W. Crispin Sheppard

“ The thought of an old deserted ranch-house with so much history clinging about it appealed strongly to Tom Clifton’s imagination. His curiosity and impatience increased as the distance which lay between them was gradually cut down, and only compassion for the pony prevented him from taking the last stretch on a fast gallop.
The upper portion of Fool’s Castle, rising high above the stockade, rapidly became stronger. The tall Rambler kept well in the lead, arriving at the entrance yards ahead of his companions. The great iron gate which once guarded it no longer barred the way. ”

“ Trees sprang into view, and flashed out; great masses of underbrush caught the glow, held it for an instant, then dropped from sight.
Thunderbolt, eager as a coyote, with Sam Randall at his side, frequently stooped over to examine the ground. Bushes and grass had been trampled almost flat by the cattle. Down by the dark, silent water of the creek the Indian’s eye scanned a muddy strip of shore for signs of men or horses. ”

“ At a convenient place the creek was forded; then, sweeping out into the open, they saw before them once more vast monotonous stretches covered with waving bunch grass.
“If it was only a bit cooler I’d like to race the crowd,” said Tom. “Slow traveling never suited me.”
“White boy ride well,” commented Thunderbolt—“just like Indian brave.”
“A chap who has been in the saddle as much as I have couldn’t help riding well,” said Tom, modestly. “There’s nothing like a life in the open to bring out what’s in a fellow. A little later, Larry, you’ll thank us for letting you come along.” ”

“ He was sure he had been an actual witness of one of those expeditions for which the Northwest Mounted Police are continually on the lookout.
The blond lad scanned the landscape earnestly. How he longed for daylight! How slowly the hours would pass! It was bad enough to be alone in that great wilderness; but it seemed infinitely worse to know that other human beings were near.
“Yes, I’ll just go back and take my medicine,” grunted Larry, “and let Tom do the last laugh business. Why, that big, barren room at Fool’s Castle would look like a palace to-night. Here’s where I get to work!” ”

“ The blond lad looked at Tom in wonderment.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded.
“I’m not saying anything,” answered Tom.
“That’s the way the rest ought to do,” said Dave. “Keep cool, Tom. You know jumping [223] at conclusions sometimes only makes a chap tumble to his own folly.”
“Humph! I suppose this is another mystery,” snickered Larry—“never to be solved.”
“Hank Styles is a pretty rough-looking customer,” said Bob. “I think I know what’s been going on in your mind, Tom. A chap is justified in trying to find out all he can in a case like this. ”

“ Scarcely had their investigations been begun when Tom Clifton clattered up, sawing away on the halter and yelling sharp commands to his horse.
“Well, if this chap hasn’t the biggest nerve I ever heard of!” cried Ashe.
“They have flown, eh?” exclaimed Tom, when at length he managed to conquer his fractious steed.
“I should think they have flown!” growled the trooper, his eyes flashing angrily. “When a man wants a nice piece of beefsteak he isn’t satisfied with gravy. We were after the men—not a wagon-load of contraband stuff, eh, Witmar?” ”

“ When he looked beyond the rosy glow of the firelight into the thick, awesome blackness, which might be concealing some of the dangerous characters his mind pictured, his nerves tingled unpleasantly. Little sounds before scarcely noticed assumed a deep significance. To his imagination, fired by the unexpected event, it seemed as though footsteps were not far away.
“Come on, Larry,” sang out Tom. “Don’t let’s all keep together, fellows. I’m going this way.” ”

“ His fiery pony was pounding over the plain at a reckless rate, and the faster he went the faster he wanted to go. In the exhilaration he felt almost like shouting. With the bunch grass on every side, it seemed as though he was plunging into a waste of silvery waves.
Suddenly a reddish gleam in the midst of a patch of timber caught his eye; then, as intervening trees came between, flashed out; then reappeared once more.
“Whoa—whoa!” whispered Larry, softly. “Here’s a development I wasn’t expectin’. Where there’s a camp-fire there must be men.” ”

“ Then, breaking the spell which had seemed to hold him fast, he made a wild dash for safety.
“The cattle are stampeding, fellows!” shouted Bob Somers.
There was no time, in that moment of confusion and alarm, for any concerted action. Each lad was compelled to depend entirely upon himself.
As a herd of terrified longhorns bore directly down upon them the alarmed campers flew in all directions. The sound of pounding hoofs, carrying to their senses the imminence of the peril, made them put forth every exertion to get beyond the animals’ path. ”

“ Traveling up the slope of another hill he reached the summit just as the full glow of sunlight shot over the landscape. Somber shadows were immediately transformed into tints of delicate blue, barren surfaces of rock on hillsides caught and held the gleams of gold, while the woods became patches of mellow green.
There was a delightful sense of freshness in the fragrant air. Bob Somers felt buoyed up. He reflected that any one who could experience gloomy feelings on such a morning must be hopelessly out of tune with nature. ”

“ The young Indian, holding his hands up, indicated a space of about a foot.
“What’s your idea, Thunderbolt?” asked Dave.
“Me not know. Much queer. Cattle rustlers no drive steers in woods. Never I see anything like it.”
“Or I either,” said Bob. “The only thing we’re certain of is that some one was hanging around this camp.”
“Makes a fellow feel kind of shivery to think of it, too,” admitted Larry.
“And that either he or they started a stampede.”
“And just made a botch of it,” suggested Tom Clifton. “They wanted to drive the plagued brutes one way, and, instead, they beat it right for our camp. ”

“ But at your age no one so strong as I; no one so quick, or shoot so straight.” He sighed. “Now the muscle is weak; the eye is dim; the hand trembles.”
“Git out! You’re more active than many a man of half your age,” laughed Billy Ashe. He turned toward the boys. “Take my advice: hire Thunderbolt as a guide. Have a good time, and forget a fellow who once wore a scarlet coat and was cowardly enough to desert.”
Tom jumped to his feet, his face flushed and excited.
“I’ll bet there never was a braver policeman among the Northwest Mounted!” ”

“ The Rambler’s nerves did not forsake him. Lying flat on the ground he contrived to shield his body still more by the aid of the [228] bushes and tall grass which grew around him in profusion. As the hoof-beats of the horse told of the rider’s rapid approach he felt his heart beating faster. Discovery might lead to most unpleasant results. With muscles tense, he was ready to spring to his feet at the first intimation of danger.
But the rider clattered by without seeing the amateur detective.
Then there flashed into Bob Somers’ mind a possible explanation of the men’s peculiar actions. ”

“ To Tom’s intense indignation, the usually quiet and undemonstrative Larry began to roar with laughter. He slapped his knees, poked Dave Brandon violently in the ribs, and ended up his outburst by slapping Dick Travers on the shoulder.
“I thought so; I thought so!” he cried. “Think of his nerve, fellows—talking that way before an officer of the Royal Mounted Police! If they can’t solve the mystery Tom’ll do it for ’em. Now I sort o’ think the sergeant ought to be pleased.” ”

“ The half-breed made no answer. All the intensity of his small black eyes was fixed in the direction of the gate, where the body of horsemen were now filing in. On they came, galloping across the grounds with an abandon that showed them to be skilful riders.
An instant later the friendly lights of the barracks plucked forms and faces from the obscurity. And even Sergeant Erskine allowed a slight gasp of surprise to escape him when he noted that the travelers, instead of being the troop of hardy men he had expected to see, were but a healthy-looking lot of lads. ”

“ Then, consulting his compass, he set off in search of the creek.
“And once there it won’t take me long to get my bearings,” he thought, confidently.
Up and down hill he rode; but the stream persistently remained out of sight.
To Bob Somers’ mind there was humor in the situation—but the humor was of rather a grim sort. Weeks might be spent in that wild region without encountering a single human soul.
“It’s a good thing I’m not a tenderfoot,” he grinned. He stroked his pony’s neck. “I guess, though, we’ll be able to find our way out of here before very long, old boy.” ”

“ The lads, their eyes sparkling with excitement, dashed from point to point of the big enclosure, Larry dragging along unwillingly at the rear. Now they were by the deep shadows of the cedars; then close to the graceful columns of the little Greek temple, only halting a moment at a time to satisfy themselves that no other human beings were near.
“And yet,” said Bob Somers, voicing the thoughts of all, “those sounds were right close to the house.”
[139] “They certainly were,” stammered Larry.
“I think men have time to get out of stockade,” declared Thunderbolt. ”

“ You take me for guide, maybe. Me good guide; know all country. You shoot big game; catch plenty fish—what you say?”
“I should say it’s a capital idea,” said Dave, stifling a yawn; “eh, Larry?”
“Yes; it may save you chaps a heap o’ trouble,” drawled the blond lad, with a peculiar grin.
“But we don’t intend to do any hunting or fishing, Thunderbolt, until this Jed Warren affair is cleared up,” put in Tom.
“Then you might as well pack up and go home,” declared Billy Ashe, bluntly. “Jed Warren is gone. He won’t come back, either—depend upon that. ”

“ Sometimes the lads traveled over hills; then, again, across the undulating plain, or forded narrow streams. And Larry was as hopelessly mixed on their location as a boy could be. Herds of grazing cattle were often encountered, and left behind.
Even the sanguine, hopeful Tom began to lose his accustomed air of cheerfulness after several ranches had been visited without a scrap of information being gained. Things were not breaking very well, he reflected; and it made him feel angry and disgusted indeed.
“We go some more ranches?” asked Thunderbolt. “Not many mile from Jerry Duncan’s is one. ”

“ As the seven horsemen cantered swiftly through the tall grass, beating it under foot, the crest of the hills rose higher and sharper against the sky. Instead of making directly toward them, as Larry expected, Teddy Banes soon swerved to the left, and the blond lad finally discovered that he was leading them toward a point where gray masses of shadow indicated a deep cleft in the slopes. ”

“ Going to police barracks now?” asked Larry, in astonishment. “How can you find your way?”
“No; I’m not bound in that direction,” answered the trooper, with a returning touch [85] of importance. “I can steer myself well enough by the stars and compass—eh, Wandering Bear?”
The chief, whose shadow was thrown fantastically over the sides of the wigwam, nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “The white man much good. But never so good as Indian, who has the eyes of the eagle, the scent of the coyote, and the hearing of the hare.” ”

“ On all sides of the gorge, which the lads soon entered, was a beaten trail made by the passing of countless horses and cattle. Though often turned aside by grim-looking boulders, groups of stunted trees, or thickets, they made good progress.
[211] “I see it,” sang out Tom.
Just above a jutting crag the upper part of the ranch-house, glowing in the sun, had appeared to his eagerly searching vision.
“Jerry Duncan’s!” exclaimed Thunderbolt.
“Hooray!” cried Tom, spurring his horse into a gallop. ”

“ There wasn’t anything on Bob Somers’ map that looked like this,” soliloquized the lad. “I wonder how in the world little ‘Fear-not’ managed?”
As the horse struggled up a steep incline, every impact of its hoofs sending down showers of turf and stones, Tom’s face reflected his worried feelings. Long before this he had expected to overtake the “deserter.” His pride rebelled at the thought of returning to the camp without him, or not being able to greet his friends with the triumphant shout:
“Hello, boys; I saw Larry off on the train, all right!” ”

“ The only living object was a flock of birds, but so far off that none could recognize their species.
Then followed a ride which Larry Burnham never forgot, and which, for the time being, completely effaced from his mind any pleasing thoughts of Freshfield Prep School or football.
At his home near Kingswood, Wisconsin, he had considered himself a pretty good rider. But an occasional jog to town or about the farm was not at all like spending entire days in the saddle. He looked curiously at his companions to see if they seemed to be affected in any way by the ordeal. ”

“ He raised himself in his stirrups. Everywhere [259] ridge after ridge rolled off to meet the sky, all looking monotonously alike.
“For the life of me I don’t know in which direction Hank Styles’ ranch-house lies,” he grinned. “It’s a good thing my saddle bags are full of grub.”
A spirit of recklessness seized him.
“Of course,” he argued, “the fellows must know I’m safe; and as I’ve stayed away so long a few hours more or less can’t matter. Get up, old boy! I’ll give Larry Burnham a chance to say that this was the wildest wild goose chase he ever heard of.” ”