It came to him that he was at the Long Tom, and he remembered having left the Circle S herd out in the blizzard.
This stirred him to action, and he went back to the kitchen with the intention of lighting the fire and getting breakfast.
He stopped in the doorway in astonishment. Stella, with her sleeves rolled to the elbows, was busily engaged at the stove, singing as she worked.
"Good morning," said Ted. "You beat me to it. Why didn't you wake me up and put me to work?"
"Hello!" said Stella cheerily. "You looked so tired sitting in that chair that I thought I'd let you sleep. At any rate, cooking breakfast is no work for a boy in a house. Get ready. Breakfast will be on the table in a minute. What do you think I found in the shed behind the house? A mountain sheep already dressed, and hung up for us. The fellow who left this house for us certainly was a good one. He knew we'd come in hungry, and left everything ready for us."
"That was just like Fred Sturgis. He's one of the best fellows in the world. He's the owner of the ranch. Young New York fellow. Wanted to spend the winter in the East. That's how I was able to get the ranch. But I'll bet he'll be back here before the snow melts. You couldn't keep him off the range for any length of time."
"He certainly has good taste. The house is almost as nice as the Moon Valley house, but nothing is quite as nice as that."
Mrs. Graham and Carl were roused, and they were soon sitting down to chops from a mountain sheep and corn bread which Stella had made; and they all voted that winter life in Montana promised to be a very jolly thing.
When Ted went outdoors the whole world was simply a glittering waste where the sun shone on, and was reflected back from the vast field of snow.
Sultan was in the sheltered corral, and as Ted threw the saddle on his back he reared and jumped about like a playful kitten.
"Quit your cavorting about, you rascal," said Ted, as Sultan wheeled away from the saddle with a playful snort, at the same time reaching around and trying to nip Ted's shoulder with his teeth.
"My, but you're feeling gay this morning," said Ted. "Here, hold still, won't you? How do you suppose I'm ever going to get this saddle on you if you don't stand still?"
But the cold weather and the bright sunshine had filled Sultan with ginger, and he was as full of play as a small boy when he wakes up some early winter morning and sees the ground covered with the first snow, and remembers the sled that has lain in the woodshed all summer.
But at last the saddle was on, and then Ted had his hands full getting into it.
"Gee, but you're skittish this morning," said Ted, giving Sultan a vigorous slap on the haunch. "But just you wait a few minutes until I get on you. I'll take some of that out of you."
But when he tried to find the stirrup with his toe, Sultan wheeled away from him with a little kick that was as dainty as that of a professional dancer.
But at last Ted made a leap and landed safely upon Sultan's back, and gave him a slap with the loose end of his rein. The little horse gave a leap like a kangaroo, and dashed through the gateway of the corral and across the white prairie, running like a quarter horse.
The herd was nowhere in sight, but in the far distance Ted saw a thin blue stream of smoke rising in the still, frosty air.
He knew it to be the camp fire of McCall, and that breakfast was going forward at the cow camp in the snow.
Heading Sultan toward it, Ted rushed on through the stimulating air of a Northern winter, and soon came in sight of the chuck wagon, and several of the boys standing around a fire.
As he dashed forward he raised the long yell, which was gleefully answered, and soon he was at the camp.
This was where he and Stella had started from the night before.
Turning his eyes back in the direction he had come, Ted could see the smoke rising from the chimney of the ranch house, although the house itself was hidden behind a swell in the surface of the prairie.
Had he only known it, he might have driven the herd right up to the ranch house during the night. As it was, he saw now that he and Stella, with the carriage, had ridden for almost two hours in the night, traveling in a circle, and by the merest chance had stumbled upon the ranch house.
"Hello, fellows!" he shouted as he rode up. "Where are the dogies?"
"Oh, to blazes and gone!" exclaimed big Ben, who was trying to thaw out his boots at the fire.
"Where?" asked Ted anxiously.
"Away off yonder." Ben pointed disconsolately toward the south.
"Are they all right?"
"All right, nothing. They're up to their bellies in snow in a coulee, and won't stir. They're the sickest-looking lot of beef critters you ever saw. We've been working with them ever since daylight, then Bud sent us along to thaw out and get some chuck into us, and hurry back so that the other fellows could get limbered up some. Find the house?"
"Yes, accidentally stumbled on to it. Bully place, and the womenfolks are comfortably settled."
"Looks like it," grunted Ben, pointing to the north.
Ted looked in that direction and saw a spotted pony leaping toward them, and above it a dash of scarlet. It was Stella, riding like the wind on Magpie.
"Have any trouble with the critters in the night?" asked Ted.
"Did we? Well, I should howl. After you got under way they began to drift before the wind. We fought them all night, and if we'd let them go they'd been plumb into Colorado by this time. I don't want any more such nights in mine."
"That was only a starter, my friend. That was a picnic compared to what you may have to go up against before the daisies bloom again."
"Chuck!" yelled McCall, beating on the bottom of a griddle with a big iron spoon.
The fellows left the fire in a hurry and, squatting in the snow with a tin cup full of steaming coffee and a plate heaped with fried bacon and griddle cakes, were soon too busy to remember their weariness.
Stella had ridden up, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling with the frost and the exercise.
"Why didn't you wait for me?" she cried to Ted. "You're a mean thing. Thought you'd leave me behind, but here I am." She made a little face at Ted.
"I thought you'd rather stay indoors to-day on account of the cold," stammered Ted.
"Well, change your line of thought. There's going to be nothing to keep me indoors in this country, and don't you forget it. If I've got to stay indoors, I'll go South."
As soon as the boys had finished breakfast they were ready for another day's work.
"Come on, fellows," shouted Ted. "Let's hurry to where the critters are, and send the other boys back. Mac, cook up another breakfast for them."
They were in the saddle in a jiffy, and scurrying toward the south as fast as their ponies could carry them.
Ted found the herd bogged in a shallow coulee that was filled to the top with snow, in which they stood up to their bellies, lowing from fright, hunger, and thirst.
They were packed in a solid mass, and could not get out on the other side because the wall of the coulee was too steep for them to clamber up, as they might have done had it not been for the deep snow with which it was drifted full.
As a matter of fact, though, the coulee had saved the herd from drifting many miles in the night.
But how to get them out was the question that perplexed Bud, and with the arrival of Ted he thankfully turned the task over to him.
"Hike for the chuck wagon, boys," shouted Ted, as he came up.
"Well, I should smile to ejaculate," said Bud, "we're as hollow an' cold as a rifle bar'l. I'll turn this leetle summer matinée over ter you, my friend, not wishin' you any harm."
"Go ahead and enjoy yourselves," said Ted. "But as soon as you have filled up and warmed up come back. As soon as we get the bunch out of this hole it will be a snap to get them near the ranch house. If we'd only known it, we could have made it in half an hour more last night."
When Bud had ridden away Ted took stock of the situation, and found that he had a diff
icult problem to solve.
Under ordinary circumstances it would have been easy to snake the cattle out of the coulee by roping them around the horns and dragging them out with the ponies, but it was utterly impossible to do that with a couple of thousand of them.
While he was looking things over he became aware that Stella had ridden away. He looked anxiously after her, for he knew her propensity for getting into trouble when she rode alone. Soon she dropped out of sight behind a swell in the prairie with a flash in the sunlight of her scarlet jacket.
Ted was still studying the situation, riding up and down the edge of the coulee, trying to figure out some plan of rescue, and noting the cattle that were down, and which were rapidly being trampled to death by the other beasts, or being smothered by the snow.
The prospect was not a pleasing one to the young cow boss, for he saw the profits of the venture fading away hourly.
Suddenly a faint, shrill yell reached his ears, and he wheeled his pony in the direction from which it came.
Stella's scarlet jacket was coming toward him in a whirlwind of flying snow, and he rushed toward her.
What could have happened to her? He looked in vain for whatever was pursuing her, and saw that she was not being followed, but was swinging her arm above her head with a triumphant gesture.
He slowed his pony down, and soon she dashed to his side.
"You fellows are certainly a bright lot of cow-punchers," she exclaimed.
"What's the matter now?" asked Ted gloomily.
"Didn't any of you think of scouting down the coulee?"
"I confess I didn't."
"You ought to be laid off the job for a week."
"Why?"
"You can get those cattle out of that hole in an hour."
"We can! How do you know?"
"The coulee runs out about a mile to the west, and straight to the north, up a wide swale, lies the ranch house in full view."
"Stella, you're all right. But the cattle are bogged, and they can't move even down the coulee."
"I believe they can."
"How?"
"When the other boys come back from breakfast all of you jump into the coulee and tramp the snow down as much as you can ahead of the leaders. Then start them up."
"Bully for you, Stella; you're a better cow-puncher than any of us."
"No, I'm not, but because I don't know as much about it I go at it in a woman's way, which is a roundabout way, and nearly always foolish to look at, but sometimes does the work."
This suggestion had the effect of taking a great load from Ted's shoulders, for if he did not succeed in getting the herd out before night they would freeze solid in their molds of snow, and then he would never get half of them out alive.
Presently Bud and the other boys came winging back from breakfast, and Ted told them of the plan for releasing the cattle, at the same time praising Stella and giving her all the credit for the idea.
"Peevish peppers, but I'm a tenderfoot," grunted Bud. "Why in Sam Hill didn't I think o' that myself? I reckon I'm gettin' too old fer ther cow business. I ought ter be milkin' cows at some dairy farm."
The boys followed Stella's suggestion, and, leaping into the coulee, wheeled their ponies about until they had a well-beaten road for several hundred feet toward the west.
Then, cutting out a bunch of about fifty steers, led by a wise old fellow, the herd leader, whom they called Baldy on account of the spot of white hair between his horns, drove them along the path. After getting the bunch going well, the boys drove them with yells and the lashing of quirts into the deep snow ahead, and would not let them stop.
Another bunch was driven up, and soon there was a smooth road along the bottom of the coulee to the open ground, over which the cattle passed to safety.
Stella's good common sense had saved the herd.
* * *
CHAPTER III.
THE SIGN-CAMP GHOST.
As the last of the herd came out of the coulee to the open ground, a cheer went up for Stella, who blushed rosy-red, and told the boys to hush.
Then the drive to the big pasture began, word having been sent to McCall to follow with the chuck wagon.
The big pasture ran north from the home pasture, which was near the ranch house.
It comprised thousands of acres, and was so high that nearly always it was free of snow, which the strong winds coming down from the mountains swept as clear as if a gigantic broom had been used.
Back of the pasture lay a range of low mountains, the Sweet Grass they were called, in which several high buttes towered like sentinels.
The Sweet Grass Mountains had the reputation of harboring a great many "bad men," both whites and Indians, who had forsaken the Blackfeet Indian reservation to the west.
The mountain valleys afforded a splendid protection for the cattle, as did the numerous coulees with which the country was seamed.
The big pasture of the Long Tom was reputed to be the best winter feeding ground in Montana. The grass was high and nutritious, and there were plenty of water holes.
Once on the pasture the cattle scattered into smaller herds, each under the leadership of a bull, while the steers drifted off by themselves.
All that was necessary to care for the herd was to ride the lines of the pasture, and keep the cattle on their own feeding grounds, prevent them from straying, and hunt down the packs of wolves which preyed upon the weak cows and young cattle.
At stated intervals along the lines of the pasture were cabins, known as "sign camps," in which the line riders lived.
The first sign camp out of the home pasture was eight miles distant, and the next was under the lee of the mountains, on the west line.
As Ted directed the drive of the herd to the big pasture, on the south and west line of which the first sign camp was situated, he cut out part of the herd and held it back, while the remainder of the cattle went forward.
At the first sign camp Bud and Carl were dropped, for they were to ride the line to the north and east from that point.
Bud was glad to get some rest, and with a wave of the hand went on his way to the camp to await the arrival of Carl, who had ridden back to the ranch house for his blankets and other supplies.
During the day the chuck wagon, following the instructions of Ted, stopped at the sign camp, and left a supply of provisions and Bud's blankets.
Bud looked out the window of the cabin, and saw that the herd was grazing quietly, for the cattle were very hungry, and as they were safe for the time being, he rolled himself in his blankets and was soon sleeping soundly.
He awoke on hearing a fumbling at the door, and sat up.
It was pitch dark, and he had slept nearly all day.
Unlimbering his six-shooter, he called, "Who's thar?"
"Ach, Pud, it's me alretty," came the muffled reply.
"So it's you, Carl. Why don't you come in?"
"Der door open, Pud, please. I my arrums full mit dings have."
Bud sprang from his blankets and threw the door open, admitting a cold blast and a flurry of snow.
"Ugh!" he ejaculated, with a shudder. "Come in, yer fat wad o' Dutch. What yer waitin' fer?"
"Someding has my hat stolen off mit my head." Carl's voice expressed both perplexity and awe.
Evidently something unusual had happened, and Bud put on his hat and stepped outside.
He had no sooner passed through the doorway than his own hat was snatched from his head.
He drew his revolver, leaped into the open, and looked about him.
There was no one in sight except Carl, who was standing near him with his arms full of blankets and bundles.
Carl could not have played the trick on him, and there was not wind enough to have blown the hat away. Anyhow, it had been snatched from his head by a hand and not by the wind.
There was something uncanny about this.
It was still light enough to see out in the open, and the snow-covered ground reflected light enough to h
ave discovered an intruder had one been there.
Bud ran around the house, but could find no person, and there were no tracks of a man's foot in the snow.
"Jumpin' sand hills, but that's queer," said Bud, coming back to where Carl was still standing in the snow before the door, staring about in a bewildered way. "Gosh ding yer, Carl, I believe yer swiped my hat, an' if yer don't give it up I'll plant my toe whar it'll be felt onpleasantly."
"Honest, Pud, I ain't your hat taking," said Carl distressfully. "Vhy, I my hat losing too, yet."
"That's so, an' yer loaded down with truck. Throw them things inter ther house an' help me hunt ther thief. Don' be standin' thar like a sausage."
"Don'd you calling me a sissage," said Carl wrathfully. "I ain't feeling mooch as having fun mit you now. I bring all dese dings mit der saddle on, und I lose two or three every dime der pony makes his jumpings, und get down kvick to pick dem up maype as fifty dimes."
"Oh, all right. Quit yer bellyachin', an' come an' help. We can't get along without hats. That's a cinch."
Carl retired into the house with his bundles.
"Wow! Stop it, cuss ye," yelled Bud, as Carl came out of the cabin.
"I ain't didding noding," said Carl, backing away as Bud rushed upon him.
"Yer did, yer fat galoot. Yer pulled my hair 'most out by ther roots."
"I ain't pulling no hairs," Carl persisted.
"Then who done it? Yer ther only person what I can see. It's a cinch some one pulled my hair."
"Say, Pud."
"What?"
"Let us camp outside."
"What, an' freeze ter death before mornin'? Nixy. Not fer me."
"Ain't you heard about der shack?"
"No, I ain't, an' I don't want ter. What I'm after now is ther galoot what got our hats an' pulled my hair."
"Ain't you heard about der ghost?"
"Ghost!"
Bud was staring at Carl with his jaw dropped.
Ted Strong in Montana Page 2
