Chapter Eighteen

On A New Trail

Slim and Lightning sped through the darkness at a mad, headlong pace that fairly devoured distance. They passed the end of Slim’s patrol and entered Chuck’s territory.

Slim pulled the sorrel up short and listened. From far behind him came the pounding of hoofs, the other Box B and Double O riders coming to the alarm but ahead of him there was only a dismal silence. The sound of gun shots had long since died away and Slim progressed more slowly.

There was a chance that he might walk into a trap, but an even greater chance that if he hurried he might pass Chuck in the dark.

It was nerve wracking to hold Lightning down to a walk, but Slim kept up the steady pace as the sound of the riders behind him came nearer.

Pat Beals was the first to catch him.

“What’s happened?” he shouted.

“I don’t know,” replied Slim. “I heard Chuck give the alarm and then there was a volley of shots. I haven’t heard a thing since then and haven’t been able to find Chuck.”

Other riders joined them and they spread out to hunt for the missing cowboy. The sky was graying before they found the first clue. Joe Haines stumbled on the trail. His gun blazed three quick shots into the sky and they rallied to him at a gallop.

Joe pointed to a broad trail before him.

“There goes one of our choice bunches of beef,” he said bitterly. “That means Chuck stumbled on the rustlers on our range.”

“Comb this section again,” roared Nels angrily. “Maybe they left Chuck wounded some place just out of our sight. Get him first, then the cattle.”

Again the riders, grimly silent, spread out and through the early hours of the morning they rode in search of the missing Box B puncher. It was mid forenoon before they gathered around the chuck wagon, weary and hungry from the all-night vigil and the search.

Squatting on their heels, with pans of piping hot food before them, they listened as Joe Haines outlined the next step in their campaign against the rustlers.

“It’s pretty evident that the rustlers captured Chuck and forced him to go with them,” he said. “The thing to do now is to go after the cattle. The trail’s fresh and even though they’ve a few hours start, we’ll be able to overtake them.”

“That trail’s heading for the Diamond Dot,” said Nels harshly.

“I know it. Look to your guns, boys. There’ll be trouble before the day’s over. If any of you want to pull out now, that’s all right with us.”

No man moved as though to leave and after the hearty breakfast, each one examined his guns.

With Nels and Joe in the lead, they swung into their saddles. It was an earnest, silent group of riders that trotted south along the Box B line to pick up the trail of the missing cattle. They found the trail and turned east into Diamond Dot territory, with the rugged foothills of the Cajons only a few miles ahead of them.

Al Bass leaned over and spoke to Slim.

“Once the rustlers get the cattle to the Cajons, it will be tough finding them. They’ll break up the herd and we’ll have to comb every valley.”

Slim nodded and gave voice to his thoughts.

“Aren’t we likely to run into the Diamond Dot, going through their range this way?”

“I’m kind of hoping we will,” shot back Al. “My own hunch is that the Diamond Dot is in thick with the rustlers. If they aren’t actually doing the rustling, they know who it is. Why, the Box B or the Double O would never let rustlers drive a herd across their range.”

It was shortly after noon and they were well into the Diamond Dot country when Slim, who was now in the lead, sighted a cloud of dust coming toward them. A few minutes later a plodding herd of cattle was visible and behind it was ranged a cordon of riders.

The Box B and Double O punchers paused to survey the scene. Then Joe exploded.

“What nerve!” he roared. “Those are Box B cattle and that’s a Diamond Dot gang riding behind them.”

His hands flashed to his side and his gun leaped up, ready for instant action, but Nels reached out a huge hand and restrained him.

“Wait a minute, Joe. They’re driving the cattle toward your range. Hold your temper and we’ll see what’s up.”

A lone rider broke away from the group behind the cattle and galloped toward the visitors. Slim recognized the powerful, squat figure of Hack Cook, owner of the Diamond Dot.

Cook pulled up sharp and his horse reared as he jerked savagely on the bit.

“What’s the idea of invading my range?” asked Cook angrily, his heavy face flushing.

“What’s the idea of driving our cattle around on your range?” countered Joe.

“We’re bringing them home. Found them here a couple of hours ago and started back with them. I don’t want those scrubs eating up my grass.”

“So you found them?” drawled Nels, his light blue eyes little more than slits under his shaggy brows. “Well, mister, let me tell you, those cattle were rustled last night off the Box B’s east line and one of their riders is missing. Someone’s going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I’m not explaining anything,” replied Cook. “We found the cattle this morning. Go get ’em and take them home.”

“Your horse looks about worn out, Hack,” put in Joe. “Must have been doing a lot of night riding.”

“We don’t ride our range at night,” replied the Diamond Dot boss.

“Well, anyway, your horse is about worn out. Better get another or this nag may collapse and you’d have to walk home, which would be just too bad.”

Cook growled something under his breath, but wheeled and galloped back to join his own riders. They soon drew away from the Box B cattle, heading back for their ranch house.

The Box B and Double O riders circled the herd and started it again on the journey back to the home range.

Joe scanned the cattle with practiced eye.

“Holy mackerel,” he exclaimed. “We’ve been gyped right. There should be at least 250 head in this bunch and I can’t count more than 185 or 188.”

Slim and Nels checked the number in the herd. Joe was right. At most there were not more than 190 in the herd.

“Which means the rustlers skimmed the cream of the herd and turned the rest back. It would be too easy to trail a bunch this size. Also, turning them back allays our suspicions,” said Joe.

“Darned if I don’t think it was the Diamond Dot that rustled the stuff last night, took what they wanted, and started back with the rest when they figured we’d be on the trail,” said Al Bass.

“I think you’re right,” agreed Slim. “I want to know what’s happened to Chuck.”

Nels looked at the Cajons with a critical eye. “I expect the answer’s some place in the mountains, but it would take weeks to comb them and we can’t leave our own range unprotected that long. We’ll just have to play along and hope that we can get the rustlers and find your friend at the same time.”

But Slim was sick at heart for he knew what had happened to the other cattle detectives sent into the Creeping Shadows country. They had disappeared, never to be heard from again and he was afraid that a similar fate had befallen Chuck.

They herded the cattle back to the Box B range and then Slim drew Joe to one side.

“I’m riding alone for a while,” he said. “If I get the breaks, I’ll turn up some valuable clues on the rustlers and also find Chuck.”

“Good luck, boy,” said Joe.

Slim turned away from the other riders and headed straight back into the Diamond Dot range. There was at least three hours of daylight left and he soon reached the place where they had met the Diamond Dot riders. Slim pressed on along the trail of the cattle, following it into the first of the Cajon foothills.

There he saw that the cattle, driven at a hard pace after being taken from the Box B range, had been watered and the bulk of the herd turned back toward their home range. It was evident that the rest of the cattle had been driven in small groups into the foothills. This, in itself, did not interest Slim greatly, for he had been convinced of what had happened. He was seeking a clue that would lead him to the hideout where he hoped he would find Chuck.

Half a dozen trails led away from the water hole and Slim finally decided on one which led toward the heart of the Cajons. It was sound reasoning that the hideout of the rustlers would be in some mountain fastness.

Slim followed the trail cautiously, wary lest he ride into a trap. The trail branched in several places, but Slim pressed deeper into the mountain country, climbing higher and higher.

The trail was well worn and he knew that it had been used recently so he kept on. To his surprise, it followed a low pass through the mountains and it was mid evening when he reached the summit.

Behind him spread the Creeping Shadows country while to the east and north the moon was coming over the horizon. Far away he saw the flash of a locomotive headlight and he determined on a new course of action. Undoubtedly this trail, unknown to anyone on the Box B or the Double O as far as he knew, led down to the railroad, perhaps even to Mopstick, the shipping point for cattle from the Creeping Shadows country.