ranch so much lately."

The boys had hitched Jack Slate's horse into the carriage, and he got on
the seat with Carl, and they were ready to start.

With an "Adios" to Billy Sudden and his boys, they were off, and arrived
at the ranch house without further incident.

Mrs. Graham and Stella had retired for the night, and the boys were
sitting before the fire in the living room, for the night was chilly and
Song had built up a good blaze against their return.

Naturally, the conversation drifted to the shots fired at them from the
alley.

"While I wuz ambulatin' eround ter-night I overheard some conversation
what wuz interestin'," remarked Bud, who was sprawling on a bearskin in
front of the fire.

"What was it?" asked Ted, who had been turning over in his mind what
Billy Sudden had told him of the organization of tough boys under the
guidance of the ex-convict.

"I wuz standin' clost ter one o' ther winders what opens out onter ther
alley when I hears two fellers talkin' below me," said Bud.

"What were they saying?"

"I wuzn't aimin' ter listen ter no one's privut conversation, but I
caught your name, an' I tried ter hear what wuz said erbout yer."

"Naturally."

"One feller wuz talkin' pritty loud, ez if he'd been hittin' up ther
tangle juice, an' ther other feller wuz tryin' ter make him put on ther
soft pedal, what Clay calls talkin' pianissimo. But when the booze is in
ther wit is out, an' ther feller would shut it down some fer a while,
then he'd get a good lungful o' air an' bust out ergin."

"What was it all about?"

"Erbout runnin' us off'n ther reservation."

"They'd have a fine chance to do that," said Ted, laughing.

"It seems they hev some sort o' a club, ther 'Flyin' somethin' er
other'--I couldn't jest catch what. To hear them fellers talk they're
holy terrors."

"How do they propose to run us off? Did you hear that?"

"No; they didn't discuss ways an' means, but they said as how ther boss,
they mentioned his name, but it's clear got erway from me, hed riz up on
his hind legs an' hed give it out straight to ther gang thet ez long ez
we wuz in ther country they couldn't do no good fer theirselfs,
consequentially we must skidoo, ez they needed this part o' ther country
fer their own elbowroom. They wuz real sassy erbout it, too."

"I suppose they thought all they had to do was to serve notice on us,
and we'd vacate."

"I reckon thet's ther way they hed it chalked up."

"Well, that bears out what Billy Sudden told me to-night after we were
shot at."

Then Ted related what Billy had told him about Skip Riley and his
influence on the boys of Soldier Butte and Strongburg.

"Thet thar's ther very feller they wuz talkin' erbout, thet Skip Riley.
Now I recolict it, an' ther name o' their sweet-scented aggergation is
ther 'Flyin' Demons.'"

"Oh, mercy! Aren't they just awful?" said Ben, with a grin. "But which
way are they expected to fly, toward you or from you?"

"If they come monkeyin' eround these broad acres they'll be flyin' fer
home," said Bud.

"Or to jail, if we can prove what I believe against them," said Ted
thoughtfully.

"What is that?" asked Kit.

"You haven't forgotten the mysterious robbery of the Strongburg Trust
Company's office, have you?"

"Nope."

"You remember that a great many people to this day disbelieve that the
office was robbed at all, because everything was found locked and
barred, and the most careful examination showed that no one could have
broken into the room from which a box containing twenty thousand dollars
in currency and a package of negotiable bonds was stolen."

"Shore, I remember. That's allays been ther greatest mystery in these
parts."

"You haven't forgotten the robbery soon afterward of the Soldier Butte
post office and the disappearance of the registered mail pouch that came
in on the train at two o'clock in the morning. It was thrown into the
inner office by the carrier, and the office securely locked. Yet in the
morning it could not be found, and there was nothing to show that the
post office had been entered."

"I reckon I haven't. We lost a bunch o' money in it ourselves."

"But we got it back."

"That's so, but the carrier is still in jail, awaitin' trial fer
stealin' the sack, an' I don't believe he had any more ter do with it
than I had."

"And yet the most careful examination by the post-office inspectors
failed to show that the place had been forcibly entered, and, although
the carrier, Jim Bliss, had witnesses to show that he went into the post
office with the sack, and came right out without it, still he is in
jail, accused of stealing it," said Kit.

"There are several other cases of mysterious robberies which I might
cite, but those are enough," said Ted. "But the curious thing about it
all is that the robbers left not the slightest trace, not a broken lock,
not a mark to show that a window was forced or a hole bored. When the
place is closed up at night there is the money, when it is opened in the
morning the money is gone. And again, these robberies only occur when
valuables are accidentally left out of the vaults."

"It is curious. Everything yer say is true, but I never thought erlong
it ez much ez you, an' I didn't figger out how near they wuz alike."

"Well, what's your theory?" asked Ben. "You started to tell us."

"Yes, who do you think committed these robberies?" asked Kit.

"Who but a gang of bad boys under the leadership and tutelage of a
criminal?" answered Ted. "Who but the gang of Strongburg and Soldier
Butte young toughs who go by the silly name of 'The Flying Demons'? If
they get gay around this ranch, we'll have to tie a can to them and head
them for the reform school or the penitentiary."




CHAPTER VI.

THE "FLYING DEMONS'" MESSAGE.


When Ted Strong stepped out on the veranda the morning after the ball he
found Stella staring curiously at a large, square piece of paper stuck
on the wall of the ranch house.

Nobody in the house had risen early, as they had all been up very late,
except Song, the cook, who, when he saw that no one was disposed to turn
out for an early breakfast, had gone out to work in the garden, in which
he had with much skill raised an abundance of vegetables that year.

"Good morning, Stella; what is so interesting?" said Ted.

"It beats me," answered Stella. "I wonder if this is one of Ben's
witticisms. If it is, he ought to be spanked."

Ted was standing by her side, reading what had been printed on the
paper.

"H'm! this is good," said he, and read aloud, as if to himself, the
following warning:

     "TED STRONG AND BRONCHO BOYS: You ought to know by this time that
     you are not wanted in this part of the country. Advise you to sell
     out and skip. If you stay your lives will be made a hell on earth,
     and we have the stuff that will do it. This is no bluff, as you
     will find out if you disregard this word of friendly warning. You
     will be given a short time to sell your stock, then git. This means
     business.

     "THE FLYING DEMONS."

"That's a pretty good effort for a lot of kids," said Ted. "Wait, here's
a watermark in the paper. Let's see what it is?"

Ted took the paper from the wall and held it up to the light.

In the paper was the representation of the fabulous monster, the
griffin, and woven into the paper were the words "Griffin Bond."

"That's as easy as shooting fish in a tub," said Ted, as he folded the
paper and put it in his pocket.

"The fellow who put that warning up certainly left his footprints behind
him," said Stella, with a smile.

"He did, but even without that I should have known the authors of it."

"How?"

Ted then told Stella the substance of the conversation between the boys
the night before, and of his suspicions as to the guilt of Creviss and
his gang in the mysterious robberies that had occurred in the two towns.
"But," he concluded, "it is not up to me to get at the matter. It is
work for the sheriff. However, if those boys try any of their
foolishness with us, we'll turn in and send them to the reform school,
where they belong."

"They're certainly a bad lot. I was talking to a lady at the 'rent rag'
last night, and she was telling me what a horrid boy young Creviss is."

"I wish I knew at what time this notice was put up here. It must have
been done in daylight, for it was getting light in the east when we
turned in."

"Perhaps some one was so quiet as to put it there while you were all
inside talking."

"I hardly think so, for we were all sitting near the fireplace, and the
room was so warm that Kit opened the door, and it stood open until we
separated to go to bed."

"Sure you could have heard them? Some of you were talking pretty loud,
for I heard you in my room just before I went to sleep."

"Well, of course, I couldn't be certain about it; but I came out on the
veranda to take a look at the sky just before I turned in, and I didn't
see it then. Surely, as I turned to come back into the house my eye
would have caught that big piece of white paper beside the door."

"What time was it that the most important part of your conversation took
place?"

"Just before we broke up. I remember we were going over the mysterious
robberies, and I expressed the opinion that they were the work of the
gang under Skip Riley and Creviss."

"That was probably the time the fellow who put up that notice was about.
You see, if he followed you from Soldier Butte he wouldn't get here much
earlier than that, for he wouldn't dare ride a pony the length of the
valley at that time of the morning, so he had to walk from the south
fence."

"By Jove! I believe you are right."

"If my theory is true, the fellow who brought the warning also carried
back your conversation to the gang."

"Then they surely will have something to fight us on."

"Yes, fear that you will get on their trail will compel them to try to
make their bluff good, as expressed in that message."

"I'd give something to know when this thing was put up."

"Let's see; it was about four o'clock when you turned in, wasn't it?"

"Just about."

"And just about that time Song gets up to cook for the boys in the bunk
house who get out to relieve the night watch in the big pasture. Doesn't
he?"

"Those are the orders."

"Then have Song in, and we'll ask him if he saw a strange man around the
place when he got up. He might have seen him and thought nothing of it,
and would never think of reporting it."

"Good idea. Wait here and I will call him."

In a few minutes the Chinaman came shuffling in from the garden."

"See here, Song," said Ted. "Did you see a strange man here early this
morning?"

"Stlange man!" said Song meditatively, with a smile of innocence on his
broad, yellow face. "No savvy stlange man."

"Man no b'long here," said Stella,

"Oh, yes, I savvy. No see stlange man."

"What time you get up?"

"Me gettee up fo' clock."

"Did you go outside?"

"Yes, me go out an' call cowbloy. Tell gettee up, P. D. Q. No gettee up,
no bleakfast."

"What did you see outside that you don't see every morning?"

"Evely moling? No savvy."

"Yesterday morning, day before that, day before that, all mornings."

"Lesterday moling, evely moling?"

"Oh, the deuce! You try him, Stella."

"Say, Song, you see something makee you flaid this moling?" said Stella,
imitating Song's pidgin English.

"Oh, yes, me lookee out, plenty jump in."

"What you see?"

"Plenty wolf. He sneakee lound side house. I lun like devil."

"What wolf look like?"

"Plenty big wolf. When he see me he lise up on hind legee, and lun likee
man."

"Ah ha! There's your clew," said Stella, turning to Ted. "The fellow who
posted this notice was disguised in a wolfskin so that he could sneak up
to the house unnoticed by the Chinaman, or, if seen, he would make a
bluff at scaring Song."

"Stella, you're a wonder."

"Say, Song, you no likee wolf?"

"No, me plenty flaid wolf," answered the Chinaman, shaking his head
violently.

"All right, Song. I givee you shotgun. Next time you see wolf, plenty
shoot. Savvy?"

"All light. You givee me gun, I shootee wolf plenty. Makee go 'ki-yi'
and lun belly fast."

Song went away with a grin on his face like a crack in a piece of stale
cheese.

"Stella, you've solved it. I believe whoever put that message there
heard our conversation, and at least they'll hate us a bit worse than
before, if that is possible."

"Let them bark, the wolves. I never was afraid of a wolf, anyhow. If you
want to throw me into spasms show me a bobcat. That's the fighting
animal."

During breakfast the boys were shown the warning that had been posted
beside the door, and it was decided to pay no attention to it, but to
watch for the appearance of a messenger from the "Flying Demons," and if
one was caught to make it hot for him.

Ted had no doubt but Creviss and his gang would try to injure the
broncho boys by every means in their power, but until they committed
some overt act the boys could hardly afford to become the aggressors.

For several days nothing happened, and the Moon Valley Ranch went the
even tenor of its way.

Preparations were under way for the fall round-up, and Ted had received
letters from several heavy stock buyers that they would be present at
that time to make their selections of such cattle as they desired to
buy.

It had always been the custom at the ranch to have an entertainment of
some sort at the ranch afterward. This was started for the purpose of
amusing the buyers with cowboy tricks and that sort of thing, but it had
developed into something far greater, until now all the world was
invited to the barbecue and the "doings" afterward. No one was barred
who behaved himself.

This year Ben Tremont had charge of the entertainment, and he was not
limited as to expense, for every fellow was on his honor to provide the
best entertainment for the least money.

The manager's plans were generally kept secret from every one except Ted
and Stella, who were the exceptional ones and were in every one's
secrets and confidence.

Ben had declared himself as to the superlative excellence of his show
this year.

"It's going to be hard to beat," said he, in boasting about it. "We've
had some pretty good shows, but nothing like the one I'm getting up
now."

Kit had charge of the cowboy end of it, the races, the bronchobusting,
the roping and tying contests; in fact, all the arena acts.

This year Clay Whipple attended to the inner man, and was to provide a
genuine old Southern barbecue, with trimmings.

The round-up was to begin in less than a week, and the festivities were
to follow immediately.

Invitations had been sent broadcast into Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming,
Idaho, Montana, and the Pacific coast States; everywhere, in fact, where
the boys had friends, and from the responses received an enormous crowd
would be present.

Three days elapsed after the finding of the warning beside the door
before anything more was heard from the Flying Demons.

Then Ted found another message from them near the front door.

It was as follows:

     "TED STRONG AND OTHERS: You think you know who committed the
     mysterious robberies, but you are on the wrong track. You will
     never find out, while your secrets are known to us. This is warning
     number two. The third and last will come soon; then look out.

     "THE FLYING DEMONS."

"Now, why in the world do they call themselves the Flying Demons?" asked
Ted reflectively, as they were reading the second screed from their
enemies. "It seems to me that there is the secret of the whole thing.
You never can tell what a pack of boys like that are going to do. They
are more to be feared than older criminals, for they have no judgment,
and will rush into the most reckless things just to show off before one
another."

"Pay no attention to them," advised Stella. "That's what I think they
are doing now--showing off. I doubt if they think they can frighten us,
but they are afraid of us."

"Oh, by the way," said Ted, suddenly thinking of something. "You
remember I looked at the watermark on that first warning we received
from these terrible demons. Well, this screed has the same
mark--'Griffin Bond.' When I was in town to-day I went into the bank.
Old man Creviss was behind the counter, and that precious son of his was
beside him. I had a check cashed, and Mr. Creviss asked me why we didn't
keep our bank account there. I told him we had thought something about
it, but I didn't mention that we had decided not to. Then I asked him
for a couple of sheets of paper on which to write a note, and he handed
them to me. I took them to the window and held them up to the light to
see the watermark."

"And what was it?" asked Stella eagerly.

"The griffin."

"Then the paper on which these things were written came from the bank?"

"They certainly did. After I had looked at the watermark I turned to
young Creviss and looked him square in the eye. He turned as white as
chalk, and his lip trembled."

"He's a coward," said Stella positively. "Why didn't he bluff it out?"

"He had nothing to stand on; but, as you say, he's a rank coward, and
it's my opinion that it's only fear of Skip Riley that keeps him at it,
anyway. At all events, I gave him a good scare, for instead of writing
the note I folded up the paper and put it into my pocket. He stepped
forward as if he would interfere and make me give the paper back, not
having used it, but I gave him a glassy glare and walked out."

"Then it was he who wrote the warnings."

"Of course, and he knows that I have him dead to rights. That is another
mark against me with the gang."

"Better watch out."

"They can have me if they can get me."




CHAPTER VII.

SONG SHOOTS A WOLF.


Early one morning the broncho boys were startled out of their beds by
the double explosion of a shotgun, followed by excited yells and screams
of agony.

"That Chinaman has shot somebody," thought Ted, as he rapidly skipped
out of bed and pulled on his trousers.

In the living room he met all the boys, as scantily clad as himself,
hurrying out to see what the noise was all about.

They could hear Song behind the house screaming in Chinese at the top of
his voice, and in an ear-splitting falsetto, which showed that he was
tremendously excited.

Thither they rushed, and for a moment the ludicrous scene far
outbalanced the seriousness of what had happened.

On the ground was a young fellow about seventeen years of age. He was
writhing with pain, and the blood was oozing through his clothes in
fifty places.

"Ha, ha!" shrieked Song. "Me shootee wolf, turnee into man light away.
Ha, ha, me allee same plenty smart man, likee magician."

"Yes, you're a hot magician," said Bud; "You've made this feller second
cousin ter a porous plaster. That's what you've done."

"Who is he, Song?" asked Ted.

"Me no savvy him. Me comee out chicken house getee eggs fo' bleakfast. I
cally gun, shotee plenty wolf all samee Mliss Stella say."

"But this is not a wolf."

"All samee wolf. I open chicken house do'. I see wolf. Plenty glowl at
Song. I no likee gun. Shutee my eye. Pull tligger, an' gun goee off. All
samee wolf no mo' glowlee, him yellee like thundeh. When smokee blow way
wolf gonee, all samee man comee. I plenty magician, I thinkee."

Ted looked in the chicken house, and on the floor lay the dried hide of
a big gray wolf.

Now he understood. The message had come the third time from the Flying
Demons.

"Kit, run around to the front door and see if there is a message there
for us from our friends the Demons."

In a moment Kit was back, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

Ted took it from him, and read it.

It was the third and last warning. It said:

     "TED STRONG: We have warned you twice before to leave this part of
     the country, but you have made no move to do so. This is the third
     warning. If you are not away from here in a week the vengeance will
     fall upon you. Beware!

     "THE FLYING DEMONS."

"Did you bring this?" asked Ted, of the wretched youth, who still lay
upon the ground groaning from his numerous wounds.

There was no reply. The fellow could only toss his head from side to
side and rub his legs, into which the bulk of the shot had been fired by
the excited Chinaman.

"You won't answer, eh? Well, we'll find a way to make you. I'm glad
you've given us a week," said Ted, laughing. "That will at least give us
time to hold our round-up and festivities."

"Oh, if I live through this I'll never go into anything like it again,"
moaned the youth upon the ground.

"Here, stand up," said Ted to him. "You're not badly hurt. You're only
stung, twice. Get on your feet and we'll see what we can do for you.
You're a long way from dead yet. What's your name?"

"Jack Farley. Oh, if I could only be sure that I wasn't going to die!"
exclaimed the youth.

He was the young fellow Billy Sudden had spoken about.

"We can't tell how badly you are hurt until you get up," said Ted.
"Rise, and we'll go into the house and examine your wounds."

Slowly young Farley got to his feet, but when he tried to walk he
uttered a howl of pain, and sank down again.

"Yellow all through," said Ben, in a tone of disgust.

"Ever have about three ounces of duck shot pumped into yer system
through yer hide?" asked Bud.

"Never had."

"Then yer don't know all ther joys o' life. I've had one ounce shot
inter my leg, an' if ther contents o' two shells gives double ther pain
one does, then excuse me. An' mine wuz only snipe shot, at that."

"Pick him up, boys, and lay him on the lounge in my room," said Ted.
"I'll take a look at him after a while, meantime some of you watch him
to see that he doesn't get away. We need him for evidence."

When Bud and Ben had carried the wounded boy into Ted's room and laid
him on the lounge, Bud stood over him regarding him with interest.

"I sorter envy yer, kid," he said at last.

"You can have 'em, but I don't see why you envy me," said Farley.

"I wuz thinkin' how happy you'll be all through these lonesome winter
evenings, pickin' ther shot out o' yer legs."

When Farley had been carried into the house, Ted called Kit to him and
said:

"Kit, I wish you'd ride over to Suggs' ranch and tell Billy Sudden that
his protege is over here with his hide peppered with bird shot, and ask
him to ride over and take a look at him."

During breakfast they related to Stella the story of Song's wolf hunt in
the chicken house, and the result.

Song was as proud as a peacock, and wore "the smile that won't come off"
as he flitted around the table waiting on every one.

"Say, Missee Stella," he said, "Song all samee one cowbloy now, eh? What
you sayee?"

"Yes, Song, you have certainly followed instructions. You got your wolf
that time, sure. How you likee shootee?"

"No likee, Missee Stella. Makee too much noisee, all samee too much
plenty fiahclackers. Kickee like blazes. Plitty near knockee arm outee
Song."

The boys stripped Farley after breakfast, and found his legs in pretty
bad condition. They looked as if Song's gun had been loaded with
smallpox, and all of it had lodged in the lad's legs.

"Boys, we'll have to take relays in picking the shot from our first
victim," said Ted. "There's too much work here for one man."

"He's a turrible-lookin' demon now with a hide full o' shot. Ther
punctured demon of Demonville! Say, kid, I'd hate ter laugh at yer, but
yer a sight. Why didn't yer fix it so's them two charges o' shot would
hev been distributed among ther gang? Then yer could sit down o'
evenings an' pick shot out o' one another instid o' plottin' agin' ther
whites."

"Let him be, Bud, he's having all he can do to think about these shots,
as it is. The things for us to do now is to pick them out of him."

"We'll let him count 'em ez they come out. That'll help take his mind
off his troubles, but he'll hev ter hev a great head fer figgers."

They went to work on him with their penknives, as most of the shot were
just beneath the skin. But it was painful enough, at that, and every
time a shot came out Farley groaned deeper. While they were engaged in
this, to them, pleasing occupation, Billy Sudden arrived.

"Hello, kid," he said to Farley. "So you got it at last. I could have
told you to keep away from Ted Strong and his bunch. They're bad
medicine for a herd o' mavericks like you to graze with. You tackled the
wrong outfit. They're too many fer you, and if you'll all take a fool's
advice you'll keep away, or else some of you will be looking through a
griddle in a door up at the penitentiary."

Farley made no reply, only hid his face and groaned at every extracted
shot.

"Say, kid, what about this gang you belong to?"

The boy shook his head.

"D'ye mean to say you're not going to tell me about it?"

The boy nodded.

"What's the reason you won't?"

"The oath."

"Slush with the oath. You had no business to take it. What'll the home
folks think when I tell them about this. Shot by a Chinaman in the
chicken house at dawn!"

Billy paused to let the ignominy of it sink in. It did sound pretty bad
and mean and cheap. There were no heroics in this, such as Farley had at
first considered his role.

He hid his face on his arm, and his body shook. Billy had probed deep
into his pride.

"Well, come on," said Billy. "This is no time for a conspirator to do
the baby act. I suppose you thought it was to be a spotlight scene where
you stood in the center doing the heavy stunt, and all the rest sat on
the bleachers and applauded. By gee! Peppered by a Chinaman, and with
snipe shot, at that."

"Oh, quit it!" said Farley. "I know I was a chump for sticking with
those fellows, but I needed the money."

"What money?"

"My share of the--"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Yes, there is something. What robbery was it you shared in?"

"I didn't steal anything."

"I suppose not. You did the dirty work of being lookout, or something
like that, and they threw you the bone while they kept the meat and fat,
eh?"

"What shall I do with him?" asked Ted.

"Keep him locked up as a hostage. That may bring those young fools to
their senses," said Billy. "I'm disgusted with him for not making a
clean breast of the whole foolish business, and if it wasn't for his
sister, I'd toss him up in the air and forget him."

The rest of the day was spent in picking shot out of Farley, and by
evening he was relieved of the last one.

"We'll put him in that empty room at the corner of the house, and take
turns watching him through the night," said Ted.

Until bedtime Farley sat in the living room with the rest of them, and
they were unusually guarded in their conversation.

When it came time to retire Farley was conducted to the room which was
to be his prison, and it fell to Carl to take the first watch, and to
call Ben at one o'clock.

In the room there was a lounge and a pair of blankets for Farley, a
table and a lamp, and a chair for the watch.

"Whatever you do, don't go to sleep, Carl," said Ted. "The reason I'm
putting you on the first watch is because you're such a sleepyhead."

"Don'd vorry aboud me," said Carl, with a yawn. "I pet you I vas der
sleepinglessness feller in der whole bunch. If he gets avay on my vatch
it vill not be pecause I don'd sleep."

"I guess you mean all right, but I swear I can't understand you. Only
keep awake."

"Oh, yah; I avake keeping all der time."

Carl sat in the chair watching his prisoner, and soon saw Farley's chest
heaving regularly and heard his deep breathing as he slept. Then things
seemed to waver and fade away.

Carl started up at hearing some one beating on the door, and sat rubbing
his eyes. It was broad daylight.

"All right, I'll get up pooty soon yet. Is preakfast retty?"

"Here, open the door. This is Ted."

"Vait a minute."

Carl staggered sleepily to the door and unlocked it.

"Where is your prisoner?" asked Ted, stalking into the room, and looking
at the open window.

"My vat? Ach, Gott in himmel, vat haf I dided? I am schoost coming
avake. He iss gone! I haf slept on vatch. I am foreffer disgraced. Kill
me, Ted! I haf no appetite to live any more alretty," cried Carl.

Ted had been angry at discovering the escape of Farley, for he had
conceived a plan to use him against Creviss. He had risen early, and
when he found that all the boys were in bed except Carl, he immediately
suspected the truth.

But Carl's despairing manner turned him from anger.

"Never mind, Carl," he said. "It was my fault for putting you on watch.
You were not cut out for a watchman. Or, perhaps, you were, according
to the funny papers, but not of prisoners."

During breakfast Carl was compelled to endure the jokes of the boys at
his failure to guard the prisoner, which he did with a lugubrious
countenance; then, at a signal from Ted, the subject was dropped.

About ten o'clock Billy Sudden rode up to the ranch house.

There was something in his manner that betokened news of importance, and
he strode unbidden into the living room, where Ted was sitting at his
desk.

"Where's the kid?" he asked abruptly.

"Who, Farley?" asked Ted, looking up from his work.

"Yes."

"Skipped."

"What?"

"I said skipped."

"Great Scott! I'd give a hundred dollars if he hadn't."

"Why?"

"What time did he get away?"

"Don't know, exactly. Carl was watching him, but he fell asleep almost
as soon as they were in the room together, and didn't wake up until six
o'clock this morning, and Farley was gone. No one knows how he got away
or at what time. It might have been any time. He probably woke up in the
night and saw that Carl was dead to the world, and opened the window,
dropped to the ground, and hit the trail. That's all I know about it.
But what makes you so anxious about it?"

"Then you haven't heard the news?"

"Guess not. What is it?"

"The First National Bank was robbed last night."

"Great guns! Creviss' bank! That's the United States depository!"

"The same."

"What are the details?"

"I rode through town this morning on my way over here to see if being
confined for the night wouldn't make the kid talk, when I saw a bunch of
men standing in front of the bank. I butted in and asked what the
excitement was, and they told me that the bank had been robbed."

"But how?"

"That's what nobody knows. When the cashier, Mr. Henson, got to the bank
this morning everything apparently was all right. The doors and windows
were fastened, and there was no sign anywhere that the bank had been
forcibly entered. Of course, he didn't look at these things first. He
went to the vault and opened it at the proper time and examined its
contents casually. Everything seemed to be as usual. But when, a few
minutes later, he went to get out the currency, it was all gone. He
hadn't counted up when I left there, so no one knows the exact amount,
but it was large."




CHAPTER VIII.

THE BATTLE WITH THE BULL.


The excitement incident to the mysterious robbery of the Creviss bank
was intense.

How had it been done? This was the question that every one was asking
his neighbor. But none could answer it.

The evening before the robbery had taken place the bank had been closed
by the cashier, and by Mr. Creviss himself.

The money, books, and papers, with which the business of the day had
been conducted, had been carried into the vault by the cashier, and Mr.
Creviss, who was an unusually cautious man, looked into the vault after
the cashier came out, to see that everything was in. Then he closed the
vault doors, and turned the handle of the combination, setting the time
lock, thus securing the doors from being opened until nine o'clock the
next morning.

The only way in which it could be opened, and an almost impossible way,
at that, was by blowing it open.

And yet the vault had been robbed, and the vault lock had apparently not
been tampered with.

It had the appearance of necromancy.

Ted rode into town with Billy Sudden, arriving about noon.

Billy rode on to the Dumb-bell Ranch, and Ted stopped at the bank. It
seemed deserted. But as he entered the door he saw a big man, dressed in
the flashy clothes affected by managers of cheap circuses and fake
shows, standing at the end of the counter talking to Wiley Creviss.

"I can't do anything with that check," Ted heard Creviss say. "You'll
have to come in when the cashier is here. The safe is locked, and I
can't get into it, anyway, and all the currency is in it. I'm only
staying here until the cashier gets back from dinner."

"When will that be?" asked the stranger.

"In about half an hour."

The stranger picked up his valise, which seemed to be heavy, and walked
out grumbling about banks that closed up for dinner.

Ted said nothing to Wiley, but he took a good look about the bank,
disregarding the other lad's scowls.

He observed that the vault door stood open, but that there was no money
in sight, and the place had an air of desertion, as if business was
slack.

When Strong had seen all that he wanted of the apparent entrances to the
bank that a criminal might use to force his way in, he left with two
distinct impressions on his mind. One was that the vault door had been
open when he came in, and that Wiley Creviss had abruptly closed it when
he saw Ted staring at it. The other was the remarkable appearance of the
showman, for without doubt he was that.

As before, the mysterious robbery of the bank proved to be too hard a
nut for the citizens to crack, and when they had thrashed out all the
theories advanced and knocked them to pieces again, they forgot it.

Not so Ted Strong. This succession of robberies, none of them leaving
behind the slightest clew to the perpetrators, interested him. Its very
difficulty of solution, which had made the lesser brains abandon it,
compelled his attention and interest.

Had it been his business to tackle the problem, he gladly would have
done so. But the only Federal end to it was the robbery of the post
office, which the inspectors of that department were working on, unless,
perhaps, it might be found that the funds of the government for general
purposes at Fort Rincon had been stolen. Then the case would come under
the operations of the United States marshal's office.

But other and more pressing things of a personal nature gradually took
his attention from crime, and he devoted himself to the coming round-up.

All the spare room in the Moon Valley Ranch house was occupied by
visiting cattle buyers, who had come to the round-up. The rooms of the
boys had been given up to guests, while they camped on the prairie
behind the house.

At last the great day came.

Early in the morning the boys were out, and with them was Stella.

Cow Suggs had loaned Ted his outfit for the day, and Ted was glad to
have the boys, for there was no cleverer cowman in the country at a
round-up, saving Ted himself, who was king of them all, and so conceded,
than the dark, lithe cow-puncher, Billy Sudden, who had been through
college and had traveled in Europe before he deserted the East for the
toil, freedom, and excitement of the range.

It was now time to round up all the stock on the Moon Valley Range, cut
out the marketable stuff, and brand the yearlings.

This is not only a troublesome task, but it is dangerous, and not a
moment of the time until the task is accomplished but has its exciting
adventures and escapes from death.

The boys did not know exactly how many head of cattle they owned. They
had been selling and replenishing their stock from time to time, and the
increase of calves had been very large, for Moon Valley, situated in the
lee of Dent du Chien, or Dog Tooth Mountain, with its rich grass, the
richest in the Black Hills, and its abundance of fresh, clear spring
water, was an ideal breeding place.

There were on the ranch at that time several dangerous bulls, and this
added to the hard work of the day, because the monarchs of the range did
not like to be disturbed and have their following broken up and
scattered.

In the big pasture, which lay at the foot of Deni du Chien Mountain, was
the largest herd in the valley.

The king of this herd was known as "Gladiator." He was always looking
for a fight, and never refused a challenge, whether from another bull or
from what he considered his natural enemy, man.

A man on foot in that pasture would have stood no more chance for his
life than if he tried to stand in front of the engine that hauls the
Empire State Express going at top speed. Gladiator would kill him just
as quickly and as surely.

So it was that strangers were kept out of the big pasture, whether they
were mounted or not, unless they were escorted by some member of the
broncho boys, or one of the older cowboys about the place. Stella, with
her red bolero, nearly caused a tragedy one day by coming within the
vision of Gladiator, who took the bolero for a challenge.

Stella turned in time and fled, and had it not been for the fleetness of
her pony and her own superb riding, there had been no more to relate of
the adventures of the girl pard of the Moon Valley boys.

The morning of the round-up Ted undertook personally to turn the herd to
the rendezvous.

Stella insisted upon accompanying him, and at last he was persuaded to
give his consent, but only on the condition that she wear subdued
colors, which she did, with skirt and jacket of a light-dun color.

The herd was grazing in the noble range that stretched for miles along
and across the valley in the shadow of the splendid mountain.

It was widely scattered, and as the band of horsemen rode out toward it
the cattle lifted their heads for a moment and took a quiet survey, then
returned to their feeding.

Not so Gladiator.

The great white-and-black bull raised his head proudly, and his fierce,
steady eyes regarded them without fear.

Indeed, Gladiator knew no fear, whether of man or beast, wolf pack or
mountain lion, serpent or bird of prey.

He was monarch of that herd, and no one said him nay except Ted Strong,
who ruled the ranch and all that was on it, by the general consent of
his comrades and his own fitness for his rulership.

Ted and Gladiator had had numerous differences, and it was the bull that
had backed down every time.

Yet he did not fear Ted. Rather he hated him because he could not
conquer this quick, brave, and resourceful fellow.

"That bull will be the death of you some of these days," said Stella to
Ted once when Gladiator, resenting Ted's intrusion into the herd for the
purpose of cutting out some calves, charged him. But Ted in the end
threw the bull with his rope, humiliating him before all the herd. From
that time forth Gladiator's eyes always became red with anger when he
saw Ted, but he did not misbehave, because he respected Ted's lariat and
quirt, and the strong arm that wielded them.

When they got to the herd the boys circled it from behind, riding in
slowly.

Ted and Stella were on the left point, with Bud and Kit opposite.

Bill Sudden was in the rear to drive, while the other Moon Valley
cowboys and Billy Sudden's boys came in from the sides.

At the first interruption of their grazing the cattle moved along
sluggishly, but Gladiator did not move.

The big bull stood his ground, with eyes gazing steadily at Ted and
Stella, who were approaching him slowly and persistently.

Suddenly Gladiator threw up his head and gave a low, menacing bellow.

"The old chap is waking up," said Ted.

"Be careful, Ted," said Stella. "He's not in very good humor."

"I see he isn't. But if we go at him easily he'll be all right."

"Don't take any chances with him alone, Ted."

"Still, I'm not going to let him boss this job. He's got to lead this
herd out, and that's all there is to it, for it's a cinch that they
won't go without him."

Stella knew that it was useless to say anything more, as when Ted made
up his mind to do a thing, it would be done if everything broke.

Billy Sudden had got the herd moving up from the rear, but the forward
end of the herd was stagnant.

Gladiator refused to budge, and stood with his stubborn forefeet planted
on the sod, his head raised insolently.

But it could be seen that his anger was working within him, and would
soon break forth.

Bud was working the cattle nearest him gently on the move, but when they
saw that their leader was standing still they ceased their progress and
began to crowd and mill, and the steers were getting reckless and
beginning to throw their tails in the air and utter low, growling
bellows.

It was a critical moment. Who was to be the master must be decided
quickly. If the bull conquered then the cattle would get to milling
generally, and the mischief would be to pay.

It would not take long for them to stampede, if the bull started the
panic, or made a charge. Ted saw the danger, and knew that the condition
must be treated diplomatically, which was the easier way, or with force,
of which the outcome was most uncertain.

It depended, in a measure, on the temper of the bull himself.

The cattle were crowding up from the rear, and those nearest the bull
were beginning to feel the pressure and were pushing toward Gladiator,
who was fifteen feet in advance of the herd.

When he noticed that the herd was moving, his anger increased, and he
lowered his head and began to paw the ground.

Ted held up his hand to Billy Sudden as a signal to cease pushing the
animals, but they had got the impetus and would not stop.

In a moment they had begun to crowd upon the bull, who, with legs
planted stubbornly, would not be crowded, and began to gore aside those
who were being pushed upon him.

Ted saw instantly that this was going to result in disaster if not
stopped, as the frightened steers, feeling Gladiator's sharp horns,
turned back on the herd, and were pushing their way frantically into the
center of it, while others, coming up, were forced upon the bull's
horns.

"Darn a stubborn bull, anyhow!" exclaimed Ted. "I've got to get in and
put a stop to that, or Gladiator will have the herd to milling or
running in less than ten minutes."

"Be careful," was all Stella said, but there was a world of anxiety in
her voice.

"You better get out of the way, Stella," said Ted "Ride to the rear.
You will see it all, and have just as much fun, and will be out of
danger."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make that bull move along or bust a string."

Ted's jaw was set with determination, and when Stella saw that she knew
that it would be useless for her to say anything more.

Ted loosened his rope, grasped his quirt firmly, and rode slowly toward
the bull, while Stella signaled to Billy Sudden to ride up to the head
of the herd.

The boys, observing Ted's actions, knew what he was about to do, and
ceased moving the cattle and sat on their horses to watch for the
outcome of the contest.

Most of them felt like spectators at a performance of a specially
hazardous feat, and held their breath. But each was on the alert to rush
to Ted's assistance the moment he seemed to need it.

As the bull looked up, and saw Ted approaching him, he ceased pawing,
and stood with watchful eyes. Occasionally he sent forth a challenging
bellow. His tail was switching from side to side, like that of an angry
cat.

Ted was coming alertly. No one knew the danger of openly attacking the
bull better than himself, and yet it must be done.

It was rule or kill, so far as the bull was concerned, for if the boys
could not manage him they would be compelled to kill him so that they
might be able to handle the herd, substituting a more amiable bull in
his place.

A cowman cannot always tell what a bull is going to do when it is faced
on the range. It may dodge the issue or it may attack, and Ted was wary
enough to be on the watch for the latter contingency.

Therefore, when Gladiator, without so much warning as the lowering of
his head, sprang at Ted when he was not more than ten feet away, he
covered the distance in two or three lumbering bounds, and Ted had just
sufficient time to wheel his pony to one side to avoid being bowled
over. But the horns of the bull struck the gaiter on his left leg, as it
rushed past, and tore it off, almost unseating him. Stella, breathlessly
watching the encounter, gasped as she saw Ted reel in his saddle. But
she breathed easier as she saw him straighten up and turn his horse
rapidly to face the bull again.

With almost incredible agility, the bull turned and came rushing at Ted
again, but the leader of the broncho boys rode swiftly away from him,
tolling him away from the herd.

Finally the bull stopped and began to paw the earth. Ted, to tempt him
to another attack, directed Sultan toward him at full speed, intending
to swerve when he got close to his bullship, and dodge him and infuriate
him further, so that he would follow. He knew that Sultan could outrun
Gladiator.

But, as he got close to the bull, in spite of the warning cries from
Stella and Bud, Gladiator swerved to meet the attack, and before the
fleet-footed pony could escape he was struck, and went rolling over the
ground.

A cry of horror went up from the boys as they all dashed to the scene.
Ted Strong was on the ground. The pony had scrambled to his feet, and
stood trembling a few feet distant. The bull, with lowered head, was
charging upon Ted.




CHAPTER IX.

TED GETS AN ASSIGNMENT.


To the horror-stricken onlookers it appeared that Ted's end had come. He
lay prone upon the sod with his face turned to the sky, evidently
stunned.

The bull, with all the ferocity of his kind when goaded to anger, was
charging upon him, his needle-like horns a few inches from the ground,
and the foam flecking from his lips.

Stella, her face white and drawn, was galloping toward him as fast as
her pony could go, while Bud was lashing his pony to the height of its
speed as he crossed the face of the herd. Billy Sudden was neck and neck
with Stella, calling to her to hold back.

Suddenly Ted Strong came to life, and looked over his shoulder.

He saw his danger, and quick as thought he rolled over, away from the
bull.

But that was all. Every one could see that it would do no good. He could
not expect to escape from the infuriated beast in that manner, and a
hollow groan escaped the lips of more than one.

Ted surely was doomed.

The bull's horns caught Ted in the side as he continued to roll away
from it, and it stopped for an instant, settling itself to toss him.
Stella turned her head away with a muttered prayer, and even the
cowboys, used to accidents in the round-up, gasped.

But suddenly they saw a cloud of dust fly upward, and thought at first
that Ted had fired his revolver into the face of the infuriated beast,
and it seemed strange that they had not heard the report of the weapon.

Then, miracle of miracles, the bull, with a snort of pain, threw up its
head, and Ted was not impaled upon its horns.

There was another cloud of dust, and the bull began backing away, slowly
but surely, shaking its head, as if in pain.

"Screamin' catamounts, did yer see thet, Stella?" cried Bud Morgan, as
he rode alongside the girl,

"What did he do?" asked Stella.

"He's saved hisself by blindin' ther bull. He throwed dust inter its
eyes. I'm dinged if I see how thet feller kin think o' things like thet
when he's down an' out. Look at him!"

As the bull rubbed its face in the grass Ted rolled over twice, then
leaped to his feet and ran to where Sultan was awaiting him.

A mighty cheer went up from the boys, and the color came back into
Stella's face with a rush, but she could not have uttered a sound to
save her life.

In the meantime, the bull had recovered, having rubbed the dust from its
eyes in the short grass, and looked about for its enemy.

It caught sight of Ted in the act of mounting, and sprang toward him
with the swiftness of a deer.

Then Stella recovered her voice.

"Run, Ted! Run!" she cried.

But Ted had seen the necessity of that himself, and, wheeled Sultan and
dashed off, looking over his shoulder at the enraged monster that was
following him, while he rapidly uncoiled his lariat.

Having run several hundred yards and outdistanced the bull, he turned
and stopped with his rope in his hand, closely calculating the animal's
distance and speed.

Bud and Stella were following the bull closely, both of them preparing
their lariats for the throw.

As the bull charged, Ted's rope was seen to leave his hand and go
sailing through the air in graceful loops and curves that lengthened out
one after the other.

One of the most difficult throws a cow-puncher can make with a lariat
was that which Ted attempted. He had to calculate to a degree the speed
with which the bull was advancing toward him, and that at which the rope
was leaving him. To calculate the point where the two would come
together would seem an almost impossible task.

But so nicely had Ted estimated it, that the open noose fell over the
bull's head and settled down, and, turning swiftly, Ted spurred Sultan
to one side, and the bull, shaking his head and emitting short, angry
bellows, rushed past.

The intelligent pony had suddenly come to a stop, bracing himself for
the shock, and when Gladiator came to the end of the rope he turned
completely over, and landed on his back with a thud that shook the
earth.

Bud had galloped forward, and was about to throw himself from the saddle
to tie the brute, when, with the agility of a cat, the bull was on its
feet, shaking its head and stamping the earth in a perfect fury of anger
and desperation. But it was by no means beaten, and ran at Bud, who took
to his heels. When again it arrived at the end of the rope, it went head
over heels, much to its loss of wind and dignity.

This time it did not rise so briskly, and Ted gave it all the time it
wanted.

Suddenly Stella dashed out and rode toward the bull, and when a few feet
from it curved off, with the angry brute in full pursuit. Had her pony
stumbled it would have been all up with her, for Gladiator was wild with
rage, and when it was again thrown its fury knew no bounds.

"A few more throws like that will settle him, I think," shouted Ted.
"Bait him again, Bud."

Again Bud rode out, and the bull took after him as before, and, when he
was jerked onto his back by the rope, he lay there.

Ted rode rapidly up to him, and, detaching a rope which had been knotted
around his waist, tied the bull's legs fore and aft, and the exhausted
brute did not make an objection.

For several minutes the bull lay panting, then it recovered.

When it came to its normal condition at last, it struggled furiously to
get to its feet, but each time it got up Ted jerked it to its side,
standing close to it so that it could see him.

Time and again it thus fruitlessly struggled.

It seemed to realize suddenly that it had been a very foolish bull, and
that it had met its master, who now stood over him ready to tumble him
over at any moment.

So he lay quite still, following Ted's movements with its great, dark
eyes, out of which all the ferocity had vanished.

Ted stepped up to it and patted its head, and it made no objection to
these attentions. Then he began to untie the bonds that held its legs
together.

"Look out fer him, he's treacherous," called Bud.

"He's all right," answered Ted. "I'll bet he'll eat out of my hand."

When it felt that it was free again, the bull got slowly to his feet and
walked sedately in the direction of the herd.

"You've broken the spirit of that bull," said Stella.

"You bet I have," said Ted. "That's just what he needed. He'll be a good
bull now. If he isn't, I'll give him some more."

Ted now rode to the head of the herd with Stella, and the other boys
took their places.

"All right, Billy. Send them forward," shouted Ted to the rear of the
herd.

Skillfully Ted set the herd to moving toward the south, where the other
herds were gathering under the management of the boys.

At first Gladiator threw up his head arrogantly, and did not stir.

Ted again rode toward him, swinging his lariat. The bull saw him as well
as the rope, and, recognizing the agents of his defeat, moved off
briskly at the head of the herd.

"Say," said Bud, across the head of the herd, "yer could slap that old
duffer across the face with your hat, and he'd apologize."

They were almost at the rendezvous, where thousands of cattle had been
gathered into a huge herd, and in every direction could be seen dust
clouds announcing that others were on the way.

"Here comes Carl hotfoot," said Stella. "He looks as if something had
happened, and he was an extra edition with 'a full account of the
terrible disaster.'"

"Hello, Carl! What is it?" asked Ted.

"Der United States marshal vaiting for you on der veranda iss," answered
Carl solemnly.

"Well, what do I care?" asked Ted. "He's come at a mighty busy time if
he just wants to swap a little conversation. Did he say what he wanted?"

"No, but he say it is very important vork, an' for you to hurry."

"My compliments to the marshal, and tell him I'm busy, and will see him
as soon as I get through. You entertain him for a while."

"But he der boss iss."

"Not on this ranch. This is a free and unadulterated republic, where
there are no bosses. Tell him to make himself at home, and I'll be
there as soon as I can."

Now the cattle were all rounded up, and the cutting out of the two and
three-year olds began.

This was intensely exciting work, in which Stella joined, as she was as
skilled at it as any of the boys. Outside of the big herd, the cowboys
were picking up the cut-outs and driving them to the branding pens, for
many of them were acquired stock, and even many of the home yearlings
had never been branded.

Then the cows with calves were cut out, so that the youngsters might get
a touch of life by feeling the sting of the hot iron with the Crescent V
brand on it.

The buyers were circulating in the herds, looking over the stock.

Several of the buyers had brought their own cow-punchers with them, and
these went to work cutting out the selections of their employers.

The sky was thick with dust, and the air rang with the shouts of the
cowboys and the lowing and bellowing of the cattle.

The rattle of countless hoofs on the hard soil added to the din, and the
cattle weaving in and out ceaselessly, and the dashing riding of the
cowboys as they swooped out of the mass occasionally to drive back an
escaping steer, made a scene of excitement, movement, and noise never
seen anywhere, except at a Western cattle round-up and cut-out.

Soon the work was pretty well in hand, and, leaving Bud Morgan as
segundo, Ted went to the house to see the marshal.

He found that officer sitting on the veranda, quietly smoking a cigar,
an interested witness of the proceedings.

"How are you, Mr. Easton?" said Ted, shaking hands with the marshal. "I
must apologize for not coming sooner, but my hands were full."

"So I see," said the marshal cordially. "I was watching you work out
there. Say, I believe I'd like to be a cow-puncher if I wasn't so old."

"It's a young man's job," said Ted, laughing; "and even at that it is
about all a young fellow can stand at times. But this to-day is a mere
picnic to what we are up against sometimes."

"Well, you seem to be right in it."

"Yes, I love my business. I wouldn't be anything in the world except a
cow-puncher."

"But, remember, you are also a government officer."

"I never forget that. But, if it came to being compelled to quit one or
the other of the occupations, I'd still be a cow-puncher, and let the
marshalship go."

"That's the very thing I came to see about."

"You want my resignation?" asked Ted, his spirits falling to zero.

"By no means," laughed the marshal. "Not that, but to ask you to
undertake a somewhat difficult job. It transpires that when the Soldier
Butte bank was robbed the other night, a large amount of money belonging
to the government was taken. I didn't know this until early this
afternoon, when I received a telegram from Washington to go after the
robbers and land them."

"That'll be somewhat of a job," said Ted, drawing his chair closer to
the marshal, so that he couldn't be overheard by passing people.

"I'm well aware of that, and that's the reason I come to you. You and
your boys must undertake the duty of clearing up the mystery of the
robbery, and, if possible, recovering the money."

"I have a very probable theory as to who the robbers are, but it will be
entirely another matter to fasten it on them."

"I leave it all to you. I don't want to have anything to do with it. All
I want are results."

"But I shall not have time to tackle it for a day or two. Unfortunately
our fall round-up is in progress, and, as this is the time we sell the
product of our business, we can't leave it until everything is cleared
up."

"That's all right, Mr. Strong. But when you do get busy, don't come back
home until you land the thieves."




CHAPTER X.

A VISITOR IN THE NIGHT.


A great deal of money changed hands that day. The stock buyers had their
wallets loaded with cash when they came a-buying, for, when they had cut
out the cattle they wanted, and the price was struck, they were prepared
to drive them off at once.

The sales at the round-up had been large, and Ted and the boys sat up
late that night, after those guests who had elected to remain over for
the festivities of the next day were safely in bed, counting the money
and going over the books.

"It has been a mighty good year for us, boys," said Ted, as he
contemplated the total of their sales.

"Yes, and, best of all, it leaves us with all the old stock disposed of,
and nothing but young and vigorous animals with which to begin building
up again," said Kit, who had a great head for the cattle business and a
faculty for seeing into the future.

"What aire we goin' ter do with all this yere mazuma?" asked Bud,
looking over the stacks of fifties, twenties, tens, and fives that lay
on the table around which they were sitting in the living room, and
which was flanked by piles of gold and a few hundred-dollar bills.

"Can't get it into the bank until day after to-morrow," said Ted. "We'll
be too busy to-morrow looking after our guests, and I don't suppose
we'll be free until after the dance to-morrow night. Still, I'm not
worrying about it. We know everybody here to-night, and I'll take care
of it till we can ride over to Strongburg and bank it."

Just then the door blew open with a bang, and big Ben scurried in,
bringing with him a blast of prairie wind, crisp and chill from the
mountain, that scattered the greenbacks all over the room, and two or
three of the fives were blown into the fire and incinerated before any
one could rescue them.

"Close that door!" shouted Bud, grasping frantically at the money that
was capering over the top of the table.

Ben closed the door with a slam that shook the house.

"'A fool and his money is soon parted,'" quoted Ben, when he saw the
havoc wrought by the wind.

"You bet," said Kit "Three fives blew into the fireplace, and are no
more. We'll just charge them to your account."

"Like dolly, you will!" said Ben.

"If it hadn't been for you they wouldn't be there. What's the reason we
won't?"

"Because you won't. I didn't make the wind."

"No, but consarn ye, ye let it in, an' ye're an accessory before er
after ther fact. I reckon both," said Bud.

"Let it go, boys," said Ted. "Pick up the bills, and we'll count and
stack them again."

"Where have you been, anyway?" asked Kit, addressing Ben.

"Down beddin' my show for the night. They're about all in now. All
except the music, which will be here in the morning," replied Ben. "I'm
not at all stuck on myself, but--"

"Oh, no, you've got a very poor opinion of yourself, I guess," said Kit.

"But I want to say that I think I got the bunkie-doodelest show that
ever paced the glimmering, gleaming, gloaming grass of Moon Valley."

"Listen to the hombre explode," said Bud. "He's tryin' ter be a feeble
imitation o' a real showman. I'll bet he shows up ter-morrer like a
ringmaster in a sucuss, with high, shiny boots an' a long whip an a
tall, slick hat, an' crack his whip an' say: 'What will ther leetle lady
hev next?'"

Ben blushed, for his ambitions in the show line, now that he had had a
taste of it, had really been in that direction, only he wouldn't have
had the boys know it for the world.

"How about the show, anyhow, Ben?" asked Ted.

"What have you got? You might as well let us know now."

"Not on your autobiography," answered Ben haughtily. "I want to say,
though, that your eyes will bulge like the knobs on a washstand drawer
when you see what I've got, and then come to look at the bill for such a
stupendous, striking, and singularly successful aggregation of freaks,
acts, and divertisements embodied in this colossal and cataclysmic
congregation of--"

"Oh, cheese it," said Kit. "You give me the pip."

"All right, have it your own way," sighed Ben. "This is what a fellow
gets for serving his country, from Thomas Jefferson to John D.
Rockefeller."

"Come on," said Ted persuasively. "Loosen up and tell us what we are to
have to-morrow. This is an executive session of the whole."

"You're like a lot of kids the day before Christmas. You've just got to
see what mamma's hidden in the closet," said Ben. "Well, I'll let you in
on a little of it."

"Shoot when you're ready," said Kit.

"I was over at Strongburg about a month ago, and, knowing that I'd have
to rustle up a show soon, I wrote to a theatrical agent in Chicago to
let me know if he could furnish me with a good amusement company at
small cost. He wrote me that he had the very thing, and offered me one
of these bum 'wild west' shows, with a bunch of spavined ponies, a lot
of imitation cowboys, fake Indians, and Coney Island target shooters."

"An' yer didn't take 'em?" asked Bud, in surprise.

"Tush! Well, I was up against it, when Morrison, the hotel man, told me
that there was a showman in town, and perhaps I might get something out
of him.

"I hunted him up. He was a typical showman. Big fellow, large as a
Noah's ark, dressed like a sunset, and loud as an eighteen-inch gun."

"I saw the fellow in Soldier Butte the other day. He was talking to
Wiley Creviss in the bank," said Ted. "You've described him more
picturesquely than I should, but I'm convinced he's the same man."

"I asked him what he had, and he told me he could furnish me on short
notice anything from a three-ring circus to a hand organ and monkey,"
continued Ben. "I told him how much money I wanted to spend, and he said
he'd fix me up a show that would make everybody delighted, and I told
him to go ahead. The show blew in to-night, and ran up their tents down
near the corral."

"How many have you got in it?"

"I've got a balloon ascension for the afternoon, a giant and a midget, a
magician, an Egyptian fortune teller, a trick mule, a Circassian beauty,
and a strong man." Ben looked around proudly, and the boys burst into
peals of laughter.

"Have you scraped the mold off of them yet?" asked Kit.

"How's that?" asked Ben haughtily.

"Have you pulled the burs off the chestnuts?"

"See here, what do you mean? Are you casting aspersions on my show?"

"N