Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 139: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

130 sick! He’d orter hev a lot o’ them fel- lers patrolin’ the country on the look- out fur a stampede from the reserva- tion.” “Well, there ain’t any use of waitin’ for the troops to do anything about it.” ‘Not a bit. You lemme have halia dozen of the boys, and I can pick up the trail in short order, and perhaps git some o’ the cattle back. Any way, I reckon we'll teach the red scamps not to come foolin’ ’round the Silver Bend Ranch very soon again.” “Where’d ye say it happened?” asked the overseer, brightening up vis- ibly at this suggestion. “ Below the bend, eh? ”’ “Yep; just about twenty miles along the trail. Jest say the word, boss, an’ I’ll drum up some o’ the boys an’ start right off.” “ And if you’re going, Ben, I want to be one of the crowd,” added Phil Boyd, who had been listening to the conversa- tion from the veranda. “Come along, then, Mr. Phil,” said Ben, witha grin. “ J’ll show you better fun than herding on the range, or las- sooing mountain lions in Lone Man’s Gulch. We'll have an Injun round up an’ git back them cattle if we kin.” ‘“ Go ahead, Ben,” said Peters. “With Mr. Philip you won’t need but four or five others. Get Dan Luther and his brother, Rafferty, and any others who can leave at the corral. If you happen to run across the blue coats just let them know about the raid. They prob- ably haven’t woke up to the fact that the Injuns have left the reservation yet.” With the overseer’s permission to back him, Ben Wilmarth had little trouble in gathering a sufficient num- ber of herders to follow the cattle thieves. Phil Boyd was gladly accepted by Ben as a member of the party, for al- though Fiastern bred, the ranch owner’s nephew had spent several seasons in the Southwest and was an excellent shot. THE ARGOSY. The herders started off as gaily as though an expedition after a band of thievish Indians was simply a lark. The “cow puncher” of the South- west is a jolly, careless individual, reck- less to all outer appearances, but with a quick presence of mind which often gets him out of scrapes. Ben Wilmarth felt himself in his sphere as leader of such an “ outfit,” for he prided himself on his knowledge of Indian warfare and ability to read “ signs.”’ “Ye see, boys, we was jest passing the big boulder (some calls it the Tip- ping Rock) down yander, when them red scamps broke cover on us,’ said Ben, as the cavalcade rode along. ‘““ Nobby says to me, says he, ‘ My hoss says Injun, Ben.’ ‘ Guess not,’ says I. But we pulls out beside the trail an’ lets the critters trot by us. Just then there came the bloodcurdlin’est yell you ever heard from behind them rocks, an’ out rode the hull bilin’ o’ them Injuns, shoutin’ and’ swingin’ their arms an’ shakin’ their old bladder rattles. Why them critters bellowed and stampeded before you could say Jack Robinson!” “ An’ ye think they was Gray Fox’s _ braves? ” asked Rafferty, a short, thick- set Irishman who had spent the greater part of his life on the plains. ‘Know ‘so,’ Ben declared, “ I'd know that broken nosed rascal if I met him in Afriky, an’ he was with ’em. They made for the Bowker Pass, an’ if we ride hard, I[’ll bet ye we'll ketch ’em not far beyond the range.” ‘‘ Then let’s make a break for Bowker and not mind the trail,” suggested Dan Luther. “I kin show yea short cut.” “Go ahead then,” said Ben. “ They went there, sure, an’ we'll soon pick up the trail once we get there.” Dan took the lead, and after two hours’ hard riding through the hills they struck the plain again at a spot which he declared was less than five miles from the Bowker Pass. At the summit of a long rise Ben suddenly drew rein and motioned the others to © fall back. 6 COMIC DOO SS) eo