CHAPTER IX
THE CATTLE CACHE
Just as Bob had anticipated, it was found that the narrow pass servedsomewhat as the neck of the bottle. Perhaps it was the only way wherebycattle could enter or leave the secret valley lying between the severalspurs of the high ridge. By blocking this pass with rocks, as hadapparently been done, there was little chance of any wandering on thepart of the trapped herd.
The two boys had to clamber over these rocks. Bob could see that theyhad recently been moved to the position they now occupied.
“I wonder how the old chap ever made it?” he murmured, as he went downthe other side of the barrier.
Frank chuckled, for it happened that just then his thoughts were rovingin exactly the same quarter that the words spoken by his chum wouldindicate held Bob’s attention.
“Now, you’re thinking of Old Baldy, eh Bob?” he asked, softly.
“Just what I was,” replied the other.
“And wondering how he ever got over all those rocks when he escaped?”Frank went on.
“He must have had wings to do it, that’s what, Frank.”
“Oh! shucks!” Frank remarked. “I don’t believe for a second the oldrascal ever went up over this barricade. Perhaps it didn’t happen to behere at the time he flew the coop. Then, again, it might be the sharpold chap found some other way of leaving the hidden valley, that eventhe rustlers know nothing about.”
“I wouldn’t wonder, Frank,” said the other; “for he’s as wise as theymake ’em, I reckon.”
“No more at present, Bob,” cautioned Frank.
Having climbed over the barrier designed to block the neck of the valleywhich had so long served Mendoza as a hiding place for his stolen stock,the two lads followed Colonel Haywood and the cow punchers.
The broad stretch of moonlight had been left behind, and now they werepassing along through shadows again. Bob hardly knew when Scotty and hismate joined the column, so silently did they appear. The first thing herealized, some one was at the side of the stockman, and appeared to beconferring with him in low tones as they moved along; and when theychanced to pass through a patch of moonlight, he saw that it was Scotty.
Of course from this he understood that the sentry had been placed in acondition where he could do no harm. Somewhere aloft there he wasundoubtedly lying, tied up like a mummy of the ancient pyramids, anddoubtless filled with wonder as to what had happened.
They seemed to be following what was evidently a path, partly made bythe hoofs of many cattle coming and going. Now it seemed to run alongover the plain side of the mountain; but occasionally it hugged the edgeof what appeared to be a sheer descent.
No doubt in the light of day this would have not been a dangerous route.It was quite a different thing now, for the moon failed to be of anyassistance, owing to the lay of the land.
Bob was making his way along with more or less confidence, neverdreaming of sudden peril, for he had faith in his abilities as amountain climber. But it proved that, after all, he was not quite sosure-footed as those who had been brought up to such work.
Bob always claimed that it was a pebble under his foot that caused himto slip. He felt a thrill of alarm as he felt himself going, for a blackgulf lay on that side of him, and he could only guess how far he wouldtumble if he went over.
He naturally made a convulsive effort to clutch some object that wouldprevent his slipping beyond the edge upon which he was now perilouslybalanced. And, queer as it might seem, when he looked back after it wasall over, Bob realized that he was really more concerned about the noisehis fall would make, thus betraying the presence of his comrades, thanwhat would happen to him personally.
Fortunately, Frank had been on the watch. He knew the Kentucky boy wasnot quite so sure on his feet as the rest of them; and besides, Bob mustbe more or less tired just then.
So when he heard that suspicious grating sound, which told of a stumble,Frank turned instantly. His hand shot out and by the best of luck camein contact with the extended rifle of Bob. There was a quick clutch, andas Frank had braced himself for the little shock, he managed to hold theother. And in another second Bob was once more back on the path,trembling not a little, but safe.
“Whew! that was a bad job for me, Frank!” he gasped.
“It might have been worse,” came from his chum, rather dryly.
“I didn’t mean that, and you know it,” added Bob; “but the noise of thatpiece of rock I kicked over the edge, what if it was heard by some ofthe rustlers?”
“Not much danger, because you see they’re too far away from here.Besides,” Frank continued, “such a thing wouldn’t alarm them. A rock mayroll down the side of a mountain like this at any time. It was only thegrowling that came from the heart of Thunder Mountain that used torattle the Indians and cowboys.”
“But Frank, these rustlers didn’t used to mind it, did they?” asked Bob.
“I’ve been thinking that over,” his chum replied, “and I’ve come to theconclusion that Mendoza must have found out the truth for himself longago, and knew about the big geyser that boiled up inside the mountain.”
“Then he and his men kept it a secret, all right,” Bob remarked, as hefollowed close on the heels of Frank, the dangerous point having nowbeen passed by.
“It paid him to do that, don’t you see?” Frank went on. “So long asIndians and ignorant prospectors, as well as cowboys, believed the placeto be haunted, he knew they would fight shy of Thunder Mountain, and hisvalley ranch here wouldn’t be known. But the worm has turned at last;and this is going to mark the end of the rustler’s secret cache.”
Once more Bob held his peace. He was interested in watching ahead, andnoting what seemed to be lights in the valley.
“Unless I miss my guess, they’re fires, too,” he said to himself. “Andwhen that one flamed up just then I sure saw what looked like a cabinjust back of it. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if that Mendoza has got aregular little colony planted right here! This must be where he liveswhen he isn’t out rustling cattle, and running off with the saddle bandsbelonging to ranches. Talk about nerve, would you!”
Of course, as they advanced along the side of the valley, the soundsthat had come so faintly to their ears when beyond the barrier now grewmore positive. Cattle could be heard, trust the experienced ears ofcowboys for detecting their presence. Then, besides, voices sounded, asmen called out to one another; while the fellow who twanged the mandolinpersisted in his efforts to practice on the airs he possibly meant tosing the next time he went courting down below the Mexican border.
That the rustlers had been in this place a long time, unsuspected by anyof the stockmen, or even the State authorities, Frank soon had positiveevidence.
“Say, what’s this mean?” asked Bob, as they came to what seemed to be abarbed wire fence, six strands high.
“It’s a corral to keep the cattle in, at times, perhaps while thebranding is going on,” answered his chum, familiar with all suchdevices.
“I wager then that Old Baldy broke through it,” Bob declared.
“I wouldn’t think that impossible, because he’s done it many a time inthe past,” Frank whispered in his turn. “But how did you guess it?”
“Because I noticed, Frank, that he was considerably torn along one ofhis shoulders, and the marks looked fresh, just as barbed fencing alwaysjabs a steer,” went on the other.
“Good for you, Bob; glad you had your eyes about you that time,” Franksaid; for it always pleased him to find that his chum was observinglittle things, such as serve as straws to show which way the wind blows.
“I wonder how many men there are in this place?” Bob continued, for hewas so filled with a desire to obtain information that he could not keepfrom asking questions.
“No telling,” Frank replied; “but enough to give us a tussle in case wehave to get down to hard blows, which I hope we won’t. All we want is toget back our stock.”
“But if the rustlers try to keep us from recovering the h
erd, what then,Frank?”
“Trouble, and of the worst kind,” was the reply. “But between dad andScotty and Bart I reckon they’ll be able to manage things. We’ve got onechap with his wings clipped right now; perhaps there may be others,sooner or later.”
“You mean, take them prisoner?” asked Bob.
“That would be what my dad would want if he had his way. But all we haveto do is to lie low and obey orders. I’m ready to help as far as I can;and I know you are too, Bob.”
“We seem to be creeping closer all the time,” remarked Bob.
“Yes, and for that reason, suppose we stop talking now. If it’s reallynecessary you can whisper close to my ear; but better keep quiet all youcan,” said Frank; and his chum took the hint.
They could now easily make out the men as they walked back and forth, orlounged in the camp. The several cabins and tents could also be plainlyseen, as the fires burned cheerfully, or the moon looked down on thescene, mounting higher above the rim of the ridge to the east, fringedwith a straggling row of stunted trees.
Bob had never expected to be given a chance to look in on the camp of arustler band, and especially one so notorious as Pedro Mendoza’s. Morethan once he rubbed his eyes as though suspecting that he might bedreaming; but the voices of the men around the fires, the clashing oflong-horned cattle near by, and the picture of the cabins still remainedto prove the truth, and show him that it was real.
The Saddle Boys at Circle Ranch; Or, In at the Grand Round-Up Page 9
