CHAPTER XIX

ANOTHER ATTEMPT

“Well!” exclaimed Jerry to himself, “wouldn’t that make you wonder if you were seeing things?”

For a moment he stood, fascinated by the thought of what it all might mean, and he did not realize that it was not exactly the proper thing to do. But Munson was without so much as a scar to show where the bullet had gone in and been cut out, as he had claimed it had been!

“I wonder if he could have said his arm instead of his leg?” mused Jerry as he walked softly away, having given over his idea of speaking to the cattle buyer. “Did I misunderstand them when they told me about the shooting?”

Jerry tried to reason it out.

No, he was sure “leg” had been mentioned. Besides, he himself had seen the blood-stained trousers the man had worn.

“And one doesn’t wear trousers on one’s arms. What does it all mean?” Jerry mused.

He tried to think it out. Clearly, since there was no trace of a bullet wound there could have been no bullet. And, by the same process of reasoning, if there was no bullet there could have been no shot fired at Munson.

“And if there wasn’t a shot there wasn’t the fight he described, and maybe--yes, there was a cattle theft all right.” Jerry was sure of that much, anyhow.

“But why should he fake a wound?” Jerry asked himself. “What object could he have, unless he wanted to make himself out a hero. I guess that must be it. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t afraid of a gun. Well, maybe he isn’t. But this is a queer way to prove it. I give it up!”

A little later as Jerry was sitting out in the sun Munson came limping toward him.

“He’s keeping up the fake,” thought the tall lad. “And he does it well. Limps just about enough, and not as much as at first. He doesn’t forget, either. Must be a good actor.

“How’s the leg?” the boy asked, just to see what would be said.

“Oh, getting on fine!” was the enthusiastic answer. “I’ll be able to leave the bandages off in a couple of days now,” and he motioned to a bulge under his trousers where, evidently, he had wound some cloth, uselessly, as Jerry knew.

“That’s good,” was Jerry’s comment. Then, just to see what the effect would be, he remarked, as though in surprise:

“Oh, you were shot in the right leg, weren’t you?”

He thought perhaps Munson might surmise that he had been suspected of faking, and would seem confused. But he was perfectly cool and replied in casual tones:

“Sure it was the right leg. Did you think it was the left?”

“I had an idea,” Jerry answered.

“Yes, I’ll be in fine shape in a couple more days,” went on Munson, “and then I can help you boys look for those cattle rustlers. I’d like to get hold of the man who shot me.”

“You never will,” thought the lad grimly, “for there wasn’t any such man. You’re a big faker; but what’s your game?”

Jerry cared more for that than for anything else just then. Was Munson in with the thieves? If so, what would it benefit him to pretend to be wounded? Jerry’s brain was tired with trying to get a loose end of the tangle that he could follow.

Ned and Bob, going off by themselves to look for traces of the thieves, were no more successful than the three chums had been together. They returned at the end of a long day, tired and disappointed.

Their zeal was quickened, however, when Jerry told them of the queer discovery in regard to Munson.

“Whew!” whistled Ned. “There’s something doing here, all right. He’s one of the cattle thieves as sure as guns! We’ve got to watch him close.”

“I agree to that last part all right,” said Jerry. “But I’m not so sure he’s in with the rustlers.”

“I am!” and Bob sided with Ned.

“Well, that’s one end to work on, and another is to see what happened to your dad’s cattle,” said Jerry. “We’ll have another try at the gulch, I think.”

“It’s only a waste of time,” declared Ned. “Bob and I have gone over every inch of the ground there.”

“Well, I’m a bit freshened up by my rest,” insisted Jerry, “and I want to take another look. But have you fellows formed ideas at all?”

“Half a dozen, and not one any good,” answered Bob. “Once I had an idea that they took the cattle away in a big automobile from the point where we lost trace of them.”

“They couldn’t do that without leaving marks of the wheels,” put in Ned, “and we didn’t see any.”

“Then I got a crazy notion that they floated them down a river on a raft,” went on Chunky. “Only,” and he grinned, “there isn’t any river near there.”

“And then he sprang the tunnel theory,” laughed Ned.

“What’s that?” Jerry demanded.

“Oh, I had an idea there might be a secret underground passage somewhere near the gulch, and the rustlers could slip the cattle away through that. But we couldn’t find any tunnel.”

“And so we’re about at the end of our guessing,” resumed Ned. “The only theories left are that the cattle sprout wings and jump over the mountain range, or else they’re carried up in an elevator, leaving no trace.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can find,” said Jerry. “What with that, and keeping an eye on Munson, we’re going to have our hands full.”

“And our eyes, too,” laughed Ned.

“Want to take a spin in the airship?” asked Bob of Jerry.

“Not quite yet,” he replied. “I feel a bit weak still, and I haven’t gotten back all my nerve. But you two go if you like.”

Bob and Ned did take a little flight just before supper, to the delight and astonishment of the cowboys, who never wearied of watching the evolutions of the aircraft, though once it made considerable work for them, as in flying over a herd of cattle the animals stampeded, when some of them saw the shadow of the big wings hovering over them, and the cowboys had all they could do to quiet the steers.

But, for all that, the plainsmen delighted to watch the boys sail aloft. Few of them would venture very near the craft, however, for fear, as one of them said, “she might turn around and chase us.” But the airship gained for the boys a certain respect and awe that had been lacking before. Hinkee Dee only remained hostile, but he was less open in his antagonism now.

A day or two later the three boys were on their way to the baffling gulch, or defile. Jerry, Bob and Ned rode their ponies easily along the undulating grassy plains, Jerry having made sure this time that he had his own horse. The wild one had wandered off the day of the accident and had not come back to the ranch. Mr. Watson had told the men not to make a search for him, as he was “too ornery for anyone to own.”

Professor Snodgrass had been invited to accompany the boys, but he said he was on the track of some new kind of moth, and its feeding ground was in the opposite direction from the gulch.

“Well, see what you can find,” suggested Ned to Jerry, as the trio reached the place where all traces of the stolen cattle had been lost. “Bob and I have ridden all over the place, and we can’t find a crack big enough to let a sheep through, let alone a steer.”

“We’ll see,” said Jerry. “Mind, I don’t say there _is_ anything here, but I just want to satisfy myself.”

They looked carefully in the vicinity of the entrance to the gulch, or defile. It was at the top of a long low slope that extended along the western boundary of Square Z ranch.

This ridge was really the last of a line of hills which lay at the foot of the mountain slope. The ravine was a sort of V-shaped break in the mountain wall. At one time it might have been a pass through the mountains, but an upheaval of nature had closed it until now it was but a wedge-shaped cut, or gash, into the stony side of the mountain. Stony were the steep walls and also the floor, which was covered with shale and flat rocks.

“There’ve been cattle along here,” declared Jerry, pausing at the entrance to the gulch.

“Yes, everybody admits that,” conceded Ned. “And there’ve been cattle in the gulch, too. You can see traces of ’em. But the mystery is: how do they get out?”

Jerry looked about without answering.