The Broncho Rider Boys on the Wyoming Trail Part 8

They were by now close enough to the fire to be able to see the figures around the blaze. Of course it was only natural for Donald to give Adrian a sly punch in the side, and putting his lips close to the other's ear whisper triumphantly the one word:

"Four!"

And Adrian on his part understood, for he must surely remember that the other had taken the pains to declare it to be his opinion that the rustler crowd could not number more than that many.

Still four husky men would seem like a pretty steep proposition for three half-grown boys to attempt to subdue; and such indeed would have been the case had it been the intention of Adrian and his chums to boldly face the rustlers, and put the decision to a test of sheer muscle, or the ability to shoot straight.

But Donald and his comrades believed they knew a way whereby the odds were apt to turn in their favor. Strategy must take the place of brute force. They would remain there in hiding until it was to be seen how things were going to turn; and if the rustlers either drank heavily, or else allowed sleep to overpower them.

In either case the plan of the boys was to creep noiselessly into their camp, and in some way overpower them. Perhaps they could impress it upon the minds of the astounded cattle thieves, when the critical moment came, that the bushes near by were fairly bristling with guns held in the hands of angry punchers; who would open fire, and riddle them like sieves, unless they held up their hands and yielded themselves prisoner.

Once this was accomplished neither Donald nor Adrian had any fear but what they would be able to manage things. They knew all about driving cattle; and before leaving the desperadoes they could disarm them, thus rendering them harmless, so far as doing any immediate injury was concerned.

That this would only be the beginning of the war they could easily guess. If the Walkers were as strongly entrenched as people said, they would not be apt to give over their evil practices just because three boys had come up from the Southwest, no matter if one of them did happen to be the owner of the Bar-S Ranch, which for a year and more past they had been systematically despoiling, because the hands of the unfortunate manager were tied by his domestic difficulties.

Such resolute lads as these, however, were not apt to hold back once they had embarked on a course, simply because there might be trouble ahead. Both Adrian and Donald believed in meeting difficulties as they came along, and trying to master them. They saw their duty, and tried to do it, regardless of what might follow.

And Billie was one of the kind to say "me too," whenever the stronger natures with which his fortunes were connected took a decided stand.

Having finally advanced, as far as seemed wise, the three boys lay there and tried to figure out what was going on by the fire.

One of the rustlers must have been something like Billie, and always had his appet.i.te on tap, for he seemed to be busily engaged in cooking something in the way of meat.

It chanced that the night air was setting toward them, a fact Donald had noticed with more or less satisfaction, since it lessened the chances of any slight sound that one of them might make being heard.

This current of air brought the odor of cooking to their nostrils, and Billie was heard to give several vigorous sniffs that called for a warning kick on the part of Donald, just ahead of the fat boy; whereupon Billie subsided, shaking his head as though he thought it pretty hard lines when a fellow had to lie there, taking in all that delicious fragrance, and not getting even a single bite of the fare.

When it was seen that the other three rustlers were pa.s.sing a suspicious black bottle around, and taking frequent potations, the boys began to have strong hopes that things might be made easy for them after all; because they knew that when alcohol once gets a firm grip on a man's brain he is hardly apt to bother himself about what is taking place around him until the effect of his potations wears away.

If only those three men would be so accommodating as to stupefy themselves in quick order, while thus celebrating their successful raid, Donald thought they surely could manage to get the upper hand of the remaining fellow. By that time perhaps he might have eaten so much cooked meat as to be drowsy, and fall a victim almost as easily as the other three.

The minutes pa.s.sed, and nothing occurred by that fire unnoticed by the sharp eyes of the trio of hidden lads. Billie was forever poking up his head to look, and then quickly drawing it down again in sudden alarm because he fancied he saw one of the rustlers staring in his direction.

But of course that was pure imagination, because they lay far away and among the shadows of the trees, so that even the keenest vision possible was not apt to discover their hiding-place.

After half an hour of this sort of thing Billie felt like hugging himself, for he saw the three fellows who had been drinking so heavily giving positive signs of wanting to roll over and go to sleep. Billie would have liked ever so much to communicate his feeling of satisfaction to one of his companions, because it was always a punishment for him to be kept from talking in some fas.h.i.+on; but whenever he gave the least sign of wanting to whisper Donald would give him a cruel kick, and in this way warn him that silence was golden just then. So the poor fellow had to take it out in telling himself what he thought, and how he hoped now they could soon be making a move looking to the capture of the rustler gang.

Two of the punchers seemed to have succ.u.mbed. They lay there just as they had fallen over, and were oblivious to all that was going on.

The third man, who seemed to be something of a leader among them, probably realizing that his own condition was not all that it should be, was shaking his finger in front of the face of the fellow who was still eating, as though giving him to understand that the safety of the camp was going to depend on him.

Billie hoped that he too would lie down and go to sleep. Unless a move took place very soon now he feared that it would be too late for him to get even a bite of that cooked meat which had been tantalizing him for some time; because there did not seem to be any end to that horrible glutton's appet.i.te; and there was only one more piece left right then.

Still, he realized that his chums were not likely to hurry things just to oblige his desire, when they might be running unnecessary risks in so doing. Patience was something Billie had to cultivate; he told himself that a dozen times, and in spite of it was just as eagerly watching the motions of that perpetual eater by the fire as before, still hoping for the best.

He knew that the other two boys were whispering together, and hoped it might be with regard to making an advance. True, the time that must be consumed in this movement would like as not enable that greedy fellow to make away with the very last piece of cooked meat; but at any rate it would be some satisfaction to be able to jump on him, and give him the scare of his life. If he could not secure the plunder he would take it out some other way; for Billie seemed to have cultivated a most unusual dislike to that particular fellow.

Yes, Donald was twisting his head around right now, and beckoning with his hand, which must surely mean that they were going to raid the camp.

Billie felt a thrill of excitement pa.s.s through him. He imagined that this was the fighting spirit that some of his ancestors had shown on battlefields both during the Revolution and the Civil War. He hoped that the Winkle honor was safe in his hands, and that he would not turn out to have coward blood in his veins, for he was very proud of his family.

The three boys crept along, gradually closing in on the fire that still burned cheerily. But Billie shut his teeth hard whenever he looked up and discovered that the sentry was still munching steadily away. He believed that if the supply only held out the man would be able to sit there for hours and hours, constantly decreasing the visible supply of provisions. But thank goodness! his time had almost come. The "Avengers"

were on the track, Billie told himself, and that terrible appet.i.te of his was fated to be soon cut short.

Creeping along in this fas.h.i.+on the three boys found themselves close behind the sentry who was paying far more attention to his task of finis.h.i.+ng up the meat he had cooked than he was to guarding the camp.

Finally Donald arose to his feet, still crouching, and gave the signal.

CHAPTER X.

CLEVER WORK.

Donald had brought his lariat along, under the belief that it might come in handy one way or another. As he thus stood up, just a little way back of the sentry who was sitting there, he had this rope in his hands, Adrian holding both rifles meanwhile.

Billie saw this and drew a long breath, while his glittering eyes were fixed upon the man with the enormous appet.i.te. It was just as though he might be saying bitterly to himself; "now see what you get for hogging it all; and serve you just about right, too!"

Donald was a clever hand with the lariat. He had learned all the ordinary cow-puncher tricks in making use of a rope; and often bewildered Billie with some of his astonis.h.i.+ng throws, back-handed, side ways, and with the queer little jerking movement that adepts can make to serve their purpose without coiling the lariat again.

This was as easy a job as ever came his way; and indeed, Billie himself would have thought it no difficult feat to toss that well-balanced loop directly over the head of the unconscious sentry.

It was done like a flash. The man instinctively knew he was a prisoner the very instant he felt the touch of the descending rope; indeed, he must have heard the whistle of it through the air, for Billie saw him plainly try to duck his head as though he hoped to dodge the cast; but he was too late.

All punchers understand that their only chance when "roped" is to instantly start toward the point from which the loop springs. In this way they may get a slack line, and be able to throw off the noose before it is too late.

As he was instantly jerked over, the sentry had no chance to run or even crawl; but he proved that he knew his business by trying to _roll_ toward Donald, who was taking in the slack rope hand over hand.

When the proper second came he leaped forward and threw himself on the prostrate sentry, whipping the rope around him several times so as to render him helpless.

All this happened in what Billie afterwards described as "three shakes of a lamb's tail." Up to that time the man who had been so taken by surprise had not thought to give a shout; he had followed out the instinct a cowboy always has actuating him; but now that he was in the toils beyond any possibility of freeing himself through his own exertions the fellow remembered that he had companions.

He let out a whoop that would have awakened men in even a more drunken stupor than those who lay there.

Adrian had not been idle, however, during these few seconds of time.

Having mapped out his little plan of campaign beforehand he knew what was expected of him. Jumping across the s.p.a.ce that separated him from the fire he pounced upon one of the rustlers, and s.n.a.t.c.hed his gun the first thing. That rendered a second fellow next to helpless, for a bad man without his gun is never very dangerous.

Adrian threw the rifle forward, and covered the next man as he was trying to get to his knees.

"Lie down, you, or it'll be the worst job you ever tackled!" he cried out; and the swing of that rifle convinced the rustler that he had better do as he was told; so he flattened himself out on his face, and remained there motionless, possibly trying to collect his muddled wits and reason it all out.

There was still one more, but Billie had looked out for him. Making threatening motions with his extended rifle as he pushed forward the fat boy confronted this rustler, still sitting there on the ground, and blinking like an owl might on being thrust into an electric glow.

When he saw that it was a boy in front of him, a fat good-natured lad at that, the puncher made as if to reach for his weapon, whereupon Billie thrust out his rifle still closer and shouted:

"Don't you dare touch it, do you hear! I'll pull this trigger as sure as my name's Broncho Billie, and whiff you go into the next world! Hold up both hands before you're riddled! Want me to give the signal for a dozen guns to blaze away all around you? Don't you know you're surrounded by an army? Hold 'em up, higher than that, mister, if you know what's good for you."