CHAPTER VIII

THE “DUDE” MAKES GOOD

Two-Gun Pete sidled over to Hippy.

“Fer a dude, yer some scrapper. I’ll say so. Shake, Pard,” he said, extending a ham-like paw.

“Yep! Reg’lar bear-cat,” agreed Sierra, and all the cowboys nodded solemnly.

“Thanks! Did we get any of them?” questioned Hippy, not much above a whisper, for every word sent shooting pains through his head.

“Two thet we knows of, and mebby some more. The Old Man’s hoss thet you was ridin’ got his’n, too.”

“Oh, that is too bad. I’m sorry.”

“Thet ain’t nothin’,” interjected Idaho. “What’s a hoss when it comes to a scrap with a bunch of rustlers? They’re mad now, and we’ll mebby git another chance at ’em some day soon. Reckon you won’t care ’bout mixin’ in agin?”

“I reckon you have another guess coming, Idaho,” answered Hippy, grinning.

Bindloss here interrupted by declaring that the wounded Overlander must be taken to the ranch-house and put to bed. He said he would have a buckboard brought down and fetch him. Miss Briggs shook her head.

“I do not think best to have him moved tonight. If he feels better in the morning, you may do that,” she said.

“All right. You’re the doctor. I’ll have the boys fix you up comfortable and stand guard for the rest of the night so you won’t be bothered by those rustlers.”

“Bindloss, I am sorry about the pony that got shot under me. Of course I shall pay you for him,” offered Hippy.

“Pay nothing!” roared the rancher. “I owe you money for the walloping you folks give those coyotes. Here, you rough-necks! Fix these folks up with whatever they want, then spread out and ride ’round for the rest of the night, and if they get into any more trouble tonight, I’ll fire the bunch of you and get riders who can see and shoot.”

“I reckon we kin take care of our folks and do whatever is necessary,” interjected Sam.

Bindloss agreed, but said his men would be on guard just the same. Shortly after that the cowboys mounted and rode out into the valley for their night’s vigil.

A tent was erected over Hippy, and Nora insisted on sitting up to look after him, but before turning in the Overlanders went into Hippy’s tent with a cheerful word for their wounded companion.

“Hippy, tell me, did you dream anything when you were asleep out there after being shot?” whispered Emma.

“Yes. I dreamed that an imponderable quantity appeared suddenly out of the nowhere and gave me an awful wallop,” retorted Hippy.

“I think you are real mean,” pouted Emma. “Good-night! Don’t forget to remember what you dream about tonight, for it may be of great importance to us.”

“Huh!” muttered Hippy.

Soon after that the camp became quiet and every Overlander, except Nora, was sound asleep. Jim-Sam, however, were just outside holding a heated argument over the occurrences of the evening. Jim blamed Sam for shooting into the bushes and thus starting the row that ended in the wounding of one of their party.

“Why, you miserable galoot, you ain’t got the sense of a flea!” retorted Sam. “If it hadn’t been fer me, you’d been quarrelin’ with the angels right this minute. Some folks ain’t got brains enough to know nothin’.”

“You said it,” agreed Jim. “I’ve knowed that ever since I’ve been with ye.”

The argument was continued at intervals all the rest of the night, and until at break of day they saw the cowpunchers ride off down the valley at a brisk gallop. Jim then built up the fire and began preparing for breakfast. The odors of the cooking soon awakened the Overlanders, and one by one they turned out rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

Emma Dean’s face, however, was glowing and her eyes were full of sparkle.

“Oh, girls,” she cried. “I had the most wonderful dream last night. What do you think? It was a most adorable dream. I dreamed that I was engaged to the nicest man and—”

“What! Again?” shouted the Overlanders.

“Yes. Why not? He was a cowboy, and I dreamed that he had just shot a man who made eyes at me. Wasn’t that a perfectly adorable thing for him to do?”

“Which man to do what?” questioned Stacy.

“For my fiancé to shoot the other fellow, of course. I just loved him for that.”

“Emma, we will have you in a strait-jacket yet,” retorted Grace laughingly. “How many does this one make?”

“Two real ones and a spiritual one. You know the one last night wasn’t a real fiancé—”

“Just an imponderable quantity or quality,” suggested Stacy Brown, which brought a laugh from the Overlanders, and made Hippy grin despite the fact that it hurt him to twist his swollen face.

Hippy, while feeling much improved, was sore and weak, and when Joe Bindloss rode up, as the Overlanders were eating breakfast, he said he had arranged to have them move their camp up near the ranch-house, as it would be some time before Lieutenant Wingate would again be able to ride.

“He can stay at my house and I’ll take all the care of him that he needs. You folks can make trips out and stay as long as you want to. What about it?”

The Overlanders agreed, and the rancher said the buckboard would be down later in the morning to fetch the wounded man. Bindloss sat down and ate breakfast with his new friends, and they had just finished the meal when Sam Conifer called to them that the cowboys were coming back, one of them leading an extra mustang.

Glasses were soon leveled at the approaching dust cloud which Sam had identified as belonging to the Circle O bunch. As the riders rode out of the cloud Grace uttered a cry of delight.

“It is Ginger! They have found Ginger! Oh, I’m so glad.”

“Only Ginger! Fiddlesticks!” growled Stacy in disgust. “Somebody will have to buy me a new pony. I’m not going to walk. You take my word for that.”

“Ginger!” cried Grace as the punchers rode in, dust-covered, smiling, happy in being able to do something for one of the Overland girls.

The little pony trotted to her, showing every evidence of being glad to be back with his mistress, and Grace petted and fed the scrubby-looking mustang until Sam took the animal away and tethered him.

“We found him grazin’ ’bout fifteen mile down the valley,” explained Pete.

“What about the men who stole him?” demanded Bindloss.

“We didn’t find ’em,” said Pete. “Thar was three dead mustangs out thar, though, but saddles and bridles had been taken off, leavin’ nothin’ to identify the outfit by.”

“See any blood?” questioned Sam Conifer.

“Wal, I reckon as thar was some,” answered Pete, with a grin. “This is the bunch thet got yer mustangs, folks. No doubt ’bout thet. Boss, what do ye reckon on our doin’ next?”

“Help these folks move up to the ranch-house.”

“Thank you, but we can attend to that. We have our mules and one pony with which to operate,” spoke up Tom Gray. “If you will arrange to get Lieutenant Wingate up, as you have suggested, we shall be all set.”

Nevada was sent to the ranch to fetch the buckboard and returned with it in about an hour. In the meantime the cowpunchers were interested witnesses to the breaking of camp, in which all the Overlanders except Hippy participated, and in a short time packs were rolled and Jim-Sam were lashing them to the mules and to Ginger.

“I reckon these heah folks ain’t no tenderfeet,” observed Sierra, as the cowboys rode away.

“Have ye jest found thet out?” drawled Two-gun Pete. “If they kin all fit like the Dude kin, the rustlers better hike fer the mountains an’ stay thar.”

Nora, riding with Hippy, swung a hand to the men as the buckboard passed them on the way to the Circle O ranch, and by the time the rest of the party reached there Hippy was taking what ease he could get on a cot on the front porch of the ranch-house.

The Overland Riders pitched their camp on a little rise of ground a short distance to the rear of the ranch buildings, and the cowpunchers observed this further operation with interest.

“Good job,” approved Idaho.

“Thank you,” smiled Grace. “We hope you boys will come around whenever you can. You all have been mighty kind to us and we appreciate it.”

“Where did you folks larn to do things like you do?” asked Nevada.

“Mostly from our western experiences. Of course we learned a few things in the war.”

“The war? Was you thar?” laughed Sierra.

“Yes. I drove an ambulance. The other young women were in the service as hospital workers, and the like. My husband, Tom Gray, was a Captain of Engineers, and Lieutenant Wingate was a flier—a fighting pilot,” Grace informed them.

“Gee whiz! Ain’t thet the limit?” wondered Idaho.

“The next question is, what are we going to do for horses? Do any of you boys know where we can buy or rent some?”

“Mebby the Old Man might sell ye what ye need,” suggested Sallie, who was in charge of the corral for Bindloss. “I’ll arsk him.”

Grace thanked him, but said Tom Gray would take the matter up with the rancher. Later in the morning Tom informed her that he had already done so, and that arrangements had been made to rent such ponies as they needed. Bindloss, he said, did not want to take money from them, but that the Overlander had insisted on his doing so. The arrangement, Tom said, was that they were to pay a rental of two dollars a week for each pony, and in the event of any of the animals being lost or injured, the Overland Riders were to settle for the ponies at the rate of twenty-five dollars a head.

This was satisfactory to all hands, and on the following day they were to select their mounts.

That noon they took their luncheon with the rancher and his men in the bunk-house, by special invitation. After dinner Nora sang a song, Emma Dean recited a pathetic little selection to which she gave the title of “The Cowboy’s Love,” but which, instead of being about a cowboy, was the story of a child lost on the desert, and adopted by a mother wolf that had lost its own offspring.

The Overlanders were of the opinion that Emma made up the story, but at any rate it made a hit and moved some of the cowpunchers to tears, for cowpunchers, like sailors, are sentimental under their rough exteriors. Emma’s eyes were twinkling mischievously when she finished and observed the effect of her story.

The cowmen wiped their eyes, then gave her a cowboy yell. Stacy Brown rose and bowed low in acknowledgment, which brought a loud guffaw. The dance that had been so rudely interrupted on a previous occasion was then resumed, and thirty minutes later the gathering broke up, every cowboy face wearing a broad grin. The Overlanders surely had brought sunshine to the Circle O ranch.

As all hands strolled out into the open, Emma walking at the side of Two-gun Pete, gazing up soulfully into his embarrassed face, Elfreda Briggs pointed to a cloud of dust far down the valley, a cloud that was rolling rapidly towards them.

“That looks like a young tornado,” observed Stacy.

“I reckon thet’s it, and on a hoss, too,” said Idaho.

“On a horse?” wondered Emma.

“Yes. You’ll see when it gits heah. Wait!” chuckled Idaho.

The Overland party now watched the cloud with new interest, and the cowboys laughed as they observed the puzzled expression on the faces of their guests.

“It is someone on a horse. You can’t fool me,” cried Emma.

“Yes, and it is a girl, too,” added Elfreda.

The rider came on like an incipient whirlwind, her mustang on a run. She shot by the spectators and went on for some distance, then, circling out into the valley, came dashing up to them and flung herself from the saddle.

The newcomer gazed from one to another of the Overland Riders, while the cowpunchers chuckled to themselves. They knew the girl and looked for something interesting to follow. It did.

“I’m Judy! Who be you?” she demanded.

“We are the Overland Riders,” answered Stacy Brown pompously.

Judy eyed the fat boy frowningly, then once more ran her gaze over the rest of the party.

“My gosh! You are a sweet bunch of dudes, ain’t you? Here you, Idaho Jones, take my cayuse,” she demanded, tossing the bridle-rein to the grinning cowboy.

Judy Hornby, in introducing herself to the newcomers in the Coso Valley, had done so in characteristic fashion.