CHAPTER XI.

GUS HEARS FROM HOME.

Gus spent the two days following his arrival at the rancho in resting; and even at the end of that time he had not fully recovered from the effects of his long, hard ride on horseback. He and Ned passed the time in roaming about the house and grounds, and at every turn Gus found something to interest him. The rancho and everything about it, Uncle John’s manner of living, the appearance, customs and language of the men he met every day—all these were new to Gus, who could have enjoyed himself hugely now if it had not been for two disagreeable reflections which constantly intruded upon him in spite of all he could do to keep them out of his mind. There were cattle-thieves in that country who made a practice of shooting everybody who came in their way, and they had been in that very house not a great while ago. They might come again at any moment, and there might be another fight—and Gus did not like to think of that. He would have been safer in his father’s store than he was in that country, but would he ever be permitted to return to that store after what he had done? On the whole he was sorry that he had come to Texas, and Ned was almost sorry that he had invited him, for Gus didn’t act and talk like the boy he had known in Foxboro’. He was not so jolly and full of life as he used to be.

Mr. Ackerman never asked the visitor if he had left home with his father’s full and free consent. He, no doubt, took it for granted that Gus had talked the matter over with Mr. Robbins, and so said nothing about it. This relieved Ned of a burden of anxiety, and another thing that pleased him was the fact that Gus never asked any questions concerning the hunting adventure which Ned had so graphically described in his first letter.

During these two days nothing was heard of the missing George. The herdsman who had been sent out to make inquiries among the neighbors brought back the information that he had not been able to find any traces of him, and that seemed to settle the matter, so far as Uncle John and Ned were concerned. The two boys seldom spoke of him. They had more important matters to occupy their attention. They talked over old times to their hearts’ content, and Ned told Gus everything of interest that had happened to him since he came to Texas. The story of the stolen horse and the description of Philip’s strange conduct on the night of the fight were so incredible that Gus wouldn’t believe a word until he had seen the bullet holes in the manger and the lumber pile behind the shed had been torn down so that he could see the gold-mounted saddle and bridle. Then he looked bewildered, and, contrary to Ned’s expectation, could suggest nothing more than he had already thought of himself.

“You ought to have given the horse up when the owner came for him,” said he. “You would have made something handsome by it probably.”

“I know that as well as you do,” replied Ned. “But seeing I didn’t do it, how am I going to get myself out of the scrape?”

“I don’t see that you are in any scrape. How far does the man who owns the horse live from here?”

“Fifty or sixty miles.”

“Did you ever see him before that night?”

“I never did.”

“Well, comfort yourself with the thought that you may never see him again. There’s nothing to bring him back here.”

“O, yes there is. Didn’t I tell you that he and his companion rode off two of father’s horses? Of course they must bring them back. It isn’t a safe piece of business in this country, I tell you, for a man to keep a horse that doesn’t belong to him. The people won’t allow it.”

“And you knew this all the while, and yet held fast to that stolen horse!” said Gus.

“Now, look here,” exclaimed Ned, angrily, “I know that I was a blockhead. I was bound to keep the horse, and didn’t stop to think of the consequences. When I had a chance to give him up I did not dare do it, for fear that the owner would do something to me before I could explain matters to him.”

“Well, the horse is gone now, and you are all right. If you are afraid to meet those men, keep your eyes open and dig out when they come back with your father’s horses.”

“But suppose that while I am gone Philip should take it into his head to tell them that I had the horse in my possession when they were here before, and wouldn’t give him up?”

“If he does that, tell your father that he was the one who let the raiders into the house.”

“Now, what earthly good would that do me? Would it get me out of the scrape?”

“No; but you would have the satisfaction of knowing that you had repaid Philip by getting him into just as much trouble as he got you into.”

“But that isn’t what I want. I want to clear myself, and I don’t know how to do it.”

“I don’t know either. You’ll have to trust to luck.”

“I’d rather trust to anything else in the world. Luck never served me a good turn yet.”

“You said your father discharged the old cook because you asked him, didn’t you? Very well; ask him to discharge Philip. You had better get him away from here as soon as you can. I judge from what you say, that he had made up his mind to have that safe in your father’s office, and the first thing you know he’ll bring men enough here to take it. He’s not a safe person to have about.”

Ned was very well aware of that fact, but still he could see no way of getting rid of him without rendering himself liable to exposure, and neither could Gus. As often as they discussed the matter, they arrived at this conclusion: that Philip was there in the rancho; that he meant to stay there; and that Ned could not have him discharged without getting himself into serious trouble. One would suppose, that while this state of affairs continued, there would be no such thing as pleasure for Ned. He never did see a moment’s peace while he was awake, but those around him did not know it. He seemed to be enjoying himself to the fullest extent.

On the third day, Gus began to feel a little more like himself, and when Ned proposed a short gallop to get up an appetite for dinner, the visitor did not object. The first thing was to select a gentle horse for his use; for the one he had ridden from Palos was a borrowed animal, and must be returned in good order, at the very first opportunity. Ned made the selection for him, and then went with him into the store-room to pick out a saddle and bridle. As they came out into the hall, a horseman drew up beside the porch long enough to throw a letter at them, after which he turned about and galloped back in the direction from which he had come. This was the only way in which the neighboring ranchemen and farmers would have anything to do with Uncle John. They inquired for his mail when they went to Palos, and brought it to him, if there chanced to be any, but they did it simply as an act of courtesy, just as they had banded together and pursued the raiders in the hope of recovering the stock they had stolen from him. They did not ask Uncle John to join them in the pursuit, and when they brought him his mail they never visited with him or stopped to hold conversation, as they did with their other neighbors.

Gus picked up the letter and handed it to Ned, who, after glancing at the name on the envelope passed it back to his companion. The letter was addressed to him in care of Uncle John. The visitor’s face grew red and pale by turns, as he looked at his father’s well-known writing.

“Sam Holmes has blowed the whole business!” he exclaimed, as soon as he could speak.

“Well, you expected it, didn’t you?” returned Ned. “What do you care for Sam Holmes now? You are out of his reach and your father’s too. Why don’t you read the letter?”

Gus didn’t want to read it—that was the reason. It took him by surprise, for it was something he did not expect to receive. In accordance with Ned’s suggestion, however, he tore open the envelope, and ran his eye hastily over the few lines the letter contained.

“Well, I call that pretty cool!” he exclaimed.

“Any objections to telling what they say?” asked Ned.

“None whatever. Read it for yourself, and read it aloud, so that I may be sure I have made no mistake.”

Ned took the letter and read as follows:—

* * * * *

“MY DEAR BOY:—I learn that you have gone to Texas, to visit Ned Ackerman. I am sorry you thought it best to leave us without saying good-by, for if we had known that you were resolved to go, we should have given you all the aid in our power. I am sorry, too, that you went when you did, for we had anticipated much pleasure in your company during our summer’s visit to the trout streams of the Adirondacks. If you think you would like to come home when your visit is ended, I will send you the necessary funds. I do not suppose Mr. Ackerman will care to pay your expenses both ways. Your mother and I would be glad to hear from you as often as you may feel in the humor to write. I have paid all your debts.”

Ned was very much astonished, and went over the letter twice, to make sure that he had read it aright.

“What do you think of it?” demanded Gus.

“It _is_ cool, that’s a fact,” answered Ned, who did not know what else to say; “very cool!”

“It’s—it’s impudent!” exclaimed Gus, angrily; “downright insulting! Now, isn’t he a pretty father for a fellow to have!” he added, snatching the letter from Ned’s hand. “Just listen to this: ‘If we had known that you were resolved to go, we should have given you all the aid in our power;’ and ‘_if_ you think you would like to come home when your visit is ended!’ He might as well say that if I don’t want to return, I can stay away and welcome!”

“It seems that the rest of them are going to the Adirondacks,” said Ned. “You know you always wanted to go there.”

“That’s just what provokes me!” cried Gus, thrashing his boots angrily with his riding-whip, as he walked up and down the porch. “Of course, I always wanted to go there. I have tried more than once to induce father to consent, but he wouldn’t do it. He treated me like a dog and drove me away from home, and now he coolly informs me that he’s going trout-fishing this summer! I hope he’ll catch a whale, and that the whale will smash his old boat into kindling-wood, and tumble him out into the water!”

This remark showed Gus to be possessed of so mean and paltry a spirit, and the wish expressed in it was so perfectly ridiculous, that Ned burst into a loud laugh. He could not help it. Gus looked sharply at him for a moment, and continued his walk up and down the porch, whipping his boots at every step. He was greatly amazed, as every young fellow is, when he learns for the first time that he is not an absolute necessity, and that the world will wag just as well without him as it will with him. Gus thought, of course, that his parents were very much distressed over what he had done, and that the letter was written to urge him to return at once and relieve their suspense; but, instead of that, his father seemed to take the matter very coolly, and did not even give up his contemplated trip to the mountains, because Gus was not there to take part in it.

“I’ll never go back!” declared the boy, flourishing his whip in the air. “I’ll stay here until you get tired of keeping me, and then I’ll go to work at something—I don’t care what it is—so long as I don’t have to sell dry-goods!”

“I wish that letter had been lost on the way,” said Ned, “for it has taken all the spirit out of you. You were bright and lively this morning, and were beginning to act like the Gus Robbins I used to know in Foxboro’.”

“I’m the same fellow now!” said Gus, tearing the letter into the smallest possible fragments, and throwing them over the railing for the wind to carry away. “Let’s go somewhere and do something!”

The boys mounted their horses, which were standing, saddled and bridled, at the foot of the stairs, and rode away; but the gloom which had been thrown over their spirits went with them, and the letter was the only thing they could talk about. Gus could not forget that trouting excursion to the Adirondacks. He had longed and hoped for that as he had never longed and hoped for anything else, and it was very provoking to know that it was to take place now, after he had put it out of his power to enjoy it. He would have done a year’s hard work in the store and given up his Texas scheme for it very gladly. He didn’t care for horses, guns or dogs; but he was an enthusiastic fisherman, and nothing suited him better than to get away by himself, and wander up and down the banks of some retired stream, in which the pools were deep and the speckled beauties abundant. But all his chances for such sport were gone now—lost, too, by a deliberate act of his own—and Gus felt angry at himself when he thought about it.

“Then don’t think about it at all,” said Ned, as Gus gave utterance to the thoughts that were passing through his mind. “Think about something more agreeable. Give up all idea of ever going back to Foxboro’!”

“O, I have given it up!” said Gus. “But it provokes me almost beyond measure when I think——”

He finished the sentence by shaking his riding-whip in the air.

“That they can be happy and lay plans for their amusement when you are not there; eh, Gus?” said Ned. “I know right where the shoe pinches. Stay here, and we’ll make money by raising wheat. Do you see that field over there? That’s mine!”

“I saw it some time ago,” answered Gus, “but I thought it was a pasture that somebody had fenced in. I see some cattle in it.”

“In my wheat field!” cried Ned, with great indignation. “Where? So do I!” he added, after he had run his eye along the fence.

Ned put his horse into a gallop and rode toward the field at the top of his speed, his companion following closely behind. As they drew nearer they saw that there was a wide gap in the fence, that the field looked as though somebody’s cattle had used it regularly for a pasture, and that some of the animals that had caused the mischief were in the enclosure now. As they drew rein at the gap and looked over the desolated field the cattle shook their heads as if they were indignant at the interruption, and went off toward the opposite fence in a gallop.

“What wild-looking fellows!” exclaimed Gus. “I should think you would be afraid to go near them.”

“They are wild, too,” replied Ned. “They’d just as soon go for us as not if we were on foot, but they’ll not trouble us so long as we are in the saddle. But just look at this wheat! It’s ruined, isn’t it?”

“I am no farmer,” returned his companion.

“It doesn’t need a farmer to tell whether or not there is any wheat here, does it?” cried Ned angrily.

“Can’t you make the man who owns the cattle pay damages?”

“No; you can’t collect a cent. That thing has been tried.”

“Then shoot the cattle!”

“I’d do it in a minute if I wasn’t afraid. You remember the story of that neighborhood row I told you last night, don’t you?”

“Yes; and if I were in your place I’d raise another. There’s nobody in sight, and how is the owner of the cattle going to know who did the shooting? Knock one of ‘em over! I dare you to do it!”

Ned hesitated. He had talked bravely enough, when in the presence of his cousin, about doing this very thing, but since that time he had seen a fight, had heard the reports of firearms and the yells of excited and angry men, and thought he had some faint conception of the scenes that had been enacted during that neighborhood row, and which would, no doubt, be repeated if another should arise. But here was his fine field of wheat so nearly destroyed that it would not pay for the harvesting; within easy rifle shot of him were some of the cattle which had done the mischief and which probably belonged to one of the neighbors who wouldn’t visit with him or his father because they wore good clothes and claimed to be gentlemen; and there was no one in sight.

“Knock one of them over,” repeated Gus, “and perhaps it will teach their owner to keep his stock out of the way of your field, the next time you plant wheat in it. Hand me your gun, and I’ll show you that I am Gus Robbins yet, and not afraid to do anything.”

The boy leaned forward in his saddle as he said this, and taking the rifle out of his friend’s grasp, rode toward the cattle (there were probably a dozen of them in all) which were dashing along the fence and trampling down the wheat that had escaped destruction during their former raids. As Gus approached them, they charged in a body in the direction of the gap; but instead of going through it they ran on by, kicking up their heels and shaking their heads as if they enjoyed the sport. While Ned galloped through the field to head them off, Gus dismounted, and taking his stand near the gap, cocked the rifle in readiness to shoot one of the herd the next time they went by.

Ned succeeded in turning the cattle after a short race, and, as before, they took no notice of the gap, but dashed by it and started for another gallop around the field. At that moment the rifle cracked, and one of the finest steers in the herd threw his head and tail higher in the air, galloped faster for a short distance, then sank to his knees and rolled over on his side. By the merest chance, Gus had sent a bullet smaller than a buckshot into some vital part, and there was one less steer in somebody’s herd to break down fences and destroy wheat crops.

“What do you think of that?” cried Gus, in great glee.

“It was a splendid shot,” replied Ned, who just then rode up and extended his hand for the rifle. “You did it, didn’t you? Since we have begun the work, we’ll do it up in shape. If they won’t go out they can stay in; but they’ll stay dead!”

The horse that Gus rode, having been broken to stand fire, was not at all alarmed by the report of the rifle. He allowed the boy to catch and mount him again, and by the time he was fairly in the saddle, Ned had placed a fresh cartridge in his rifle. “You head them off and drive them back,” said he, “and I’ll wait here at the gap to salute them as they go by.”

In accordance with this request Gus rode off, and in a few minutes the herd came dashing along the fence again. They must have been growing tired of the sport by this time, for they headed straight for the gap, and all got through; but one of them carried a bullet somewhere in his body, the effects of which very soon became apparent. The rest of the herd began to leave him behind, and when he followed them over a ridge, which lay about a quarter of a mile from the field, he was staggering about as if he could scarcely keep his feet.

While the work of driving the cattle out of the field was in progress, a horseman appeared on the ridge of which we have spoken, riding slowly along, with his eyes fastened on the ground, as if he were following a trail. Just as he reached the top, he heard the report of a rifle, and looked up to discover that the cattle of which he was in search, were running about a wheat field, and that two persons were engaged in shooting them down. One of the cattle fell just as he raised his eyes. When he saw this, he placed his hand on one of the revolvers he carried in his belt, and seemed on the point of dashing forward to take satisfaction for the loss he had sustained; but he evidently thought better of it a moment later, for he backed his horse down the swell until nothing but his own head could be seen over it, and there he sat and saw all that Ned and Gus did. When the wounded steer came over the swell, staggering from the effects of the bullet Ned had shot into him, the man shook his clenched hand in the direction of the wheat field, muttered something to himself, and galloped off in pursuit of the uninjured cattle, leaving the wounded one to take care of himself.

“There!” exclaimed Ned, when the laggard of the drove had disappeared over the swell, “it’s done, and I am glad of it. If the owner of those cattle finds out that we did it and has anything to say about it, I shall tell him that this is my land—it may be mine some day, you know, and before long, too—and that no cattle except my own have any right on it.”

“I wish that steer had got over the fence before he died,” said Gus.

The boys seemed to be highly elated over what they had done. They had performed the same feat which, not so very many months ago, had set the whole settlement together by the ears, and no one was the wiser for it. Of course some rancheman would some day find out that one of his fattest steers had been killed and another badly wounded, but how was he going to find out who did the shooting? Ned fully expected that there would be trouble about it; that there would be threats and inquiries made, and that he and Gus, being safe from discovery, would have many a hearty laugh in secret over the storm they had raised.

“Remember one thing,” said he. “No matter what is said or done, we don’t know anything about it. They can’t crowd us into a corner tight enough to make us own up. That would only make matters worse.”

Gus readily agreed to this, and the boys shook hands on it. In order to make assurance doubly sure they rode around the rancho and approached it, just at dark, from a direction opposite to that they had taken when they rode away from it in the morning. When the events of the afternoon became known nobody could fasten the guilt upon them by saying that they had been seen coming from the direction of the wheat field. They found supper waiting for them, and when they had eaten it they went into the office to spend the evening in reading and conversation.

While they were thus engaged inside the house, a proceeding which looks strange at the first glance, but which will be plain enough when all the circumstances connected with it are known, was going on outside of it. A horseman, who was riding rapidly along the road toward the rancho, turned off just before he reached it, and made his way to the corral that was located a short distance to the right of the shed in which Ned had taken refuge on the night of the fight. He stopped in front of the gate and uttered an exclamation of disappointment when he found that it was secured by a heavy padlock. After looking about him for a moment, as if he were turning some problem over in his mind, he dismounted, pulled the bridle over his horse’s head and hung it upon the horn of the saddle; whereupon the animal turned and galloped toward a watering-trough a short distance away, where he was joined by a small, dark-colored mule which had followed the horseman down the trail. The horseman himself moved toward the house, pausing every now and then to listen and reconnoiter the ground before him, and presently reached the steps leading to the porch. These he mounted with cautious tread, and was about to place his hand upon the door when it was suddenly opened from the inside, a flood of light streamed out into the darkness, and the horseman was confronted by a stalwart herdsman who started back in surprise at the sight of him.

Arresting by a hasty gesture the cry of amazement that arose to the herdsman’s lips, the visitor stepped into the hall, and, closing the door behind him, uttered a few short, quick sentences in a low tone of voice which the other received with subdued ejaculations of wonder. When he ceased speaking the herdsman hastened away, and the visitor, who seemed to be perfectly familiar with the internal arrangements of the house, moved quickly along the hall, turning several corners, and finally opening a door which gave entrance into Mr. Ackerman’s office.

There was a happy party gathered in that office, if one might judge by the ringing peal of laughter which echoed through the hall, when the door was opened; but it was quickly checked at the sight of the boy who entered as though he had a perfect right to be there, and whose appearance was so sudden and unexpected that it brought two of the three persons in the room to their feet in an instant.

“Why, George!” they both cried in a breath—and a quick ear would have discovered that there was more surprise than cordiality in their tones—“Is this you? Where in the world have you been so long? We have been worried to death about you!”

“Yes it is I,” answered George Ackerman, for he it was. “I have come back safe and sound, and that is all I can say to you now about myself. I want to talk to you about yourselves, and especially to you Ned. By the way, I suppose this is the friend from Foxboro’ whom you have so long been expecting.”

Ned replied that it was, but he forgot to introduce the two boys to each other, and so did Uncle John. There was something about George that made them forget it. When they came to look at him they saw that he was very much excited, and that his face wore an expression they had never seen there before. They could not tell whether he was frightened or troubled.

“Why, George!” exclaimed Uncle John, in some alarm. “What is the matter? Any bad news? Are the Indians or Mexicans——”

“Yes, I have bad news,” interrupted George, almost impatiently, “and but little time to tell it in. Ned, you and your friend must pack up and leave this rancho, and this county, too, without the loss of an hour’s time. You are in danger, and I have placed myself in danger by coming here to tell you of it!”

The boy’s words produced the utmost surprise and consternation among those who listened to them.