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Ebook has 1207 lines and 45743 words, and 25 pages

THE SADDLE BOYS ON THE PLAINS

STARTING FOR CHERRY BLOSSOM MINE

"So-long, boys! We'll look for you back in ten days or two weeks, Frank!"

"Sure, dad; but don't worry if we fail to show up by then. Something might happen to detain us at the mine, you know!"

"Send word, if you can, son. I suppose I ought to go with you myself; but that game leg still troubles me on a long ride. Besides, you and Bob have done so well lately, that I think it would be safe to trust anything in your hands."

"We're going to do the best we can to get the tangle ironed out at the mine, whatever it proves to be; and have matters running smooth again. Good-by, Bart Heminway! All kinds of good luck with you on the range while we're away. So-long boys! Wish the whole bunch of you could gallop with us! Ready, Bob? Then we're off!"

A series of parting salutes, such as only wide-awake cowboys know how to give, followed Frank and his chum as they galloped away from the Circle Ranch cattle corral.

Frank's father, the owner of the place, sat stride his big roan, and surrounded by his dozen tried and true "punchers" watched his boy Frank, accompanied by his comrade, Bob Archer, from Kentucky, as they topped a slight rise of the prairie about half a mile away.

"One last shout, and then we lose sight of the old ranch house!" said Frank.

They turned in the saddle, and waved their hats three times, accompanying each movement with a clear call that brought an answering whoop from the little cluster of horsemen.

Then the word was given, and the eager, mettlesome horses sprang down the easy descent. The distant white-washed buildings, that constituted the heart of the famous Circle Ranch in Arizona, disappeared from sight. Before the two boys lay the great level plains, with the mountains in the distance.

Frank had been brought up amid such surroundings, and was fairly well versed in such things as went with life on a big cattle ranch. He was never so happy as when mounted on his sturdy and swift pony, "Buckskin," and galloping over the country, either pursuing some of the duties of a cow puncher, or hunting such game as might be found within a radius of twenty miles.

Frank was a athletic fellow, as might be expected of one who spent so much time on horseback. His clear blue eyes gleamed fearlessly, and he had proved this trait of his character on numerous occasions.

Bob Archer, his chum, had until recently lived in Kentucky, where he attended a military academy at Frankfort. His father having entered into partnership with Colonel Haywood in several mining ventures, the old home had been left behind for a new life in Arizona.

These two lads had early taken a great fancy to one another. Of course when Bob first came to the cattle country he was a real "tenderfoot;" but experience was fast taking that title away. Indeed, the boys of Circle Ranch declared that it was seldom a "greenhorn" picked up so quickly a knowledge of the thousand-and-one things essential to the genuine cowboy.

He had brought a black horse from his Kentucky home; and this same Domino had often proved that he could run a mile faster than the smaller Buckskin; but when it came to an all-day gallop, the animal Frank bestrode was apt to show up better as a "stayer."

Not a great while before this, the boys had passed through a series of stirring adventures while investigating a mystery that had awed the Indians for perhaps fully a century. A mountain within a day's ride of the ranch often gave vent to strange sounds that were likened to the growl of heavy thunder. What it turned out to be, and how the boys solved the puzzle, is contained in the first volume of this series, called "The Saddle Boys in the Rockies; or, Lost On Thunder Mountain."

It was shortly after their return to the ranch that a remarkable thing happened when a message that had been found in a sealed bottle floating in the current of the Lower Colorado River was brought to Colonel Haywood, at a time when he happened to be laid up with a broken leg.

If you think you would like to learn how Frank and Bob took the place of the ranchman, going on horseback to the world-famous Grand Canyon of the Colorado in answer to the call that had reached them, together with what remarkable things happened to them while there, read the second volume in this series, entitled, "The Saddle Boys in the Grand Canyon; or, The Hermit of Echo Cave."

And now the lads were once again starting out on a long gallop that would take them far to the south, into the mining country within a day's ride of the Mexican border. Here was located the most valuable of all the gold-producing properties controlled by Colonel Haywood and Mr. Archer, known as the Cherry Blossom Mine.

Word had been brought to the colonel that there seemed to be trouble brewing at the mine. The message had given no particulars, nor was it signed with any name. It simply stated that if he were wise, and wished to nip trouble in the bud, he would better take a horse and run down to investigate, before matters reached a crisis.

But as Mr. Archer was East, looking after the marketing of certain stock in Wall Street, and Colonel Haywood's broken leg had hardly healed enough for him to attempt a ride of several days, the ranchman found himself once more compelled to throw the burden on the shoulders of his only son Frank, and the latter's chum, Bob Archer.

Armed with all manner of instructions, and legal documents to prove their authority as the representatives of the parties holding a controlling interest in the wonderfully productive Cherry Blossom, the two chums were now heading into the hazy South. What lay beyond no one could even guess; but both seemed to "feel in their bones," as Bob expressed it, that new and surprising adventures were in store for them among the plains and mountains of Southern Arizona.

And so they started out that fine morning, with high anticipations. In the bracing air the two horses vied with each other in covering the ground; though Frank constantly advised his comrade to hold Domino in.

"Out here, you see, Bob," he would remark, "Where the horses are used to making a ten-hour run; and then going at it again after a little rest, when a stampede happens along, we learn the value of holding a willing pony in early in the day. It means better work later in the run. He gradually gets down to business; just as you've seen engines do in making a slow start."

"Sure, I understand all that, Frank, because you've told me lots of times; but then Domino doesn't seem to get on to it," Bob replied, with a laugh. "He pulls as if he belonged to a fire engine, and had heard the alarm. Hold up there, you Blue-Grass exile; before the day is done you'll have all the exercise you want, I reckon."

"There's a fine bunch of our cattle grazing down by the stream yonder," remarked Frank, pointing with the quirt which was fastened to his left wrist, cowboy fashion.

"And this is about as far as they're allowed to roam, isn't it?" asked Bob.

"Yes, some of the boys have been keeping watch on this lot all night," Frank replied. "See, there's a fellow now, waving his hat, and whooping at us. That must be Chesty Lane. Say, you can just depend on it he's feeling some bad that he can't ride with us. Chesty is always hungry for something to happen. When things run too smooth he just has to get away, and look for excitement somehow."

"It was down through that rocky coulie that last pack of wolves crept, when they played such hob with the calves, wasn't it?" Bob inquired, after they had answered the wild cheers of the "puncher" who was serving as guardian to the herd.

"Yep!" said Frank. "But the chase was swift, and not a single one of the pack ever got away. I knocked over a hairy thief myself, and that's the skin on the floor of my room. It's nearly as big as the pelt you got, when we tracked old Sallie and her whelps to their den, and you shot her."

"Wolves are getting scarce around here, Frank, what with the ranchmen offering bounties for every scalp, besides what the state pays!"

"Oh! there are always a few coming down from the mountains," replied the other. "Up there they have breeding places where no man can ever find 'em. But we have no cause to complain about wolves nowadays. It's the rustlers that bother us most."

"That crowd under the Mexican, Pedro Mendoza, you mean," Bob went on.

"Yes, they have some secret hiding place that as yet has never been discovered. Some believe they come all the way up from Mexico, but my dad never would take to that idea. And he declares that the next time any of the Circle cattle are driven off, he's going to camp on the trail of the thieves, and keep on following them if it takes him down to Chihuahua."

Frank himself looked quite grim as he said this. Evidently he was of the same mind as his father, the rancher.

When two hours had passed, and they had placed a good many miles between themselves and the ranch house that lay far to the north, Frank drew up his horse.

"Better let 'em take a breathing spell," he remarked. "And you notice, now, that your black doesn't seem quite so eager to rush things."

"I knew he would get over it," laughed Bob, as he patted the shiny flank of his mount. "But what lies away yonder toward the Southwest?"

"That's the Arrowhead Ranch buildings, with a grove of timber about them," Frank replied. "You know they've got a fine stream of water there, that comes down from the mountains. Father tried to buy that ranch, but some one else had the option. I'm afraid it's going to drop into the hands of the Syndicate that is gobbling up all the good properties around here."

"You mean the crowd of Eastern capitalists, headed by the father of Peg Grant, the fellow we had the trouble with on Thunder Mountain?" Bob went on.

"Yes, the same bunch," Frank continued. "They have it in for dad, I'm afraid, just because he chooses to run his own business in his own way, and refuses to throw in with the Syndicate."

"You won't go over to the Arrowhead, then?" Bob asked.

"Not to-day. I've been there lots of time, though. One of our boys got in a peck of trouble with some of their punchers a short time ago; and just now there's bad blood between us. Come on, and we'll hit out for the hills some miles off."

Frank gave Buckskin the signal with his heels, and away the two horses flew over the level.

On reaching the hilly country Frank struck into a trail leading through a district that was rapidly growing wilder as they advanced; though after a while they might again strike out on the open country.

There were times when the trail itself was so narrow that Bob fell in behind, and they moved along in single file, the horses climbing the rise gallantly.

Frank had his eyes ahead. He fancied that he had detected some slight movement at a turn about fifty yards beyond the spot they had now reached.

"Hold up a minute, Bob!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand in the manner understood by every rider of the plains.

Just as he spoke he heard a strange "swishing" sound close by. Involuntarily Frank ducked his head. Brought up amid such surroundings, his ear was in tune with all things connected with range life; and in this hissing sound he knew that he had caught the whirl of a lariat through the air. Just as he turned in his saddle, he heard from his chum a half-muffled cry that thrilled him.

THE SUDDEN ALARM

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