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In a few minutes the column was reformed, and the Rangers, at an easy pace, were riding out of the town toward the river. The three boys rode together.
“Well, Jack,” remarked Ralph Stetson, as soon as they found themselves alone, “you’ve made a nice mess of it.”
“How’s that?” inquired Jack unsuspiciously.
“Getting in a muss with that Ranger. From the look he gave you as he went away I could see he bore you no great affection.”
“Well, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it,” declared Jack.
“I should think not,” chimed in Walt Phelps, “you only did what you were compelled to do. My dad says, ‘Don’t go looking for trouble and always avoid it if you can; but if you have it forced on you, why then make the other fellow remember it.’”
“Don’t worry about that Shorty not remembering it,” admonished Ralph seriously; “he’s not of the forgetting kind.”
And Ralph was right – Shorty wasn’t, as we shall see before long.
CHAPTER III.
AN ATTEMPT AT “GETTING EVEN.”
The Rangers, still overshadowed by that pall of yellow dust that seemed inseparable from them, and almost as much a part of themselves as their horses or accouterments, dashed gallantly out of the town and across the rather dreary expanse of mesquite and thorny cactus that lay between San Mercedes and the Rio Grande. On the brink of the stream, which at that point flowed between steep bluffs of a reddish hue, they drew rein.
The boys peered curiously over the bluff on the edge of which they had halted. They saw a shallow, slowly flowing stream obstructed with sand bars and shallows. On its banks grew scanty patches of brush and dull–colored, stunted trees; but the scene was a dreary, almost melancholy one.
“So this is the Rio Grande!” exclaimed Ralph, in a disappointed voice, “I always thought of it as a noble river dashing along between steep banks and – ”
“Gracious, you talk like Sir Walter Scott,” grinned Jack; “the Rio Grande at this time of the year, so I’ve been told, is always like this.”
“Why, it’s not much more than a mud puddle,” complained Walt Phelps.
“I’m not so sure about that, young men,” put in Captain Atkinson, who had overheard their conversation, “at certain times in the early spring, or winter you’d call it back east, or when there is a cloud burst, the old Rio can be as angry as the best of them.”
“What’s a cloud burst?” asked Ralph curiously. “I’ve read of them but I never knew just what they were.”
“Well, for a scientific explanation you’ll have to ask somebody wiser than me,” laughed Captain Atkinson, “but for an everyday explanation, a cloud burst occurs when clouds, full of moisture, come in contact with mountain tops warmer than the clouds themselves. This causes the clouds to melt all at once – precipitation, I believe the weather sharps call it – and then if you are in this part of the country, look out for squalls along the river.”
“But I don’t quite understand,” remarked Walt. “I guess I’m dense or something. I mean there are no mountains here.”
“No; but up among the sources of the Rio there are,” explained the leader of the Rangers, “and a cloud burst even many hundred miles away means a sudden tidal wave along this part of the Rio.”
“Well, it certainly looks as if it could stand quite a lot more water without being particularly dangerous,” commented Jack.
At this point of the conversation Captain Atkinson gave a quick look around as the rumble of approaching wheels was heard.
“Here comes the chuck–wagon, I guess,” he said; “you boys will have to excuse me while I ride off to tell them where to make a pitch.”
“Yes; I suppose a chuck wagon naturally would make a pitch,” grinned Ralph, as Captain Atkinson clattered off.
“The kind of pitch he means is a location,” rejoined Walt Phelps. “Look, boys! there she comes. Well, that means that we don’t starve, anyhow.”
The others followed the direction of Walt’s gaze and saw a big lumbering vehicle drawn by eight mules approaching across the mesquite plain. It was roofed with canvas, and through this roof stuck a rusty iron stove pipe. From this blue smoke was pouring in a cloud.
“Talk about a prairie schooner. I guess that’s a prairie steamer. Look at her smoke–stack,” cried Ralph.
“Yes; and look at the captain,” laughed Jack, pointing to the yellow face and flying queue of a Chinaman, which were at this moment projected from the back of the wagon.
“That’s the cook,” said Walt Phelps, “I guess he’s been getting supper ready as they came along.”
A loud cheer went up from the Rangers as their traveling dining–room came into sight.
“Hello, old Sawed Off, how’s chuck?” yelled one Ranger at the grinning Chinaman.
“Hey, there! What’s the news from the Chinese Republic?” shouted another.
“Me no Chinese ‘public. Me Chinese Democlat!” bawled the yellow man, waving an iron spoon and vanishing into the interior of his wheeled domain.
“They call him Sawed Off because his name is Tuo Long,” chuckled Captain Atkinson, when he had directed the driver of the cook wagon where to draw up and unharness his mules, “but he’s a mighty good cook – none better, in fact. He’s only got one failing, if you can call it such, and that is his dislike of the new Chinese Republic. If you want to get him excited you’ve only to start him on that.”
“I don’t much believe in getting cooks angry,” announced Walt Phelps, whose appetite was always a source of merriment with the Border Boys.
“Nor I. But come along and get acquainted with the boys. By–the–way, you brought blankets and slickers as I wrote you?”
“Oh, yes, and canteens, too. In fact, I guess we are all prepared to be regular Rangers,” smiled Jack.
By this time the camp was a scene of picturesque bustle. Ponies had been unsaddled and tethered, and presently another wagon, loaded with baled hay in a great yellow stack, came rumbling up. The Rangers, who had by this time selected their sleeping places and bestowed their saddles, at once set about giving their active little mounts their suppers.
First, each man mounted on his pony barebacked and rode it down to the river to get a drink of water. To do this they had to ride some little distance, as the bluffs at that point were steep and no path offered. At last, however, a trail was found, and in single file down they went to the watering place.
The boys followed the rest along the steep path, Jack coming last of the trio. The trail lay along the edge of the bluff, and at some places was not much wider than a man’s hand. Jack had reached the worst part of it, where a drop of some hundred feet lay below him, when he was astonished to hear the sound of hoofs behind him.
He was astonished because, he had judged, almost everybody in the camp had preceded him while he had been busy inspecting the different arrangements. He faced round abruptly in his saddle and saw that the rider behind him was Shorty.
It must have been at almost the same moment that, for some unknown reason, Shorty’s horse began to plunge and kick. Then it dashed forward, bearing down directly on Jack.
“Look out!” shouted Jack, “there’s only room for one on the trail. You’ll knock me off!”
“I can’t pull him in! I can’t pull him in!” yelled Shorty, making what appeared to be frantic efforts to pull in his pony. At the same time he kept the cayuse to the inside of the trail.
Jack saw that unless he did something, and quickly, too, his pony was likely to become unmanageable and plunge off the narrow path. But there was small choice of remedies. Already Shorty’s horse, which was coming as if maddened by something, was dashing down on him. Jack resolved to take a desperate chance. The others had by this time almost reached the bottom of the trail. As fast as he dared he compelled his pony to gallop down the steep incline. It was a dangerous thing to do, for the trail was too narrow to afford any foothold at more than a slow and careful walk.
Behind him, yelling like one possessed, came Shorty. Jack urged his mount faster.
“Goodness! I hope we get to the bottom safely!” he gasped out.
The words had hardly left his lips when he felt his pony’s hoofs slip from under him.
The next instant, amid a horrified shout from the men below, Jack and the pony went rolling and plunging off the trail down toward the river.
The last sound Jack heard was Shorty’s loud:
“Yip! yip! Ye–o–o–ow!”
CHAPTER IV.
WITH THE RANGERS
From below, where Jack’s companions had witnessed his fall with horrified eyes, it appeared almost impossible that he could escape without serious injury. But as his pony struck the ground at the foot of the cliff, amidst a regular landslide of twigs, rocks and earth, Jack succeeded in extricating himself from under the animal, and rolling a few yards he scrambled to his feet, unhurt except for a few slight cuts and bruises.
Ralph and Walt Phelps left their ponies and came running up to where Jack stood brushing the dirt from his garments.
“Hurt, Jack?” cried Ralph.
“No; never touched me,” laughed the boy; “and look at that cayuse of mine, I guess he isn’t injured, either.”
As Jack spoke he nodded his head in the direction of his pony, which had risen and was now galloping off to join its companions at the watering place.
“How did it happen?” demanded Walt. “We saw you coming down the trail quietly enough one moment, and at the next look, behold, you were riding like Tam o’ Shanter.”
Jack looked about him before replying. But he and his companions were alone, for the Rangers were too busy watering their mounts to bother with the boys once it had been seen that Jack was not hurt.
“I guess you were right when you said that Shorty had it in for me,” he remarked, turning to Walt Phelps.
“How do you mean?”
“Just this: Shorty was behind me on that trail. Suddenly his pony began to bolt. It was to avoid being forced from the narrow path that I spurred up my cayuse so as to keep ahead of him.”
“What do you think he meant to do?”
The question came from Ralph.
“It’s my opinion that he deliberately tried to get between me and the wall of the cliff and force me off the trail.”
“Gracious! You might have been killed.”
“Not much doubt that I’d have been badly injured, anyway. But Shorty miscalculated, and where I left the trail was further on and not so far to fall.”
“Why don’t you tell Captain Atkinson?”
“Why, I have nothing to prove that Shorty’s pony really didn’t get beyond his control.”
“Then you suspect that it was not really running away, but that he made it appear that he was unable to manage it?”
“That’s it exactly. However, let’s join the men. If I get a chance I want to examine Shorty’s horse.”
“What’s the idea in that?” asked Walt.
“You’ll see what my plan is if I get an opportunity to put it into execution,” was the reply.
The three boys, arm in arm, sauntered up to the group of Rangers. Some of them were now remounted, and two men had charge of the boys’ ponies, including Jack’s, which had joined its comrades. Shorty was still watering his animal, but when he saw the boys he came up to Jack with an outstretched hand, and every appearance of great affability.
“Say, Pard’ner,” he exclaimed, as if genuinely remorseful, “I hope you ain’t mad with me on ’count of that accident.”
“No; I never harbor a grudge,” responded Jack, with emphasis.
“That critter of mine jes’ nat’ly ran away from me,” pursued Shorty, in the same tone.
“And so that’s the reason you had to spur him till he bled,” flashed Jack, in a low tone. The boy had seized his opportunity to look over Shorty’s pony and saw at once that it had been cruelly rowelled.
Shorty went pale under his tan. His mouth twitched nervously.
“Why – why, you ain’t goin’ for to say I done it a–purpose?” he demanded.
“I’m not saying anything about it,” responded Jack; “all that I know is this, that I shall take care how I ride in front of you again.”
So saying the boy turned on his heel and walked toward his pony, followed by Walt and Ralph, who had witnessed the whole scene. Shorty gazed after them. His alarm had gone from his countenance now, and he bore an expression of malignant rage.
“Dern young tenderfoot cubs,” he growled to himself, relieving his feelings by giving his pony a kick in the stomach, “blamed interferin’ Mammy boys! I’ll l’arn ‘em a lesson yet. I’ll jes’ bet I will, and it’ll be a hot one, too. One they won’t forget in a hurry.”
But of Shorty’s fury the boys were ignorant, for they quickly mounted and clattered back up the trail with the rest of the Rangers. On their return to the camp, as soon as each little pony had been given his generous allowance of hay, they found that supper was ready, the Chinaman announcing the fact by beating on a tin dishpan and shouting:
“Come getee! Come getee!”
None of the Rangers needed any second invitation; nor did the boys need any pressing to make hearty meals. Bacon, salted beef, beans, hot biscuits and strong coffee formed the bill of fare. After the meal had been dispatched Captain Atkinson beckoned to Jack and his companions, and they followed him a little apart from the rest of the Rangers who were singing songs and telling stories around a big camp fire, for the night was quite chilly.
“Since you lads have joined us to learn all you can of the life of a Texas Ranger,” he said, “I think that you had better start in as soon as possible.”
“Right away if necessary,” responded Jack enthusiastically.
“That’s my idea,” struck in Walt Phelps.
“Can’t make it too soon for me, captain,” added Ralph, not a whit less eager than the others.
“Very well, then,” smiled the captain of the Rangers, “you will go on sentry duty to–night, and to–morrow I shall see that you have some other work assigned to you.”
“Do we – do we have to do sentry duty all night?” asked Ralph, in a rather dubious tone.
“No, indeed. That would never do. You must get your sleep. For that reason we divide the hours of darkness into regular watches. There are four of these. I shall assign you to go out with the first guard,” said Captain Atkinson to Jack, and then in turn he informed Walt Phelps and Ralph Stetson that their assignments would come with the second and third watches respectively.
Jack was all eagerness to begin, and when at eight o’clock he and six of the Rangers rode out of the camp toward the river his heart throbbed with anticipation of the duty before him. The men were in charge of one of their number named “Baldy” Sears. This Baldy was quite a character and had determined to give Jack a thorough testing out. As they rode out, the boy questioned “Baldy” eagerly about his duties, but didn’t get much satisfaction.
As a matter of fact, Baldy entertained quite a contempt for “Tenderfeet,” as he called the boys, and was rather annoyed at having to take Jack out and act as “school marm,” as he phrased it.
They reached the river by the same trail that they had descended to water their ponies earlier that evening. As it was still dusk they rode down it without accident. In fact, the Rangers hardly appeared to notice its dangers. Jack, however, wondered how it would be possible to descend it in the dark without mishap. But, then, he recollected the sure–footedness and uncommon intelligence of the average western pony, and realized that if given a loose rein, there probably was not a cayuse in the outfit that could not negotiate it without difficulty.
“Now, then,” said Baldy, when they reached the bottom of the path, “line up and I’ll give you your orders. You, Red Saunders, ride east with Sam, and Ed. Ricky, you and Big Foot ride to the west and keep patrolling. I’ll take the young maverick here with me. If any of you gets in trouble or wants assistance fire three shots. I reckon that’s all.”
The men rode off into the night, and then Baldy and Jack were left alone.
“Got a shootin’ iron with you, young feller?” inquired Baldy.
