CHAPTER XXV

THEIR LAST CHANCE

Silence followed this rather insolent remark of the cattle buyer; and apprehensive looks were on the faces of his auditors. For in the free and breezy ranch life such talk usually was the preface to a stronger brand that ended in a fight.

“Well, in a manner of speaking, and casual like, maybe it wouldn’t be any of my business,” said Hinkee Dee, and it was noted that he was trying to keep his temper. “But this time I think it is.”

“Just what did you want to know?” asked Munson. Clearly he was not going off “half cocked.” He wanted a basis for his objections.

“I want to know,” and the assistant foreman spoke more slowly, “what you were doing with Pod Martin?”

“How do you know I was with Pod Martin?”

“You and him was seen going in Jack’s place together,” and Hinkee Dee banged his fist on a table.

“Go easy,” advised Munson. He seemed less angry than at first. “Why shouldn’t I go with Pod Martin if I want to?” he demanded.

“Well, I’ll tell you why, Mr. Cattle Buyer, as you call yourself. Out here it ain’t healthy for folks visitin’ on a ranch where cattle are being stolen, to consort with a man suspected of being a cattle rustler!”

He fairly shot out the words, and there was a general murmur throughout the room. Everyone expected to see Munson spring to an attack on the assistant foreman, at least with his fists if not drawing a gun. But the visitor, who still wore his big diamonds, gave no sign of being insulted or accused.

“I don’t admit I was consorting with a cattle-rustler suspect,” he said gently.

“You don’t have to admit it. You was seen.”

“That doesn’t prove anything. How was I to know Martin is said to be a stealer of cattle?”

“Ain’t you heard it?” blustered Hinkee Dee.

“You heard what I said,” was Munson’s rejoinder.

“Well, if you ain’t heard that then you’re about the only one in these parts that ain’t--barrin’, maybe, these tenderfeet,” and he indicated the listening and interested boys.

“Isn’t Pod Martin suspected of being a cattle rustler?” demanded the assistant foreman of the Parson.

“Yep!” was the answer.

“Well,” rejoined Munson, coolly, “I suppose if he’s really a rustler he might have taken cattle from this ranch.”

“As like as not,” growled the assistant foreman.

“Then why don’t you have him arrested?” shot out the cattle buyer so suddenly that some of the cowboys jumped, steady as their nerves were.

Hinkee Dee paused for a moment before answering. Then he growled or grunted rather than replied:

“Huh! I would soon enough, if I could get the evidence against him. But he’s too slick. There’s nothing positive.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Munson, easily. Then he got up and went away. The incident ended so quickly and so unexpectedly that it left some of the auditors in a sort of gasping state. Hinkee Dee did not, apparently, know what to make of the way the wind had been taken out of his sails. He sat looking at the door through which Munson had limped and muttered, as he, himself, went out:

“I’ll get him yet!”

“Think there’ll be a fight?” asked Bob, apprehensively, of Gimp.

“Naw. It’s all talk. I’ve seen and heard lots like it before. But Hink was right; it was sort of brash for Munson to talk openly with Martin, who people is beginnin’ to suspect of bein’ a rustler.”

All of this served to strengthen the suspicions that had been growing in the minds of the boys that Munson was, somehow or other, more or less connected with the cattle thefts.

True, there was no direct evidence against him. The only point that looked bad, aside from his talk to Martin, was the story of his having been shot while witnessing the raid of some rustlers. That part of the story was a fake, surely enough, as Jerry could testify. And Munson still kept up the fiction about his injured leg. In fact, for some time he had been going to town twice a week, saying he had to have it treated by a doctor.

“We could disprove that easily enough,” suggested Ned. “There’s only the one doctor and we could ask him.”

“We don’t need to,” Jerry declared. “I saw both his legs and there wasn’t a scratch on them.”

“It doesn’t seem as if we’d ever get to the bottom of this,” sighed Ned. “I’m plumb discouraged about that and the professor. Had a letter from dad to-day and he wanted to know how we were making out. I hate to tell him, on top of sending word about the latest cattle raid.”

“How much longer did Mr. Watson say he’d wait before sending word?” Jerry queried.

“The last of the week. Saturday was the last chance he could give us,” he said. “He has to fix up his monthly accounts then and he’s got to make some report of the missing cattle. So, boys, we’ve got a few days more to make good.”

“It isn’t long,” suggested Bob, dolefully.

“It’ll be our first failure in a long while,” Ned admitted.

“And I’m not going to let it be a failure!” cried Jerry, eagerly.

“What are you going to do?” asked his chums. Somehow they always looked to the tall lad in an emergency, and one seemed to have arrived now.

“We’re going up in the airship,” said Jerry. “It’s a pity we couldn’t have used her more for this business as we would have except for the accident to the wheel. But from now on we’ll use our own little old machine. We’ll start to-morrow morning.”

“Doing what?” asked Ned.

“Making a search along the mountain ridge in the aeroplane,” was Jerry’s prompt answer. “This horseback business is too slow.

“Mountain climbing and searching around on top of a range is about the hardest work there is. Now what’s the matter with getting in our craft, taking along a week’s supply of grub--can we carry that much, Chunky?”

“Sure--more.”

“That sounds good, coming from you. Well, let’s go on a regular air expedition,” went on Jerry. “We can take it easy a thousand or so feet up in the air, and we can be looking down for signs all the while. We may pick up the trail of the stolen cattle, the rustlers, or even that of----”

“Professor Snodgrass!” cried Ned.

They set off early the next day, having packed a generous supply of food in the lockers of the airship.

“We’re off!” cried Ned, as the propellers whirred about.

Amid the cheers of the cowboys, who waved their hats and shot off their revolvers, the start was made.

Would the boys come back safely, having discovered the location of the rustlers’ camp, and perhaps having found Professor Snodgrass? Or would they be lost as the scientist had been, somewhere in the wilds of the mountain?

More than one asked those questions as they watched the airship becoming smaller and smaller in the blue sky.

“Our last chance!” murmured Jerry Hopkins. “Well, there’s luck in last chances.”