“What is up?” demanded Carl, who raised himself on his elbow and looked at the man in surprise. He thought, from the look of his face, that something dreadful had happened.
“Young man,” replied Harding, coming close to the place where the scout lay, hissing out the words from between his clenched teeth and shaking both his brawny fists under his nose, “the English language is not strong enough to make me do this subject justice. You are at the end of your rope, and I would not give two cents for your life. Nobody knows, except the few who were with me when you were captured, that I have got you a prisoner here in the camp; but if one of those warriors chooses to split on me, you would be food for the wolves in less than half an hour.”
“Well, can’t you tell me what is the matter?” exclaimed Carl, growing more surprised. “I haven’t been doing anything.”
“No, but your kind have. Sitting Bull is murdered—shot through the body by Bull Head and Red Tomahawk, who were men that he has led into action more than once.”
A wonderful thrill went all through Carl Preston as he listened to these words. Sitting Bull was dead! How often had he wished for that very thing to happen, but he had never dreamed that it would be done by some of his own men. The squawman watched him closely to see how he took the news, but Carl never showed in his countenance what his feelings were. He could have listened to the worst news that any boy ever heard, but he wouldn’t show it in his face.
“Why, how did it happen?” said he, knowing that he must say something.
“You know as much about it as I do,” returned the squawman. “Now the next thing is——”
He turned and spoke some words to the Indian women; but Carl, although he had Page 157 been on the plains all his life, could not understand him. He hated an Indian as he hated nothing else on earth, and he had not taken the pains that some people do to acquire a knowledge of their language. But the Indian women understood him, and straightway set up a howl as if they had lost some of their friends. One would think they were professional criers who had been hired to shed abundant tears over Sitting Bull’s untimely death.
“Can’t you keep still for a minute?” shouted the squawman, shaking both his fists at the women, and forgetting in his excitement that he had been addressing them in their own language. “You two stay here and watch this prisoner while I go down and see how it all came about. You had better keep your eyes on him, for the Indians may come up and call for him at any moment.”
The squawman plunged through the door and went out, but he left three excited women behind him. They wanted to learn the full particulars of the murder of Sitting Bull the same as the squawman did, but for a Page 158 time they kept their places on the bed, comparing notes with each other and howling alternately. Finally one arose to her feet and slipped through the door, and she had been gone but a little while before another went out.
“I tell you the time is coming for me to make a strike for freedom,” soliloquized Carl, drawing his feet under him so that he could go out of the other side of the tepee if this one should follow the example of her comrades. “If I once get out of this tepee, I bet they will never see me again.”
Carl did not know much about women, but he naturally judged of what he would have done himself if he were left with a task on his hands in which he was not particularly interested. He would not have sat there alone in suspense while all the rest of the camp, men, women and children, were out to hear the report of the scout and get all the news. She sat uneasily on her bed, but finally got up and went to the door. As she did so a long, mournful howl, followed by a chorus of yells which denoted that some of the tribe were Page 159 growing excited, came to her ears, and that was more than she could stand. In an instant she opened the door and went out.
Almost any one who was placed in Carl Preston’s situation would have been thrown off his balance by this unlooked-for incident, coming as it did on the heels of his disappointment in regard to the Ghost Dance, but it had no effect upon the scout. His face never changed its color, and his hands never trembled a particle. Quietly he arose to his feet and approached the door. It was dark outside, and he could not see a single thing. The yells had ceased now, and the braves were listening to a speech from somebody.
“Now is my chance, if ever,” said Carl, going back to the squawman’s bed and hastily tumbling the buffalo robes and blankets aside. “If I stay here I will surely be staked out, and I believe I would rather die at once.”
Carl speedily found the Winchester of which he was in search, together with a murderous-looking knife, which he proceeded to buckle around his waist. Then he caught up the rifle, drew his knife, and with two quick Page 160 steps approached the side of the tepee opposite the door. One slit with his knife and he was free; or at least he was free until the Sioux got after him and captured him. With long, noiseless strides he took his way over the hill in front of which the tepee was pitched, and then turned abruptly off to the right and followed a direction exactly contrary to the one in which he wanted to go. Fort Scott lay pretty near south of him, and he argued that when the Sioux came to pursue him, which would be in the course of a few minutes at the very farthest, they would turn in the direction of the fort. When they had given up the pursuit he would turn around and follow his rightful road.
Meanwhile the squawman, having left his prisoner, as he supposed, in safe hands, broke into a run, and arrived at the dancing-ground just as the medicine man began his speech. He was urging the warriors to take to the warpath immediately and avenge the death of Sitting Bull. For a time it seemed as though he would succeed in arousing the anger of the Sioux to fever heat; but when it Page 161 came right down to the point, their chief man was gone, and there was no one ready to take his place. After he got through, the scout, who had brought the news to the camp, took upon himself the part of orator. He gave a pretty strict account of the death of Sitting Bull, and we will go on and tell it in our own way, for it was a long time before Carl heard the truth of the matter.
It happened on the morning of December 14th, although the arrest was not made until the 15th. At that time a courier came from Grand River with the news that Sitting Bull had received an invitation to appear at Pine Creek Agency, for the Messiah was about to appear. Sitting Bull at once resolved to go, sending a request to his agent for permission to do so; but at the same time he saddled his horses, to be ready to take a long and hard ride in case that permission was refused. The agent saw that something must be done immediately, and he at once held a consultation with General Miles, during which it was decided that the arrest should take place on the 15th. The arrest was to be made by the Indian Page 162 police, assisted by a detachment of troops, who were to follow within supporting distance.
The next thing was to inform the police of what was expected of them. There was already a camp of twenty-eight policemen under Lieutenant Bull Head, a man of undoubted courage, and who afterward shot Sitting Bull, about forty miles from Standing Rock Agency; and couriers were at once dispatched in other directions to order the force to concentrate on Sitting Bull’s house, so as to make the arrest on the following morning. This happened about sundown; but with loyal promptness the Indians mounted their horses, and by riding from one agency to another they collected forty-three trained and determined policemen to carry out their orders. In accomplishing this service Sergeant Red Tomahawk covered the distance of forty miles in four hours and a quarter; and another, Hawk Man, made a hundred miles in a roundabout way, over an unfamiliar road, in twenty-two hours. So it seems that those who found fault with the Indians’ promptness did not know what they were talking about.
By daylight the next morning the policemen surrounded Sitting Bull’s house. He had two log cabins built a few rods apart, and in order to make sure of their man eight Indians entered one house while ten went into the other, the rest remaining on guard outside. They found Sitting Bull asleep on the floor of the larger house. He was awakened, and told he was a prisoner and must go to the agency.
“All right,” said Sitting Bull. “I will dress and go with you.”
He then sent one of his wives to the other house to get some clothes that he intended to wear, and requested that his favorite saddle-horse might be made ready for him to ride; and this was done by the police. On looking around the house they found two rifles and several knives, which they took possession of.
Now Sitting Bull seems to have changed his mind, for he decided that he would not go with the police, after all. Probably one thing that forced him to come to this decision was the appearance of his son, Crow Foot, seventeen years of age, who urged his father to give the war-whoop and not stir one step.
“Father, you have often given the war-whoop; give it now, when there are two hundred men to assist you,” shouted Crow Foot, standing in front of Sitting Bull and striving to push away the police who were guarding him. “You shall not go to the fort. Give the war-whoop now.”
While this commotion was going on his followers to the number of one hundred and fifty men had congregated about the house, and by the time he was dressed an excited crowd of Indians had surrounded the police and were pressing them to the wall. When Sitting Bull came out and saw how many men he had to depend on, and compared them with the small number of police, he determined that he had gone far enough.
“I will not go to the fort,” said he in a terrible rage. “You will shut me up there until I am as white as the snows on the top of the mountain. My children here will rescue me.”
That was all that was needed on the part of Sitting Bull to draw on a fight. While the majority of the police were trying to clear Page 165 the way, one of his men turned and shot Bull Head in the side.
“Now is the chance to see if your ghost shirts will do what you say they will!” shouted the lieutenant; and, though mortally wounded, shot Sitting Bull through the head. Almost before the smoke of the revolver had died away, Red Tomahawk, who guarded the prisoner behind, came to the relief of his chief, and Sitting Bull dropped dead in his tracks.
Then began a hand-to-hand fight of forty-three police against one hundred and fifty Indians. Catch-the-Bear, the man who fired the first shot and was the means of giving Bull Head his mortal wound, and Crow Foot, were killed; and after a hard fight the trained policemen drove their assailants into a piece of timber close by. Then they returned to the house, carried their dead and wounded into it, and held it for two hours, until the arrival of the troops. During the fight the Indian women attacked the police with knives and clubs; but in spite of the excitement the policemen simply disarmed them and put them in one of the houses under guard.
The fight lasted but a few minutes, but it was fatal to some of the contestants. Six of the policemen were killed or mortally wounded, and eight of the Indians, in spite of their ghost shirts, were sent to the happy hunting-grounds. The warmest praise was given to the policemen by those who knew all the circumstances, for some of those who faced death had near relatives opposed to them.
The war that had so long been predicted by the soldiers had now fairly commenced. Some of the Indians who were engaged in the effort to release Sitting Bull fled to the Bad Lands, but the majority at once made preparations to go to their agent and surrender. That was what the courier, who was at that moment speaking to the Indians, wanted them to do; but the most of them were for gathering up their tepees and joining those who had retreated to the Bad Lands, for if they once got among them the soldiers would find it a desperate task to whip them. Of course this raised a discussion which became fiercer as the talking progressed, until finally an Indian jumped into the midst of the disputants and Page 167 succeeded in commanding attention so that he could speak.
“You talk mighty big about going to the Bad Lands and fighting the whites,” said he, “but before you do that I want you to decide the fate of a prisoner who is now held by the camp. A white man was captured while passing through our lines six days ago, and I am one of the few who took him.”
The yells which broke out on every side were appalling. The braves crowded up around the speaker, shook their weapons in his face, and threatened him with all sorts of punishment. The idea of a prisoner being captured while they were not on the warpath was a little too much for the Indian to stand. He could not comprehend it. The speaker waited until their anger had somewhat subsided, and then went on:
“Those ghost shirts you are making so much fuss about will not help you one bit,” said he. “They are nothing but buckskin, and the white people’s bullets will go through them very easily. Now, I want all of you who are willing to go to the agent and surrender, Page 168 to go with me; and all of you who want to fight, go to the Bad Lands.”
The squawman, who stood around listening, heard all that was said about his prisoner, and he was remarkably uneasy over it. If the Indians proved to be so angry at one of their number as to threaten his life, what would they do to him? Those who wanted to surrender would probably take the prisoner along with them and give him up to the agent as a proof of their good will, while those who wanted to go to the Bad Lands and fight it out would no doubt kill him at once.
“And even if they don’t include me in the killing I might as well be alone, for there are my partners who will go to jail,” said the squawman, who looked all around to make sure that there was nobody watching him, and then started for his lodge. “It was a mighty fool trick of me, my capturing that fellow, and I am sorry I did it. I wish he was back at the fort, where he belongs.”
Upon arriving at his lodge he lifted the door, but stopped very suddenly when he caught a view of the interior of it. His bed Page 169 was torn up, his weapons were gone, and an opening in the tepee directly opposite the door told the story of the escape. The women were nowhere to be seen.
The squawman stood as if thunderstruck, but he understood the story as well as if it had been explained to him. The women had got tired of staying back there in suspense while their comrades were learning the full history of Sitting Bull’s death, and, impelled by their curiosity, had gone to hear about it too, and Carl, the Trailer, had taken the only chance there had been given him to escape. That was all there was of it. But there were other questions that came to Harding while he reflected on these things. What would the Sioux do to him? There was one question which divided the Dacotas into two parties, and the thing must be settled then and there without a moment’s delay. Some of them were going to start for the Bad Lands before the troops came to hem them in, and the others were equally determined to go to the Page 171 agent and surrender. He knew that the fighting members of the tribe would soon be up there to demand the prisoner at his hands, and that the rest would come along to protect him; and both parties were so strong, and so bent on having things turn out in their favor, that it was possible there might be bloodshed before the matter was settled.
“I am in a fix,” thought the squawman, as these thoughts came flooding upon him, “and I don’t know what to do. The prisoner is gone, and that is all there is of it. I wish I had let him go in the first place.”
At this moment wild whoops and yells came from the dancing-ground, and as they seemed to approach nearer and grow louder as they came closer to his lodge, the squawman was aroused into action. He was not simple enough to join in with the fighting members of the tribe. He knew that they would be whipped sooner or later, and what was there to hinder him from going under the sod? He was not quite ready to do that; and after listening a moment to the howls of rage that came to his ears he dashed through his tepee, Page 172 passed out of the slit that Carl had made with his knife, and ascended to the top of the hill. On the way up he came to a decision.
“That boy ain’t gone toward the fort,” said the squawman to himself. “He is much too smart to be captured in that way. He went off in this direction, and when the Sioux get weary of looking for him he will come about and strike for the fort.”
Acting upon the thoughts that passed through his mind, the squawman turned away from the fort and followed a course that led him squarely on to the Trailer’s hiding-place. His ears told him pretty nearly what was going on in the camp. He knew, by the yells which broke out with redoubled force, when the Indians discovered the hole through the side of the tepee by which Carl had made his escape; and three or four of the young braves, who were anxious to get somebody’s scalp to wear to the Bad Lands, came along the base of the hill looking for Carl, but they turned toward the fort. The rest of the Indians stopped in his tepee, and after a chorus of loud yells from both parties they finally Page 173 ceased. Somebody was making them a speech.
“I hope they won’t come any farther,” said the squawman anxiously. “If they will only just listen to that friend’s advice and go away, Carl is all right.”
It takes an Indian forever to make up his mind whether to do a thing or not, and for a long time it was uncertain who would gain the mastery—the fighting members, who were anxious to kill Carl, or those who wanted to go to the agent and surrender. But at length the yells died away, those who were going to the Bad Lands having wasted time enough, and the others, who wanted to go to the agent, drawing away to their tepees, leaving the rest to do as they pleased in the matter. When the fighting members of the tribe saw their companions leaving them they became alarmed and left the squawman’s tepee in a body, and thus the dispute was brought to an end. Carl was given a fair opportunity for his escape, but he did not know it until afterward. The young braves who had gone along toward the fort had not yet returned.
The hill along which the young scout had taken his hurried flight was covered with a dense mass of willows, and the squawman had stopped in them as soon as he heard the commotion at his tepee. A short distance in front of him, but not in plain sight, was another figure, who stood with his gun at a ready and his finger on the trigger. It was Carl, the Trailer, who was determined that two or three of his pursuers should not get off scot-free in case he was discovered. He saw the squawman when he came up, and, if Harding had only known it, his life hung by a thread. When the yells of the Indians had ceased, and all became quiet again, the squawman proceeded to carry out the resolution he had formed while making his way to the top of the hill.
“Carl!” said he, in a low and cautious whisper.
There was no answer returned. The figure of the scout was drawn a little higher, and the muzzle of his rifle covered the man’s breast.
“Carl!” repeated the squawman in louder and more anxious tones.
“Well, what do you want?” came the answer this time. “Throw your hands up. I can see very plainly, and if you make a loud noise you are booked for the other world.”
The hands of the squawman were at once raised above his head, and he tried in vain to make out the dim and shadowy form of the young scout among the bushes; but Carl was secure in his concealment.
“Have you got any cartridges about you?” was the next question.
“Nary one. Every one I had is in that weapon.”
“You see I took your rifle to help me along,” returned Carl. “How did you know where to find me so easily?”
“I knew you did not go toward the fort, and I knew, too, that you could not have gone far in these bushes,” replied the squawman. “I want to tell you that your way of escape is open to you.”
“You did not follow me on purpose to tell me that, did you? I knew it when the Indians quit yelling. Now, how does it come?”
“Some of the tribe are bound to get into Page 176 the Bad Lands to fight it out, and the others are going to the agent to surrender,” said Harding. “One wanted to kill you and the rest did not want to; so, between them, you got off without much pursuit. You can go straight to the fort if you want to; but be careful of those men who are going to the Bad Lands. They are on the warpath now.”
“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” asked Carl.
“No, it ain’t,” said the squawman. “Are you going to leave me without any weapons?”
“I don’t see that I can do anything else. I would be mighty foolish to turn this gun into your own hands. I will take it to the fort, and you can come there and get it.”
“Don’t you know that it is impossible for me to do that?” said the squawman in alarm. “If you take the rifle with you to the fort I am done for. The commanding officer will begin to ask me about those stages that were held up some time ago.”
“That is so,” said Carl thoughtfully. “You see you got yourself into a bad scrape by going with those fellows. Well, I will see what I Page 177 can do for you. You are sure you don’t want any cattle from me, are you?”
“Nary one. I would not have asked you for them, but I was hard up. I wanted money, and didn’t care how I got it.”
“And there is another thing I want to tell you, Harding,” said Carl. He saw the squawman’s hands come down, but by that time he had lowered his rifle to the ground and drawn one of his revolvers, with which he covered the man’s head. “Do you know that your partners have been sent to the Leavenworth jail by this time?”
“No!” exclaimed the squawman.
“Well, they have, and so you can see that it would be of no use for me to write that letter to General Miles.”
“When did that happen?” asked Harding, who was astonished by this revelation.
“About two weeks ago. You see, the soldiers around here don’t wait to see how things are coming out. The general was convinced of those fellows’ guilt, and he sent them to jail without the least delay; so you are alone in being a squawman.”
Harding was unstrung by this information.
“Dog-gone you, what made you agree to write that letter for?” said he; and the words came hissing out between his clenched teeth in a way that would have made Carl afraid of him had their circumstances been reversed.
“I don’t know that I agreed to write it,” said Carl. “If I did so, I did it simply to gain time toward effecting my escape. You would have agreed to it yourself if you had been in my place.”
“If the general gets his grip on me——”
“Oh, he is bound to get you some time, be that sooner or later; and when he gets hold of you, you will have to go to Leavenworth jail too.”
The squawman plainly saw how this thing could be brought about. If he went with those of the tribe who surrendered he would be hemmed in by soldiers, somebody would be sure to see and recognize him, and he would be put under arrest immediately. If he went with those who were already escaping to the Bad Lands he would, like them, be whipped in a few days, and there, too, the soldiers Page 179 would bother him. He was not such a bold man as some might suppose. He was ready enough to slip up on a man behind his back and bushwhack him, but when it came to meeting one in a fair fight—that was a little bit too much for the squawman. While he was thinking about it the young scout spoke again.
“I will do the best I can for you,” said he. “I will take the cartridges out of this gun and put it here in the bushes, where you can find it in five minutes after I go away. You can get some more cartridges of the Indians.”
“Say, Carl, you couldn’t say anything to get me out of this scrape, could you?”
“No, I could not,” said the scout, somewhat astonished at the proposition. “You held up the stage, and that is contrary to law, and some of you shot the driver. You will have to suffer for that.”
“I used to herd cattle for your father,” said the squawman at a venture.
“Suppose you did? What do you suppose the general cares for that? You were caught in the act of robbing him, too.”
“Well, I have had a lesson, and I will never do it again. I will lead an honest life from this time on.”
“If you are talking that way simply to get me to say a word to General Miles you are making a big mistake,” said Carl. “Nothing that I could say would benefit you. You have violated the law, and consequently you have got to suffer for it, I tell you. Now here is your gun, blanket and butcher-knife. I will put them at the roots of this tree, and in five minutes after I am gone you can come and get them. The cartridges I shall keep.”
“But you will leave yourself without any weapon at all,” said the squawman.
“Don’t fool yourself. I have a revolver in each hand.”
“Why, how did you get them?”
“I have had them all the time. Now good-by, Harding, and let me tell you one thing: you might as well come up and stand your punishment. You have every law-abiding citizen in the United States down on you, and wherever you go, you are not safe from arrest.”
Silence reigned in the little thicket after Page 181 that. Harding listened with all his ears, but could not hear a leaf rustle or a twig snap as Carl moved away from the spot. He waited all of five minutes, and then moved up to take possession of his property. After a little search he found them all there, and with something that sounded like an oath he took them under his arm and made the best of his way back to his lodge.
“I’ve either got to go with them fellows to the Bad Lands, and get whipped when they do, or I must go and surrender myself,” he said to himself. “I know that little snipe could have said something for me if he had chosen to do it; but here I am, with everybody down on me. Blessed if I know what to do.”
“I think he has more cheek than any man I ever saw,” muttered Carl, as he moved cautiously away from his place of concealment. “He makes an attempt to rob father and gets a bullet in him for his pains, and then comes to me with the request that I will say something for him! Mighty clear of it. I would say something that would get him stretched up by the neck, if I could.”
About forty miles distant from Fort Scott, in a quiet valley surrounded on all sides by stately hills, the ranch of Mr. Preston was located. The valley was fifty miles long and half as wide, and the owner had no difficulty in protecting his stock during the winter storms which now and then spread over the valley, accompanied by a driving snow that effectually shut the cowboys off from all contact with the outside world. A river flowed through within a hundred yards or so of the house, and on the wild fowl that frequented its banks during the fall and winter Carl Preston had received his first instruction in wing-shooting. Game of nearly all kinds was abundant, and it was no trouble at all for the ranchmen who wanted a haunch of venison to shoot a deer when they came to the river for water. It was a quiet, happy Page 183 home, and Carl never would have thought of leaving it had his father been spared to him.
The house was a rambling structure, built of rough boards, dismal-looking enough on the outside, but in the interior it was fitted up as any boy would care to have it. A porch ran the full length of the front of the house, and one day in the month of June Carl Preston sat on it, deeply interested in some work the foreman was doing upon his saddle. Carl was at that time seventeen years of age, and, to quote from the herdsmen, with whom he was an especial favorite, he was “as likely a boy as ever stood up.” But there was one objection to Carl, and that was, he never would study his books. According to Colonel Dodge, he found more excitement in horses and guns than he did in anything else. He tried hard to master a lesson that his father gave him, but just as surely as anything happened outside, he would go out to see what the matter was. Did any of the cattle become alarmed and threaten a stampede, Carl wanted to be sure that the cowboy got ahead of them and kept them from going out at the entrance Page 184 of the valley onto the prairie; or, if a horseman was selected that morning at breakfast to break in a bronco, Carl would happen on the porch about the time he got ready to begin, and see that the horse did not do the cowboy any damage. At last his father became disheartened, put away the books, and began work on Carl’s education himself. He took him into the field with him every time he went, all the while discoursing upon some subject in which he hoped Carl would be interested, and in this way the boy learned much that he could not have got out of books.
“So you think you won’t be lonely any more after your cousin comes?” said the foreman, stopping to pound down a waxed end with his hammer. “Well, I hope you will like him, but I am afraid you won’t.”
Mr. Preston had left home three days before to go to Standing Rock Agency for the purpose of meeting this cousin, and he had purposely left Carl at home till he could see what manner of boy it was that he was going to meet.
This boy Claude was the only son of Mr. Page 185 Preston’s brother, who lived in St. Louis. During his father’s lifetime, for Claude was now an orphan, Mr. Preston often had calls for money and assistance, until he began to believe that really his brother did not amount to much. He got him situations, only to have the man throw them up at last. To his brother’s inquiry as to why he had done so he always replied that it was something to which he was not adapted, and begged for something easier. Now the man was dead and Claude was left alone. He wrote to Mr. Preston, and, telling of the death of his father, asked him what he should do.
“Now is the time for him to make good his boasts that he is going to set me up in business,” said Claude to himself. “Ten to one he will write me to go out there, and that is one thing that I don’t want to do. But then he has money, and I will see what I can do with him after I get out there. I will promise him that if he will give me five thousand dollars I will never bother him again.”
One thing that made Claude so free with his uncle’s money was the conversations he Page 186 had often had with his father. He had heard that all Western men were reckless with their gains, and he thought perhaps Mr. Preston would be equally so. What were five thousand dollars to him? He could easily get it out of the first cattle he sold. But now his worst fears came to him. Mr. Preston, after holding a consultation with his foreman—educated man as he was, he needed somebody to go to—wrote to Claude, and sent him money to come to Standing Rock Agency. After he got there he would still have a hundred and sixty miles to ride, and, for fear that he might not be able to stand the journey on horseback, Mr. Preston would meet him there with a wagon. Claude did not like the prospect of going out there so far from everybody, but still he packed up his trunk and went, and he found his uncle ready to receive him. Carl, as we said, had been left at home, because his father was anxious to see what sort of a boy—or man, rather, for Claude was nearly seven years older than Carl—he had been so willing to receive into his house.
“I hope you will like him, but I am afraid Page 187 you won’t,” repeated the foreman. “A man who has lived all his life in a big city ain’t agoing to be contented out here.”
“Oh, I hope he will,” said Carl, somewhat disappointed at the foreman’s view of the matter. “I will give him up everything I’ve got if he will only stay here with me. There are plenty of horses for him to ride, there is a boat on the river, and——”
“That may all be,” said the cowboy, “but when he is in the city he has more than that. Where are the theatres for him to go to, and the balls and sleigh-rides?”
“Why, Claude has not been to any of those things,” said Carl in surprise. “You must remember that his father was poor.”
“Supposing he was. What has this man been doing during all these years? If he had a position when his father died, what was the reason he did not keep it?”
“Blessed if I know,” said Carl, who began to have a faint idea of the way the matter stood.
“I’ll tell you just what’s the matter with Claude,” said the cowboy, getting upon his Page 188 feet. “He did not have a thing to do when his father was alive; he stayed at home or bummed around some place waiting for his father to give him money; and now, when his father’s left him, he’s afloat and does not know what to do. I tell you, he has come to a bad place. If he waits for your father to give him money he will wait for a long while.”
“You are prejudiced, and I hope that you are mistaken. However, he will soon be here, and I want you to meet him as civilly as you can.”
“Oh, I will do that,” said the cowboy. “He is coming here as your guest, and of course I will take off my hat to him. But I will tell you one thing, and that ain’t two,” he added mentally, as he shouldered his saddle and walked toward the corral with it: “I believe that a fellow who will stand around with his hands in his pockets, while his father is so poor that he doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from, is not a man who will do to run with you. I shall keep an eye on him.”
This made it plain that Mr. Preston had Page 189 talked rather freely with his foreman before he started for Standing Rock Agency, and that the latter’s suspicions had been aroused. The cowboy was loyal to the family, and anything that interfered with them was sure to raise his ire. Carl did not know what to think when he went away and left him sitting there on the porch. Ever since his father went away he had been impatient for his return, for he wanted to see his cousin, and had promised himself that he would try by every means in his power to make his stay under their roof agreeable.
“Thompson is mistaken—I know he is, or father would not have received him under our roof,” muttered Carl, as he turned himself around on the porch and gazed toward the entrance of the valley. “At any rate, I shall not fall in with him until I see Claude and judge him for myself.”
This much was settled, and Carl forthwith dismissed all thoughts of his cousin from his mind. His father had promised to be at home on the afternoon of that day, and then the matter could be determined to his satisfaction. Page 190 His pony came up and thrust his nose into his hand, and Carl suddenly thought of something.
“I believe I will not wait for them to get home,” said he, going to the end of the porch where were hung the saddle and bridle which he used in riding. “I will go down to the gap and meet them.”
The pony—he was always called the pony, and nothing else—did not raise any objection to being saddled and bridled. He was as gentle with Carl as a dog, although if anybody else came near him he was apt to be dangerous. This was the pony that Carl rode when he got his name. He came home on a leave of absence and told his father of it, and the consequence was Carl was not allowed to go back.
“I tell you those fellows have gone too far in naming my boy,” said Mr. Preston in astonishment. “Have you ever been in that country before?”
“Not quite so far down,” answered Carl, who almost wished that he had said nothing about it. “I have been down pretty near to Page 191 Fort Belknap with Mason, carrying dispatches, and that is as far as I have been.”
“Do you know what those Indians would have done to you if they had captured you?”
“Yes, sir; but I didn’t intend to be captured.”
“Yes? Well, you don’t go back to the fort any more; and if Mason comes up here I will tell him what I think of him.”
Carl smiled as he put the saddle on his pony and the conversation he had had with his father came vividly to his mind; but, being an obedient boy, he had stayed at home after that, and listened to the stories the scouts told, although he had no hand in them himself. Some day he hoped to gain his father’s consent to take part in them; but until that consent was gained he would remain there on the ranch, acting as cowboy.
Without taking any weapons with him Carl mounted his pony and set off at a gallop, followed by his pointers, which went with him everywhere. It was three miles to “the gap,” as he called it, which gave access to the valley from the prairie, and he rode the entire distance Page 192 without seeing anybody. The cattle were all up at the farthest end of the range, and had no business on that side of the house unless they were stampeded. As he drew rein, however, and cast his eyes down the road, he saw a dim object at the farther end which appeared to be coming toward him. A second look started him down the road again, and a brisk gallop of a mile or more showed him that it was his father’s team.
“Now I will soon find out whether or not Thompson is mistaken,” said Carl to himself. “There are two of them on the front seat, and one of them is a stranger. It must be Claude.”
Filled with curiosity, Carl kept his pony on a lope until he obtained a nearer view of the man who was a stranger to him. The result satisfied him and his countenance fell. Claude was neatly dressed as far as his outward appearance went, and his gloved hands, which lay before him, were as dainty as a woman’s; but there was something in his face that was not attractive. It had a hard look, a dissipated look such as Carl had never seen before, although he well knew what it meant.
“Halloo! Carl,” said his father, who was somewhat surprised at the boy’s silence. “How is everything?”
“Father,” exclaimed Carl, extending his hand to his sire, “I am glad to see you back again safe and sound. And this is my cousin,” he added, riding around the wagon so that he could shake hands with Claude. “How do you do, sir? I suppose you thought you were never going to get here, didn’t you?”
“Oh, no,” said Claude with a smile. “I knew uncle would not run me off into the mountains and lose me.”
While he spoke the young men had been making a mental estimate of each other. Carl judged something of his cousin by the grasp of his hand. He did not put any life into it; it was as limp as a piece of wet rope. Claude judged of Carl the same way, and both of them came pretty near the mark.
“Drat the boy, he has the grasp of a young blacksmith,” said Claude, noticing the glove on his hand, which Carl had considerably mussed during his greeting. “And this is the kind of fellow I am to be associated Page 194 with all my life! I’ll bet the boy doesn’t know putty. I have seen enough of uncle’s life. I am going to get away from here as soon as I can.”
“Yes, sir, I am going to get away from here as soon as I can,” repeated Claude, giving his cousin a good looking over as he rode a little in advance of him. “I know just what I will have to do when I arrive at the shanty they call home. Uncle has not said so, but I infer he is going to make a cowboy out of me. If there is anything I do despise it is a horse; and I know this wild Indian will take great delight in giving me the wildest one there is on the range to ride. Then what will I do during my off times? Not a billiard-table nor a bowling-alley here! I wish I could think up some way to get around the old man.”
Claude was filled with such thoughts as these during his ride to the ranch, although he tried his level best to keep up his end of the conversation. He laughed when the others Page 196 did, when Carl told his father of the time that Thompson had had breaking in the sorrel mare—not because he could see any fun in it, but for the reason that he did not want to let his uncle and cousin see how completely his mind was taken up with other matters. Finally he aroused himself and began to take more interest in what they were saying. It would be well enough, he thought, to wait awhile before getting away from there.
“Carl, do you see anything of the Indians out here?” was his first question.
“Oh, yes; we see them every day,” replied Carl.
“But do you have any trouble with them? I have heard that Indians are always on the warpath, and that they shoot and scalp every white man they see.”
“Well, it is not so. We are on the Sioux reservation, and we know that they have been peaceable ever since their surrender.”
“What did they surrender for?”
“To pay for killing Custer and his band,” replied Carl, looking at his cousin with some surprise.
“I believe I heard something about that. Custer lost several of his own men, didn’t he?”
“Well, I should say so. It was the greatest massacre that ever was known. Custer gave up his own life; and, besides, he lost two hundred and forty-six of his men.”
“Do you find any game about here?” asked Claude, who plainly saw that it would not do to talk to Carl about the Indians.
“More than we want. If you are fond of shooting, I can take you where you can shoot a grizzly bear inside of three hours after you leave our house.”
“They are dangerous, are they not?”
“Well, I guess you would think so after you have been in a battle with one. Last week we took a man down to the fort, to the hospital, who had his left shoulder all torn out.”
“Have you got any books that are worth the reading?” said Claude, who very soon made up his mind that he didn’t want anything to do with grizzly bears. “You must have lots of time at your disposal——”
“Well, no. We have our evenings if we are not on the watch, but then we are too tired to do anything but sit around and talk. We have plenty of books, however, and among them there is one that I always admired—Scott’s ‘Lady of the Lake.’”
“Yes, I believe I have heard of that book. Scott was a robber, was he not?”
“No,” answered Carl indignantly. “He was a Scottish nobleman. But he made one of his heroes an outlaw, and he ran on until he met his lawful monarch and killed him.”
Both the young men remained silent after that. Carl was astonished that his cousin, who was fresh from the city, where everybody is supposed to know everything, should be ignorant of little matters which he had at his tongue’s end, and Claude saw that he must be careful what subjects he touched upon to avoid showing how little he knew. By this time they were in sight of the ranch. It is hard to tell just what kind of a looking building Claude had picked out in his imagination for his uncle to live in, but it was plain that his amazement increased when he looked at it. Page 199 He got down out of the wagon and was immediately introduced to Thompson, who gave him a hearty shake, and at the same time he bent his eyes upon him as if he meant to look him through.
“Everything is all right, sir,” said he in response to an inquiry from his employer, “and Carl has had one good, hearty laugh since you went away. The old sorrel threw me three times in succession, and I thought Carl would never get over it. I think you will find everything just as it was.”
Claude was shown into his room, which he had to himself; and Carl, after turning his pony loose, sat down upon the porch to think. To say that he was sadly disappointed in his cousin would not begin to express it. He knew that the man was older than himself, and that he would find it hard work to amuse him; but he did not suppose that there was going to be such a gulf between them.
Claude knew literally nothing outside of billiards and bowling-alleys, and he would have to go a long way from that valley to find them. His thoughts, as he sat on his bed Page 200 gazing idly at the rag carpet on the floor, were very much out of place for one who had just come among relatives he had not seen for a long time, and whom he had tired of already.
“I was a fool for ever coming out here, but then I did not know that they lived so far from everybody,” said Claude, running his fingers through his hair and acting altogether as if he were very much displeased with himself. “I wish I were back in the Planters’ House, playing a game of billiards with somebody; but now that I am here, I am going to make the most of it. I don’t like my uncle’s looks. He is a pretty hard man to deal with.”
And we may add that these were his reflections during the two years that he remained an unwilling visitor at the ranch. He conquered himself as well as he could, and stayed there because he had nowhere else to go. If he went to the city he would have to go to work at something, and he thought that living on the ranch was better than going among entire strangers. He tried hard to learn his duties; and being given a sober old horse that Page 201 it was no trouble to ride, and keeping always in company with Carl, he found that he got along better than he otherwise thought he would. But there was one thing that came into Claude’s mind that he would not have his relatives know for anything. Mr. Preston had an office which opened off the dining-room, and every pay-day, and that came once a month, he opened a safe in which Claude had often seen huge piles of greenbacks stowed away. He had not thought about this for some time after he gained an insight into the safe, but of late it had gradually come upon him that if he could get into that safe unbeknown to anybody, he would have enough to keep him in idleness as long as he lived. It scared him at first, but the longer he pondered upon it the more he thought it could be done. Besides, his uncle was gradually wasting away from some form of incurable disease, and Claude had schooled himself to look upon his death with the greatest composure. Of course Mr. Preston would not want the money after he was gone; and as to Carl, he would have the stock and ranch left, and that was all he Page 202 needed. If he could not make a living out of that, he deserved to starve.
“I think that is the only way to make money,” said Claude to himself. “It is true I might try Carl after his father is gone, but I don’t have any hopes of making him divide the property with me. He will want it all himself, for he is awful stingy. I’ll keep an eye on that safe, and if he leaves the key in the door, as I have known him to do a hundred times, I’ll just open it and take what I want. But where will I go after I have performed the deed? Well, that will require some study.”
Every time Claude talked to himself in this way he grew more and more impatient for something to happen. One morning as he was about to mount his horse to go out and attend to the cattle he was approached by a couple of rather seedy-looking men, who inquired for Mr. Preston.
“He is out on the ranch now, but he will be in before long,” said Claude. “Do you want to see him for anything particular?”
“Yes—we want a job at herding stock,” said one of the men, who answered to the Page 203 name of Harding. “We understood that some of his stockmen had left him.”
“They were three men who have got all the stock they want and have gone off somewhere to begin business for themselves. I don’t know whether you could fill their places or not. You don’t look like men who had been in the habit of herding stock.”
And they didn’t, either. One of them, as we have said, was Harding, and the other was Ainsworth, and they looked just what they were—regular squawmen. Claude had been long enough on the plains to tell a stockman when he saw him.
“Perhaps we don’t,” said Harding, “but we have been used to the business all our lives. Is old man Preston out this way? Then we will ride with you until we find him.”
Claude rode on ahead, followed by the squawmen, and somehow he did not feel safe in their presence; but before long something that one of the men said opened his eyes and made him feel that his uncle, by hiring the two men in question, would make easy of accomplishment certain plans he had formed.
“You’re getting rich herding cattle, ain’t you?” said Harding. “Well, it beats the world how some men can get rich and do nothing. If I had what old man Preston is worth I wouldn’t never do nothing no more.”
“Neither would I,” said Claude. “But it takes money to make money; haven’t you lived long enough to prove that? A man who hires out to be abroad in all sorts of weather, and who loses his sleep of nights for the paltry sum of forty-five dollars a month, don’t see much money by the time the year is up.”
Here the subject was dropped, but enough had been said to set each one to thinking. Harding and his partner were hard up, to use the language of the country. The provisions their wives drew every week did not furnish them with money, and how in the world they were going to get funds was what troubled them. If the truth must be known, they came there to Mr. Preston’s house not for the purpose of herding cattle, but with an eye on the safe in the office. Claude, dull as he was about some things, saw that, and instantly two courses of action suggested themselves to him: Page 205 should he scrape acquaintance with the men, in case his uncle hired them, and share the proceeds with them, or should he pretend to be on their side, find out what arrangements they made in regard to robbing the safe, and then go to his uncle and expose them?
“By gracious! here is another chance to make money,” said Claude, so overcome with his grand idea that it was all he could do to keep from laughing outright. “If I go in with them they will take the money and leave me to whistle for my share; but if I go to my uncle and post him, he will certainly reward me for my efforts, and that will be better than stealing. I tell you I will get the start of that man yet.”
Claude was so impatient to reach his uncle and turn the men over to him that he put his horse into a lope, and in the space of half an hour discovered his relative riding slowly toward him. He simply said, “Here are two men who want a chance to herd cattle,” and then passed on, so that he could have an opportunity to think over his new scheme without being bothered by anybody. It was in Page 206 his mind all that day, and when he went home to supper that night he found the men, with their hats off and their sleeves rolled up, in the act of taking a wash.
“I guess uncle has hired you,” said he.
“Is old man—I mean is Mr. Preston your uncle?” asked one of the men in surprise.
“Oh, yes, he is my uncle easy enough, but he treats me mighty mean. In fact he uses all his hands mean.”
Claude looked all around before he gave utterance to this falsehood, for if Thompson or some of the older hands on the ranch had heard him, it is possible that he would have listened to the truth, plainly told. A kinder owner to work for than Mr. Preston did not exist, and every one who had earned his daily bread on that ranch knew it. If the three men who had left the ranch to begin business for themselves could have heard it, they would have told a different story. These men had been at work for Mr. Preston a long time, and each one carried, besides his stock, one thousand dollars, with which to start him on the road to prosperity.
“There!” said Claude, as he lifted his face from the towel and gazed after the two men who were walking into the dining-room. “I have given them something to chew on. I don’t know whether they believe that Uncle Preston is guilty of meanness or not—I rather think, from the expression of their faces, that they do not; but it will show them what I think, and perhaps it will amount to something.”
Thompson, the foreman, was the one who objected to Mr. Preston hiring the men, and he showed it so plainly that it is a wonder the men did not see it. During the week following he would hardly pay any attention to them except to give them their orders, and he got through with that as soon as possible. At the end of that time he found opportunity to speak to Mr. Preston privately.
“So you have hired those two men, have you?” said he.
“I have, and I didn’t think I could do any better,” said his employer.
“I should not raise a bit of fault with them if they were stock-herders,” said Thompson, “but I know they are not. When you go down to the fort make inquiries about them, and you will find that they have Indian wives. These men are making forty-five dollars a month, and their wives are getting their provisions for nothing.”
“Oh, I guess you are mistaken. These men must have had some object in coming here.”
“Yes, they have. Where do you keep the key to your safe?”
“In my pocket, of course.”
“Then it is all right. The cook will be here while you are around the house, and it will be dangerous for anybody to try to get it. You will be around with me or with Carl——”
“And Claude, too,” interrupted Mr. Preston.
“Well, the least said about Claude the better,” said Thompson.
“Why, you don’t suspect Claude of having designs on that safe, do you?” said Mr. Preston in surprise.
“I don’t suspect anything; but you just take my advice and keep your eyes on that safe. You’ve got most too much money in there.”
“I declare this beats me! Things have come to a pretty pass when a man cannot keep in his possession what money he needs.”
“I am only just telling you what I believe,” said Thompson. “I have had an eye on that man Claude for a long time. When you pay off the hands he is the last one in your office, and I expect he takes particular notice of where you put the key.”
“Thompson,” said Mr. Preston, suddenly putting his hand into his pocket, “do me the favor to keep this key. I am not as strong as I used to be——”
“I know you are not,” said the foreman sadly. “Time was when you would have gloried to have somebody come here with the intention of walking off with the contents of Page 210 that safe, but it ain’t so now. I will take the key, and if anybody gets it, it will be when I am laid out.”
Thompson rode off to attend to his duties, feeling much better than he did when he began his conversation with his employer. He was hale and strong, a dead shot, as utterly devoid of fear as it is possible for a man to be, and it would be a dangerous piece of business for one to attempt to put his hand onto that key while it was in his possession.
“I feel all right now,” said Thompson, who drew a long breath of relief. “I have been worrying about that key ever since Claude has been here, but now I would like to see him get it. Many a time, before Claude came here, I have seen Mr. Preston go off and leave the key to that safe sticking in the lock for weeks at a time, and nobody ever thought of going near it. He has been a little cautious about that ever since I spoke to him concerning it. I’ll take the cook into my confidence. He is a sure shot, keeps his revolvers hung up where he can put his hands on them at an instant’s Page 211 warning, and with him watching in the house and me watching outside we have the dead wood on them.”
The conversation had a very different effect upon Mr. Preston. He became suspicious of everybody. He watched his men and Claude continually; and, though they were always respectful in their manner toward him, he felt that there was something behind it all. One reason was because Claude had not yet talked with the men. He was waiting for them to “show their hands,” and that came about right speedily. When the fall round-up came, and the young cattle had to be branded, it chanced that Claude and the two men were together during the best part of the day. As long as Thompson was with them they went about their work in earnest; but when the foreman went away, Harding, who seemed to have been waiting for this opportunity, entered upon the subject at once. He must have known just how the matter was coming out, or he would have been a little more cautious about it.
“You say your uncle treats all his hands Page 212 mean,” said he, addressing himself to Claude. “I think he treats us all right.”
“No doubt he does you,” replied Claude, “but he is only waiting for an opportunity to turn loose on you. If we should let these steers get away from us and start toward the entrance of the valley, then you would see what kind of a man uncle is.”
“Well, I don’t know as I blame him any for that,” said Harding. “There are lots of cattle on the prairie for them to mingle with.”
“You ought to be in my place once,” said Claude. “You would get a blessing every night for not doing your work up right. I tell you, I am getting sick of it.”
“Why don’t you quit him?”
“Because I haven’t any other place to go. Forty-five dollars a month is better than nothing.”
“You say he has lots of money in that safe?” continued Harding, coming down to the point at once.
“Oceans of it.”
“Do you know where he keeps the key?”
“I do. He has it in his pocket; but then Page 213 he takes his clothes off every night and throws them over a chair.”
“Do you suppose you could work your way in there at night and get it? You would have to be careful and not wake him up.”
“Oh, yes, I could do it. Uncle sleeps like a log.”
Harding went off at a lope to catch a steer that objected to being rounded up, and when he came back Claude waited for him to say something more; but the cowboy seemed to have had his talk out. After waiting until his patience was exhausted, Claude broke in with——
“Now, I want to know what you mean by inquiring in regard to uncle’s safe? It’s there in the office, and there is nobody going to rob it, either.”
“How much money do you think he has in the safe?” asked Harding. “It wouldn’t pay to break into it and get nothing out.”
“He has eighteen hundred dollars in there that I know of,” said Claude. “I remember that when he sold those hundred head to the Page 214 paymaster at the fort I passed through the hall and saw a big wad of greenbacks on the table. He got twenty dollars apiece for the cattle, and that would clear him two thousand dollars; but he has since paid out about two hundred of it.”
“That’s a power of money,” said Harding, his eyes sparkling when he thought of handling that amount. “That would be—how much apiece?”
“For three of us? That would make six hundred dollars.”
“Now, can you keep still if I tell you something?” asked Harding suddenly.
“Of course I can. I can keep a secret.”
“Well, Ainsworth and me have come here with the intention of seeing the contents of that safe before we go away.”
“I know it.”
“You do?” exclaimed Harding, looking at him suspiciously. “Who told you of it?”
“Nobody. I just knew it from the way you acted.”
“Do you suppose anyone else suspects it?”
“Not that I know of. You have kept still Page 215 when other people were around, and I don’t think anybody mistrusts you.”
“We will give you one-third of what we get if you will go in with us and get the key.”
“I am in for it; but the question is, what shall we do to keep the money after we get it? The whole country will be after us.”
“And it will take more than the whole country to catch us, too,” said Harding with a grin. “We’ll go off among the Sioux Indians.”
If Claude had had any intention of joining the squawmen in any attempt on the safe, this proposition of Harding’s would almost have taken his breath away. He had seen some of the Indians during the two years he had been there, and the idea of taking up his abode with them was not to be thought of for a moment. They were so filthy that he could not bear to go near them; but he had another motive in view. All he wanted now was to get at Harding’s plans, and then he would go straight to his uncle with them. He was sure that in that way he would get a reward for saving him from being robbed.
“Well, what do you say?” asked Harding.
“Will you feel perfectly safe from capture while you live with the Sioux?” asked Claude.
“Oh, yes. The Indians always have spies among the white folks, and they would keep us posted. They can’t catch us there.”
“Well, I will go. When do you think you will make the attempt?”
“To-morrow night, if my partner agrees to it. I am getting sick of this cattle business. I long to be back in my tepee, where I can lay down and smoke as long as I please. I’ll speak to my partner at noon, and I’ll tell you what he says. Here comes that Thompson. I’d like to get him out on the prairie where I could get a fair squint at him with my rifle. I would teach him to lay around and watch his betters.”
“Here, boys!” shouted the foreman as he galloped up; “you don’t drive these cattle fast enough. It will be dark before we get them down to the corral. You Claude! take after that fellow and bring him back.”
Claude put his horse into a gallop and “took after” the unwilling steer who objected Page 217 to going toward the corral; but he was grateful to Thompson for sending him away, for he wanted to have time to compose his features. His chance for making money had come at last. Of course there was a chance for him to arouse the suspicion of the squawmen, who would take speedy revenge upon him, and that was one thing against which he must guard himself. He would not be seen any more in his uncle’s company than he had been heretofore, and when Carl came toward him for the purpose of helping him he had business on the flank of the drove, at some little distance away.
“I know I am all right now,” said Claude to himself, “and the main thing must be to keep myself all right. If I am seen around in your company, and the squawmen shall slip up on their plan of robbing the safe, I will be the first to suffer for it. I’ll wait until night, and then I’ll fix things as they ought to be.”
But it seemed to him that night was a long way off. The cattle were driven toward the corral, the calves separated from them and Page 218 put in the inclosure, and amid the confusion and noise that attended all this Ainsworth found time to give Claude an encouraging wink.
“What do you mean by that?” whispered Claude.
“It is all right,” was the reply. “We will see you to-morrow night and tell you what to do.”
“Look here,” said Claude, looking all around to make sure that no one was watching him, “I am not to do anything but get the key, am I?”
“No—that will be enough for us.”
“And I am to get my third of the money as soon as we get it?”
“Sure. You don’t think we would try to take it away from you?”
“Well, I don’t know. You cowboys are mighty reckless in handling money, and you might tell me to look farther before you would give me a cent.”
“As sure as you live and breathe we have no such an idea,” said Ainsworth, opening his eyes in surprise. “You get the key for us and we will give you the money.”
“That is a little too far-fetched,” thought Claude, as the last calf was driven inside the corral. “You were almost too ready to promise me that money. It must be pretty near night now, and I am just aching to tell my uncle of the plans that have been laid against him. How much will he give me? Five thousand dollars at least. If he gives me less than that I shall be sorry I told him.”
It was long after dark before the cowboys went to supper, but they had performed a good day’s work, and felt jolly over it. Claude was the liveliest one of the party. He conducted himself in such a way that his uncle looked at him with surprise, and he more than once caught the angry glances of the two squawmen fastened upon him with amazement. But Claude didn’t mind that. Within two hours he would see his uncle and post him in regard to the robbery, and that was all he cared for.
“You can look at me as angry as you have a mind to,” he kept saying to himself. “I will get a big sum of money for this evening’s work, and then I can go back to the city and live as I please. Five thousand dollars! One can see a heap of pleasure with that.”
Supper over, Claude went out to take care of his horse (we mean by that that he turned Page 221 him loose with the other horses, to feed during the night), and as he turned back to the house who should come up but Harding and his partner.
“Say,” said the former, looking all around to satisfy himself that nobody else was within hearing, “what made you act so during supper-time? Do you want everybody about the ranch to know what we are going to do?”
“No, but I felt so gay that I couldn’t hold in,” replied Claude. “I don’t care what they think. I shall soon have some money, and I can go back to the city with that. I think, as you do, that I am getting sick of this cattle business.”
“You are sure you can get that key?” asked Harding.
“I can try. If he keeps it in his trousers pocket I can get it.”
“That’s all we want you to do. Now remember and hold yourself in a bit. I am afraid of that Thompson. We will have to keep an eye out for him.”
“Are you going to shoot him?” asked Claude in some alarm.
“Not if he behaves himself we won’t; but he does not want to come fooling around while we are in the office. We may not have a chance to speak to you to-morrow, and we want you to bear this in mind: as soon as it comes dark, and everybody on the ranch is asleep, you come out on the porch, and you will find us there.”
“I’ve got to saddle my horse, haven’t I?”
“Yes, you can do that after you find us. We will be out somewhere near the porch, and you can slip in and get the key. That’s all. Now, remember it, and you will know just what you have got to do.”
“Yes, I will remember it,” muttered Claude, as the squawmen walked away. “I must go and get my horse after the ranch has been aroused. That’s a pretty idea! Now I must go and find uncle.”
When Claude reached the porch, he found Carl sitting there in company with his father. Of course they were talking about the incidents that had transpired during the round-up—how this steer had got frightened and made a bee-line for the prairie, and how that one Page 223 had charged upon Thompson, who narrowly escaped being unhorsed—and they were having a hearty laugh over them. It was not Claude’s intention to say anything to his uncle while Carl was about. He sat down in a chair and waited impatiently for him to go.
“Well, Claude, you seemed to enjoy this round-up a great deal better than you did the one of last year,” said his uncle. “You must have met with some amusing scenes out there, judging by the way you conducted yourself at the table.”
“I did not see anything to laugh at,” replied Claude, “but I am more used to riding on horseback than I was a year ago, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. None of the cattle charged upon me, and so I got off safe.”
In spite of Claude’s impatience, it was nearly ten o’clock before his cousin thought it high time he was going to bed. They had a hard day’s work to perform on the morrow, and they needed some sleep to prepare for it. He bade his cousin good-night and went into the house; and no sooner had he done so than Claude made a motion enjoining silence upon Page 224 his uncle, and went first to one end of the porch, and then to the other, to make sure that there was no one listening to hear what he had to say. His uncle looked on with surprise, and when Claude seated himself he said:
“A person would think that you have some secret to tell me. Why don’t you want somebody to hear it?”
“Well, I guess you will think it is a secret by the time I tell it,” whispered Claude. “Uncle, there are two men here who have made up their minds to rob you to-morrow night.”
Claude thought that if that revelation had been made to him he would have gone wild over it. Instead of that, his uncle settled back in his chair and looked at him without speaking.
“They are Harding and his partner,” continued Claude. “They say that the reason they came here was to get a look at your safe.”
“How did you find it out?” asked Mr. Preston. He did not seem to be nervous at Page 225 all. He talked in his usual tone of voice, and in much the same manner that he would have discussed the round-up that was to come off the next day.
“I don’t know why they came to me about it, unless it was because I know where you keep the key,” replied Claude. “I agreed with them until I found out what they were going to do, and then I came to you with it.”
“Where do they think they will find the key?”
“I am to get the key, and I am to feel in your trousers pocket for it. They are no cattlemen, in the first place; and after they rob you they are going among the Sioux Indians, where they will be safe.”
“It is just as I expected,” said his uncle; “they are two squawmen beyond a doubt. You were to do nothing but get the key?”
“No, sir. They thought that was enough. I am not to be mixed up in the matter until it is all over.”
“Well, you go ahead, and when you come into my room I will come out to them. Good-night.”
This was all that was said. Claude sat there in his chair and saw his uncle go into the house, and he felt his guiltiness. Mr. Preston did not say a word about rewarding him, and acted altogether as though he did not consider the matter of much moment.
“Does he intend to leave me out in the cold, I wonder?” soliloquized Claude. “If so, I am sorry I did not stay in with the squawmen. He is suspicious; I can see that plain enough. I wish the thing was over, and that the men were safe among the Sioux Indians.”
Mr. Preston had not passed a sleepless night. He got up bright and early, wished everybody good-morning, and one would not have supposed that he had listened to an astounding revelation the night before. He gave his orders in much the same way at the breakfast-table, and when he had seen the herdsmen go away he filled his pipe and sat on the porch to enjoy it. But there were two men about the house who, according to Claude’s way of thinking, acted as though they wanted to pitch into the squawmen then Page 227 and there, and end the matter. They were Thompson and the cook. The former glared savagely at them as he took his seat on the opposite side of the table, and the cook hung around the door of the dining-room, and that was a thing he had never done before, and waited for them to say or do something. Claude was in a fever of suspense. He saw it all plain enough, even if the squawmen did not.
“Say, Claude, you have been saying something to the old man,” said Harding, as the three moved off in a body to carry out Mr. Preston’s commands. “If you have, you may bet your bottom dollar that you won’t see any of his money.”
As the squawman spoke he laid his hand upon his revolver and scowled at Claude in a way that made him tremble. He knew what his fate would be if he did anything to confirm the man’s suspicions.
“What would I say to the old man?” he asked in a faint voice. “I am as deep in the mud as you are.”
“What made the foreman and cook look so cross at us?” asked Harding in reply.
“I don’t know. He has just as much right to be mad at me as he has to feel mad at you.”
“We will go on with our programme just as we have planned it,” said Harding desperately. “If the thing works all right, well and good; if it don’t, it will be all wrong for somebody. Mind that.”
The day drew on and night came on apace, and still Claude had no chance to speak to the two squawmen. He had been given his lesson the night before, and he concluded that that was going to do. Now that the time drew near he was beset with fears to which he had hitherto been a stranger. Claude knew by the way Harding handled his revolver that he was going to shoot rather than allow his plans to fall through, and, although he had never heard of his uncle doing such a thing, he thought that he, too, would have recourse to firearms. And where would he be about the time the shooting began?
“I am really afraid I have got myself in a scrape,” thought Claude, so overcome with dread that it was all he could do to sit still on his horse. “I never dreamed of their shooting, Page 229 but that is the way all Western men have of getting out of a difficulty. I wish I had stayed in St. Louis when I was there. They don’t have any shooting going on in that place.”
Supper being over, Claude did not go out to attend his horse as usual. He whispered to one of the men to attend to it for him, and during the evening sat on the porch with his uncle and cousin. He sat there until ten o’clock, and then Carl said good-night and went to his room. His uncle sat still longer, but finally arose and followed Carl, at the same time laying his hand upon Claude’s arm.
“Is it all right?” said he.
“It is all right so far as I know,” said Claude. “I had a talk with them this morning, and they said they would go on with their regular plans. Be careful of yourself, uncle. They are going to shoot.”
“I will look out for myself. You keep out of the way.”
His uncle went to his room and Claude sat there on the porch, literally benumbed with fear. Finally he mustered up courage enough Page 230 to go into his room and lie down on the bed without removing his clothes. He lay there until twelve o’clock, and then, everything being still, he got up and sat on the bed.
“I wonder if those two men are as nervous as I am?” said Claude to himself. “I don’t intend to do anything myself, but I feel as guilty as though I had been caught in the act. Well, here goes.”
Claude got up and made his way to the front door, and when he had opened it very cautiously he saw Harding standing at the other end of the porch. The man straightened up, mounted the steps, and stood beside him.
“I thought you never was coming,” said he, and he fairly hissed out the words. “You see, if you had not come there would have been some murder done in this house.”
“Oh, I hope you will not try that,” said Claude.
“Then let the old man behave himself and do just as he is told. Now take us to the office, and then go and get the key.”
Claude pressed his hand against his heart to still its beatings and turned back into the Page 231 house. A few steps brought them to the door of the office. It was light in there, for the moon was shining out of doors, and the first thing Harding did was to step across the room and raise one of the windows, so that he and his companion could have a chance for escape. Then he motioned for Claude to go ahead; but now another thought occurred to him. Suppose Harding, instead of trusting him to go alone into the room, should send his partner with him? That would be a misfortune indeed, for he did not see how he was to convey to his uncle the information that the two squawmen were in his office. He dared not hesitate, but turned and went to his uncle’s room, and to his great delight he went alone. The men did not hear him as he walked along the hall, and when he approached the door of his uncle’s room, which always stood open, he discovered a figure on the bed, and he saw it rise up as he stepped across the threshold.
“Claude!” said his uncle.
“It is I,” replied Claude in a trembling voice. “They’re in the office!”
Mr. Preston immediately arose, and in his hand, which he pulled out from under his pillow, was a revolver. It looked now as though his uncle was going to shoot, too.