Ted Strong in Montana

by Taylor, Edward C

  "Yah. Dis is a ghost haus, filled mit ghostesses."

  "Don't you go making any monkey talks at me. There ain't no sich things as ghosts. That'll do fer ter frighten kids with, but not fer me."

  "Den who tooken our hats, und who your golden locks pulled?"

  "That's so. Who took them? Tell me, who put all thet dope about this bein' a haunted house in ther shell what yer calls yer head?"

  "Bill Simms, der cow-puncher vot we picked up on der drive, informationed me about it. He says a man was kilt in dis shack, und dot he valks aroundt mit it ven der night cooms."

  "That Bill Simms is ther worst liar in forty States. He tried ter fill me with wild dreams about a feller what rides ther line on this yere ranch what can stand havin' ther contents o' a six-shooter pumped inter him, an' it don't feaze him none."

  "Yah. Dot's der ghostes vot runs dis shack. I don'd vant ter stay here, Pud. Please let us camp out in der snow."

  "Why, yer doodle, can't ther ghost come out yere jest ez easy ez he kin' go inter ther house—that is, if he's a sure-enough ghost?"

  "Yah, I guess he can. Vat vill ve didding?"

  "I don't care what you do, but I'm goin' inter ther shack ter start up ther fire an' get warm. I don't care what you do, but I'm 'most froze."

  "Don't leaf me alone, dear Pud. Please, I imploring you."

  "Come on, then."

  Bud stepped inside, and, as he did so, he uttered an exclamation of surprise.

  Both the purloined hats lay in the middle of the floor.

  "There, didn't I told you?" exclaimed Carl, in an awed voice.

  Bud simply stared at the hats.

  "Nopody but a ghostes could haf did dat."

  Bud looked around the room, and then up at the ceiling.

  Then he burst into a roar of laughter.

  "Thar's ther ghost," he shouted, grasping Carl by the arm and twisting him around so that he could see.

  In the corner just below the ceiling were two sharp, green points of light that glowed in the faint radiance cast by the fire, which had sunk to embers.

  "Ach, mutter, save your liddle Carl. It vor der ghostes."

  "That ain't no ghost," said Bud scornfully. "Ain't you never hear tell how ghosts look? They're all white an' long an' skinny, an' when they walk they carry chains what clanks, an'——"

  "Oh, Pud, stop. Don't say it some more. My plood vas chilling now so I ain't aple to svallow in my troat alretty. I vas so scared as nefer vas I."

  "Yer a cheerful roommate, I must say. See, ther ghost is gone."

  "I ain't nefer goin' ter be happy some more. I haf seen a ghost. I vill die, I am sure."

  "Yer kin bet on that ez a shore thing, an' I reckon I will, too."

  "Listen!" Carl grasped Bud by the arm with the clutch of despair.

  There was a faint and stealthy noise on the roof.

  Both stood for a few moments listening breathlessly.

  Then they heard a faint, far-away wail, like that of a banshee.

  Carl threw his arms around Bud in an agony of fear.

  "Dere it iss. Ve are gone. All iss lost."

  Again the gruesome wail came to them, this time louder and clearer, and in a moment or two a hand was at the door. The latch clicked softly, and the door swung slowly open.

  * * *

  CHAPTER IV.

  THE BIG COON TREE.

  "Hello, what's the matter with you fellows? Are you going to have a waltz, or is it going to be a two-step, or a catch-as-catch-can wrestling match? Perhaps you've suddenly grown very fond of one another."

  It was Ted who spoke, standing in the doorway, laughing as if he would burst his buttons off, at the strange tableau in the middle of the floor, Carl clinging to Bud, who was trying to shake him off.

  "Let loose o' me," shouted Bud. "Why, ther feller's plumb daffy on ghosts. He says as how this shack is haunted, an' he's plumb loco."

  "Yah. Didn't we just hear der ghostes yell mit der outside?" said Carl, who had been thrust away from his clutch on Bud, and was standing in the middle of the floor, trembling like one with the ague.

  "Ha, ha!" laughed Ted. "Ghost, eh? It was me calling to the cattle, and sending them back from the line."

  "Yah, aber I seen mit mine own eyes der green ones oof der ghost up in dot corner, und heart him on der roof."

  "Come outside, and I'll show you the footprints of the ghost," said Ted, leading the way.

  Out in the snow by the side of the cabin Ted showed them several tracks, something like a small hand, which ended at the wall of the cabin.

  "That's where the ghost went up," said Ted. "Let's climb the wall, and see what is on the roof."

  It was easy climbing up the log wall, for there were plenty of footholds.

  When they were high enough to look over the edge of the roof, Bud gave an exclamation of surprise, and then burst out laughing, in which Ted joined.

  But Carl could not see the joke.

  "It's a vild cat," he shouted, scrambling to the ground.

  "It ain't, neither," asseverated Bud. "It's a bully little ole pet coon. That's what it is."

  He held out his hand, and the coon, making a queer little chuckling noise, came slowly toward him as he held out his finger, which the sharp-eyed little beast clasped in its fingerlike paw and pulled.

  Bud reached out, tucked it under his arm, and climbed down with it.

  "This yere coon was a pet ter ther fellers what rid line yere before," said Bud, when they were in the cabin again. "He's been hangin' eround ever since, an' when he saw us he thought it wuz his ole pardners come back. He's been taught ter swipe hats an' drop 'em down inter ther house through ther chimbley hole. That accounts fer it, an' I reckon he's ther whole ghost."

  "Yah, mebbe I dinks so," said Carl, who looked rather sheepish at his exhibition of fear.

  "He's a smart little piece," said Ted. "By the way, Carl, get busy with the pots and pans. I'm going to stay to supper and sleep here to-night. I've got the cattle and the boys planted, and it is too far to go on to the ranch house to-night. Stella and Kit went back an hour ago."

  Carl went to work to cook supper, while Bud played with the coon, which was as full of tricks as a monkey, and kept the boys laughing all the time.

  "A coon is a mighty smart animile," said Bud as they sat down to supper.

  "So I've heard," said Ted. "But I've never seen many of them."

  "Dere is no such beast in Chermany," Carl put in proudly.

  "That's so," said Bud. "Ameriky is the land o' ther free, an' ther home o' ther coon. Never went coon huntin', did yer, Ted?"

  "I never did."

  "Well, ye've missed some mighty good fun. Down in Missouri is whar ther coon grows wild an' independent, an' ther ain't one o' them what's come o' age what ain't as smart as ary congressman you ever see."

  "I've heard something about coon hunting," said Ted.

  "It's great down in Missouri. Thar's whar ther coon trees grow."

  "Vat such foolishment for?" said Carl, with a sneer. "Coons don't grow mit trees on."

  "Nobody said they could, but they live in trees, yer loony. A ole gum tree what's holler is ther home o' ther coon. Thar's whar ther best coon dogs come from, too. Ever hunt coons with a dog?" continued Bud.

  "Never did," said Ted. "It seems too picayunish fer me. I like bigger game than that. Besides, I don't care much fer hunting in the nighttime."

  "Do they hunt mit der coons in der nighttime?" asked Carl, who was beginning to be interested.

  "Shore! That's ther time ter tree 'em. My Uncle Fletcher out in ole Missou, we ust ter call him ole Unc' Fletch, had four or five coon dogs that was ther cream o' the coon-huntin' canines in several counties, an' Unc' Fletch was out near every night chasin' coons."

  "Many of them there?" asked Ted.

  "Ther country was overrun with 'em. They ust ter eat all ther roastin' ears o' corn in ther bottom lands, an' git away with more chickens than ever those that raised 'em did, until it got so that ther f
armers said they was only raisin' corn an' chickens ter keep ther coons fat."

  "No money in that."

  "Not much. But I wuz goin' ter tell yer what happened ter Unc' Fletch one night ter show how plenty coons wuz in his section.

  "One night he starts out with his best coon dog, Ballyhoo, so called because he made sech a noise when he treed a coon.

  "Bally runs acrost ther scent o' a coon an' takes after it. Unc' Fletch trails along, an' Ballyhoo stops at a big sycamore tree. But there don't seem ter be no hole, an' after unc' looks around, an' can't find nothin', he calls Ballyhoo off, an' they start through ther woods ag'in.

  "Pretty soon Ballyhoo scents another coon, an', by jing, it leads them ter ther same sycamore. About twenty times that night they strikes ther scent, an' every time it stops at the same tree.

  "Now, Unc' Fletch wuz some o' a woodman, an' he says it ain't nat'ral fer ther dog ter tree so many coons at ther same place, an' wonders if thar is somethin' wrong with ther dog, if he's gone daffy, er whether it's jest an onusual smart coon what has gone out jest ter have a joke by runnin' them ter ther same tree every time.

  "While he is contemplatin' thus he is leanin' with his back ter ther tree. Pritty soon he thinks he'll go home, an' he starts away sorter disgustedlike with ther night's sport, an', by gee, he finds he's caught by ther tail o' his coat an' can't break loose.

  "He tries ter get away, but he's shore fast. He reaches around, an' ther tree hez got hold o' him all right, an' bein' some superstitious, Unc' Fletch begins ter git some scared. Then he ricollects about hearin' the colored folks talk about the haunted coon tree."

  "Coons is ghostes, not?" asked Carl.

  "Wait an' you'll hear," continued Bud. "Long about this time, Ballyhoo begins ter howl in ther most sad an' lonesome way, an' that don't make Unc' Fletch feel any better. Jest as he's thinkin' about hollerin' fer help——"

  "Why didn't he skin out of his coat, and leave it sticking to the tree?" asked Ted.

  "I ast him ther same question, an' he says as how he was too plumb scared ter do sich a thing. But jest as he was goin' ter holler he finds that he's loose, an' all his spunk comes back again.

  "Then he begun ter be curious ter find out what it was that held him fast. He lights a fire an' gets a torch ter examine ther tree, but can't find nothin' that would hev cotched him thataway.

  "But as he's lookin' ther strangest thing happens. Ther tree opens a crack runnin' all ther way from ther roots up as far as Unc' Fletch kin see. Ther crack is big ernuff ter put yer finger in, but Unc' Fletch doesn't do no such fool trick ez that.

  "In less than a minnit ther crack closes up ag'in, an' thar ain't no sign o' it. Now this is some puzzlin' ter Unc' Fletch, an' he hez some more o' them funny feelin's erbout ghosts, an' them things.

  "While he's still watchin' ther tree, ther crack opens again, then closes an' opens an' closes, same as if it wuz breathin'. This makes Unc' Fletch some riled, fer he wa'n't never a feller what can stand bein' made a joke of, an' he thinks ther ghost in ther tree is havin' fun with him."

  "What did he do?" asked Ted, when Bud stopped and looked reflectively into the fire.

  "Well, he starts out ter make a fool out o' ther ghost, if it is a ghost, er outer ther tree, if it is jest a tree what is triflin' with him.

  "He has his ax with him, fer every real coon hunter always carries an ax ter chop down ther tree when he finds a coon in it. But he wa'n't goin' ter chop down this tree none."

  "What did he want with the ax, then?"

  "I'll soon tell yer. First he chops down a small tree, an' he makes a wedge with an edge erbout ther size o' yer little finger, an' he waits until ther tree breathes ergin. Then he slips ther wedge in, an' hammers it home.

  "'Ha, ha!' says he ter ther tree, 'ye'll make monkey-shines with me, holdin' me by ther coat tails, will yer?' An' all ther time he is choppin' out another wedge, bigger than ther first.

  "As he keeps choppin' out, an' shovin' bigger an' bigger wedges inter ther crack, he hears noises comin' from ther tree like what he ain't never heard before. But ther tree is beginnin' ter give out crackin' noises, too, like as if it was splittin'.

  "While this is goin' on Ballyhoo is makin' a terrible fuss, an' jest tryin' ter tear ther tree down with his claws. At last ther tree busts plumb open, an' what d'yer think Unc' Fletch sees?"

  Neither Ted nor Carl replied. What the tree contained was a thing unguessable, but Carl's eyes were as big as saucers as he stared at Bud, awaiting the solution of the mystery.

  "What did it contain?" asked Ted at last.

  "It was plumb full o' coons," said Bud solemnly. "Thar must 'a' been two hundred coons in that tree. It was a regular coon hotel. They made it a sort o' winter colony. Every coon fer miles eround made it home."

  "But that doesn't explain the crack in the tree and the strange way in which it opened and closed."

  "That's easy now that yer knows that the tree was holler an' plumb full o' coons."

  "I don't see it yet."

  "Why, it wuz like this: Every time them coons drew a long breath it expanded ther tree so that it opened a crack, an' when their lungs filled the crack opened wide. Then, when they let out thar breath ag'in, ther crack closed tight ag'in. Unc' Fletch happened ter lean up ag'in ther tree jest ez ther crack closed, an' that's how his coat tails got caught."

  "And what became of all those coons?" asked Ted.

  "Yer see they got inter ther tree through a hole in ther top. Unc' Fletch didn't dare leave ther tree alone, so he tied a note ter Ballyhoo an' sent him back ter ther village fer a carpenter. When ther carpenter come they put a roof on ther tree an' made a door at ther bottom, an' let ther coons out one at a time. By this means they got every dodgasted coon in them woods, an' Unc' Fletch's bounties was enough ter enable him ter lift ther mortgage on ther farm."

  "I guess that will do for to-night," said Ted, laughing. "I'm going to hit the blankets, for it's up at daylight for all of us. I only hope your pet coon does not attract so many others as to turn this sign camp into a coon hotel."

  * * *

  CHAPTER V.

  THE PHANTOM LINE RIDER.

  For several days the weather remained fine, and the cattle were able to get accustomed to their new range and become hardened.

  The boys at the sign camps took things easy. In each sign camp were two boys, one of whom rode days, and the other nights, when it was necessary in bad weather to hold the cattle from drifting.

  In order to keep in touch with one another the riders started from their camps and met midway between, in order to exchange notes as to the condition of the cattle and other things necessary to the welfare of the whole herd.

  There was another reason for this constant interchange of communication between the camps.

  Ted had received a warning from the town of Bubbly Creek, a small cattle station, about twenty miles from the Long Tom Ranch, where there was a cattleman's hotel, a few saloons, and an outfitting store, to look out for the Whipple gang, which had its rendezvous in the Sweet Grass Mountains.

  Fred Sturgis, in the last letter Ted had received from him, had also mentioned this gang of thieves and desperadoes, whose operations extended from Canada, into which they made extensive raids when the Canadian Mounted Police happened to be out of that part of the country, as far south as the central portion of Montana.

  "I have had considerable trouble with the Whipple gang myself," Sturgis wrote, "but as yet I have never seen but one member of the gang to know it. I have had plenty of cattle stolen, and have always attributed the thefts to the Whipples. All I know about the gang is that it was founded by a fellow named Whipple, an outlaw on the scout, who attracted to himself a desperate gang of fugitives from justice who had taken refuge in the Sweet Grass Mountains.

  "I have never seen Whipple himself, but from those who claim to know him he is described as an enormous man of prodigious strength, and a perfect brute, who has forced his men into absolute subjection by his acts of bruta
lity toward them.

  "With Whipple are a number of bad Indians, who have fled from the various reservations in Montana after having committed all sorts of crimes, from theft to murder. It is said that these are more to be feared than the white men, for they are terribly cruel, and when they get a victim he is tortured with all the horrible rites of the true savage. They know that the moment they are caught that is the end for them, so that they are reckless to the verge of insanity.

  "I tell you these things, believing that you already know what ranching in northern Montana means, and with every confidence in Ted Strong's ability to take care of himself, and meet conditions when they appear. All I can say is, go after them if they molest you. I and my boys fought them so successfully that they gave us a wide berth toward the end. But when they learn that new hands have taken hold of the Long Tom they may think that they can start their funny business again.

  "Knowing your reputation, and the ability you have shown in the past in wiping out, or at least breaking up and scattering, bands of bad men, I leave the Long Tom in your hands with the hope that when I take it over again in the spring there will be no more Whipple gang, and that the Sweet Grass Mountains will be as safe as one's own dooryard.

  "A word in your ear about the Sweet Grass Mountains: It is known to a few men in Montana, and a few others in various parts of the country that somewhere in those mountains are rich mines of gold and copper, and at various times men have brought out beautiful and valuable specimens of sapphires and rubies in the rough, not knowing what they were, having picked them up solely because they were beautiful and unusual.

  "If it were not for the Whipple gang the mountains would have been opened up to the prospectors long ago. Several prospectors, unheedful of the warnings, have gone in, but none have ever come out of the Sweet Grass Mountains.

  "Whoever is at the head of the Whipple gang possesses more than the usual share of brains, courage, and luck. Keep your eye peeled, and good fortune to you."

  This letter had been read to the boys one night in camp, and all were instructed to look out for strangers on the ranch and to inform themselves of the business of such.