The latter took alarm at once. Here was a new complication. If the bear should discover the swimmer, who was now nearing the shore, it might be fatal. At all events his attention must be distracted.

With Bert, to think was to act. He grasped the branch tightly and swung himself down at full length, so that his dangling feet were almost within the bear's reach. The grizzly, with an exultant "whuff," galloped clumsily back to the tree and made a ferocious swipe at his enemy, who pulled himself up just in time. Snarling and mouthing horribly, the bear once more moved toward the lake, torn between the desire to investigate and the fear that his victim might escape. Once more Bert worked the same maneuver and again the bear "fell" for it.

But the crisis was past. There was no need now to repeat. Tom had reached the canoe, climbed into it, and with powerful strokes of the paddle sent it flying toward the mainland. Not, however, till his heart had been thrilled with joy by Bert's yell that rang far out on the water.

"I'm up a tree, old man," called the voice that Tom had feared he might never hear again, "but I'm all right."

"Thank God," answered Tom, and tried to add something else, but couldn't.

Once more on shore he jubilantly reported to Dick, whose delight at the news of Bert's present safety passed all bounds.

The first rejoicing over, they hastily laid their plans.

"Are the guns ready?" asked Tom as he got into his clothes.

"They're all right," answered Dick. "To make sure, I unloaded and filled them up with new cartridges. Everything's in perfect shape."

They did not underestimate the task before them. They were taking their lives in their hands in attacking this monster of the wilds. But had he been ten times as big or ten times as savage they would not have hesitated an instant, with Bert's life as the stake.

Knowing that the wind was blowing toward the bear from where they were, they deemed it wise, as a plan of campaign, to paddle to the other side of the island and come upon the foe from the rear. If they could take him unawares, and pump a bullet or two into his great carcass before he had time to charge, their chances of success would be immensely greater.

Moving as warily as Indians, they dipped their paddles in the water and made for the upper end of the supposed island. They rounded the point and disembarked. Clutching their guns firmly and straining their eyes, as they gazed into the dark green recesses of the woods, they advanced, scarcely daring to breathe.

"I'm going to signal," whispered Dick. "That'll warn Bert that we're coming and he'll keep the bear busy." And the next instant the mournful cry of the whippoorwill floated through the forest.

It was an accomplishment that the boys had frequently practised, and the counterfeit was perfect enough to deceive the birds themselves.

They waited an instant, and then they heard Bert's answering "whippoorwill."

The bear paid no attention to the familiar sound, and it was evident that his suspicions had not been aroused.

Guiding themselves by the repetition of the cry Dick and Tom pressed forward, their guns ready for instant use at the first sight of the enemy.

Bert had promptly grasped the meaning of the signal. It was imperative that the bear's attention should be centered on himself alone. The only thing he found in his pocket was a jack-knife, but he threw this with such precision that it struck the bear full on the point of the nose and evoked a roar of fury. A shower of twigs and branches added insult to injury, until the great beast was beside himself with rage. He had no thought or eyes or ears for anything but Bert.

And now the whippoorwill was close at hand.

Two spurts of flame leaped from the forest on the right. With a ferocious snarl the grizzly whirled about in the direction of the shots. As he did so two more bullets plowed their way into his breast. He tore savagely at the wounds, and then plunged fiercely in the direction of his unseen foes.

But his hour had struck. Another volley halted him in his tracks. He sagged, coughed, and fell in a crumpled mass to the ground.

With a wild hurrah, Dick and Tom broke from cover, dropped their guns and threw their arms about Bert, who had slid down to the foot of the tree.

The strain had been so great and the reaction was so tremendous that none of them for a moment knew what he was doing. They shouted, laughed and grasped each others' hands, too excited for coherent speech. They had been through many perils together, but none so great and terrible as this. And now all three were together again, safe and sound, and the grizzly——

"Look out," screamed Bert, his face going white.

They jumped as though they had been shot.

Not ten feet away was the grizzly coming down on them like a locomotive. His mouth was open, his eyes blazing, and with the blood flowing from his wounds he made a hideous picture as he rushed forward. They had forgotten to reckon with the wonderful tenacity of life that makes a grizzly bear the hardest thing in the world to kill. Six bullets were embedded in his carcass and his life was ebbing. But his fiendish ferocity was unimpaired, and he had gathered himself together for one last onslaught.

There was no time to think, no chance to resist. The guns were on the ground, and merely to stoop for them meant that the bear would be upon them before they could rise. With one bound the boys leaped aside, and scattered through the woods at the top of their speed.

The bear hesitated a second, as though undecided whom to follow, and then put after Bert.

But it was a very different race this time from that of an hour before. Then the odds had been against the fugitive; now they were with him. The rage of the bear was greater, but his speed and strength were failing. Bert easily increased his distance, and as he ran his quick mind formed a plan of action.

Running in a circle, he gradually drew his pursuer around to the tree where he had sought refuge. He had figured on grabbing one of the guns and shinning up to the friendly crotch, there to despatch his foe at leisure. But as he rose with the rifle in his hand he saw that there was no time for this.

Dropping on one knee he took careful aim, and as the grizzly rose on its hind legs to grasp him, fired point blank at the spot just below the fore leg that marked the heart. Then he jumped aside.

The bear spun around once, toppled and fell with a tremendous crash on the spot where Bert had been a moment before.

Once more Bert raised his rifle, looking narrowly for any sign of life. But the last bullet had done the work. A convulsive shudder ran through the bear's enormous length. Then he stiffened out and a glaze crept over the wicked eyes. He had fought his last fight.

And as Bert looked down at him, his relief and exultation were tempered by a feeling of respect for the brute's courage. Never for a moment had he shown the white feather. He had fought gallantly and gone down fighting.

Tom and Dick, who had now rejoined him, shared his feeling.

"Nothing 'yellow' about that old rascal but his hide," commented Dick.

"A fighter from Fightersville," added Tom.

When their jubilation had somewhat subsided, they measured their quarry.

"Ten feet four inches, from the tip of the nose to the root of the tail," announced Tom. "Gee, but he's a monster."

"The daddy of them all," said Dick.

"He must weigh over half a ton," judged Bert.

They looked with a shudder at the terrible claws and fangs.

"They say that a grizzly has forty-two teeth," remarked Tom, "but I thought he had forty-two thousand when he was bearing down upon us with his mouth open."

"Well, now the question is what are we going to do with him," said Dick.

"That's a pleasant way to put it," laughed Bert. "A little while ago the question was what was he going to do with us."

"I don't know," he mused, "what we can do. We can't skin him, because we haven't the proper knives, and then, too, it takes an expert to get that hide off without spoiling it. On the other hand, we can't leave it here and expect to find it in the morning. The other animals will feast on the carcass, and the skin won't be any good when they've got through tearing it. If it were a deer we could hang it up out of reach. But we couldn't even move this mountain, let alone lift it."

"Of course we can come back and get the teeth and claws, anyway," put in Dick. "But I hate like thunder to lose the skin."

"I tell you what," suggested Bert. "Let's hustle around and get as many big stones as we can find. We'll pile up a sort of funeral mound around him that the animals can't work through or pull away. Then in the morning we'll get some of the boys from the ranch to come up with us and get the hide. It may not work, but I think it will, and, anyway, we've got to take the chance."

Luckily for the carrying out of the plan, big stones abounded in the vicinity and a few minutes of hard work sufficed to gather together enough to make it probable that the body would remain undisturbed till they came for it.

"And now, fellows," said Bert, gazing at the sun, "it's the quick sneak for us if we want to get back to the ranch before dark. Forward, march."

With a last look at the scene of their thrilling experience, they boarded the canoe, shot across the lake, and, packing up their traps, set out for the ranch. They made quick time of it, as the road was now familiar and led downhill all the way. Yet, despite their speed, dusk was settling down when they reached the house, to receive a hearty greeting from their hosts, who were becoming a little anxious at the delay.

Mrs. Melton paled as she heard the story of their frightful danger, and Melton himself was deeply stirred at their narrow escape. He, better than any one else, realized all the horror of the case had victory declared on the side of the bear.

"You'll never be nearer death than you were to-day, my boys," he said gravely; "and a kind of death that I don't care to think about. I'll send Sandy and some of the men up to-morrow to get the skin, and I hope that hide will be the nearest you ever come to seeing a grizzly again. You came through all right to-day, but it's the kind of stunt a man doesn't get way with twice. But now," he added more lightly, "I'll bet that you're hungry enough to eat nails. Hurry up and wash and get down to the table."

"By the way," said Mrs. Melton, her eyes twinkling, "where are those fish you promised me for supper?"

The boys looked at each other in consternation.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Bert. "We forgot to bring them."



CHAPTER VI

The "Ringer's" Downfall

After the boys had been on the ranch some two or three weeks a new topic of interest came up. It seemed that every Fourth of July a great celebration was held in Helena, in which cowboys and ranchmen from many miles around took part. All sorts of competitions were held, such as roping, throwing, target shooting, and so on. As the day drew near, it became the chief topic of conversation about the ranch, and everybody, with the exception of two or three who would have to stay to take care of the stock, intended to go and take part in the festivities.

Quite a feature of the present celebration was to be a one-mile running race. As a rule ranchmen and cowboys are not noted for their running abilities, generally being more at home upon the back of a horse than upon their own feet. But among the neighboring ranches there were several fair runners, and among the townspeople there were others. The last year or two a hot rivalry had existed between the ranchmen and "townies" over the outcome of the running race, for in this event everybody, no matter what his daily occupation, could be interested.

The last year one of the men from the Bar X Ranch had taken the prize money, and the ranchers had all been jubilant. They imagined they had a fair chance to win this year's event with the same runner, and Mr. Melton's men thought so too. But one day late in June Chip returned from a trip to town with clouded brow.

"What do yuh think them low-down Piutes that calls themselves citizens of Helena has been an' done now?"

"What's bitin' yuh, Chip?" asked Sandy. "Did somebody get your wad, or what?"

"No, nothin' like that," answered Chip. "I'll tell it to you jest the way one o' the boys handed it to me. He says t' me, 'Waal, Chip, I reckon you boys on the ranches hereabouts won't pick off the prize money this year in the footrace, will yuh?'

"'Oh, I don't know,' I answers him. 'Yuh never kin tell what's going to happen, but we-all have a sneakin' idea that our man is jest goin' to run away from any shorthorn you guys kin put up.'

"'Oh, is that so?' he jeers, real triumphant-like, 'well, I got a little piece o' change that I'm willin' to put up on our man. How do yuh feel?'

"Waal, I wasn't goin' to let the guy bluff me, so I covers his money to the tune o' fifty bucks. 'I s'pose Jenkins, the feller that nearly pulled down the prize last year, is goin' to run fer you, ain't he' I asks, never suspicionin' that he'd say anythin' but 'yes.'

"'Not any,' he answers, grinnin' satisfied like; 'we've got another man this year, an' a streak o' greased lightnin' is plumb slow an' ploddin' alongside him.'

"'An' who is this yere maverick?' I asks him, feelin' like somebody'd hit me when I wasn't lookin'.

"'Johnson is his brand,' says the sport; 'stick around a while an' I'll point him out t' yuh. There he is now,' he says sudden-like, pointin' to a guy amblin' along the sidewalk with half a dozen kids taggin' at his heels, 'there's the guy what's goin' to make your runners look like candidates from a young ladies' finishing school. Take a good look at him, Chip, so yuh'll know him the next time yuh see him.'

"Waal, boys, I took a good look, as this sport suggests, and I'm a pop-eyed tenderfoot if I didn't recognize the guy right off. I couldn't jest place him at first, but in a few seconds I remembered where I'd seen him last."

"An' where was that?" questioned Sandy, while everybody listened eagerly for his answer.

"It was at a function thet come near bein' a lynchin' party," answered Chip. "I was up in a little town over the Canada border at the time, an' they had jest had a race like this yere one we-all has on the Fourth o' July, only they ain't no sech institution there, them folks bein' nothin' but benighted Britishers and Frenchmen. Howsum-ever, they'd had a race, and this maverick what's pointed out to me in Helena had won the race, together with most o' the loose change in the town. Suddenly a guy in the crowd yells out: 'That feller's a 'ringer.' I seen him run in an Eastern professional race onct.'"

"Waal, thet was like puttin' a match to powder, and them people was goin' to string the guy up, only the sheriff came along jest then and stopped the proceedin's. So that's when I see this party last."

"Yes, but he might not have been a 'ringer'," suggested Bert, who had come up and joined the group while Chip was speaking. "He might have been square, but the man that accused him probably had lost money, and may have accused him just to get even. You don't have to prove much to an angry mob when they want to believe what you're telling them, anyway."

"Yes, I thought o' that," replied Chip, "but a few weeks arterward I come across an old newspaper with this party's picture engraved on the sportin' page, an' underneath it said, 'Albert Summers, the well-known professional one-mile runner,' or words meanin' the same thing. I'd clean forgot about it, though, until I sees this yere hoss thief paradin' the streets o' Helena followed by the admirin' glances o' the populace."

The cowboys exchanged indignant glances, and Sandy said, "Mebbe the folks in Helena don't know this maverick's a professional."

"I suppose most o' them don't," replied Chip, "but the officials thet have charge o' the race are wise, all right. It looks as though I was goin' to be out fifty hard-earned dollars, but it will keep the rest o' yuh boys from losin' any o' your money, anyhow."

"Seems t' me it's up to us t' give this here shell game away," remarked Buck; "it riles me plumb fierce t' think of anybody puttin' over a game like that an' gettin' away with it."

"The best thing to do, I should think," remarked Bert, "would be to let this Summers, or Johnson, or whatever his name is, run, and get somebody to beat him. That would be doing things artistically, as you might say."

"What do yuh mean?" queried Sandy, speaking for his surprised companions, "yuh think we ought t' get a 'ringer' on our own account to beat this professional sharp?"

"Not at all," said Bert with a grin. "I don't want to seem to boast, but I've done a little running myself at times, and I think if I entered against this 'profesh' I might be able to give him a run for his money."

The cowboys looked somewhat incredulous, and Chip said, "I seen this feller run, m' lad, and he sure is fast, I got to admit that much. Have yuh ever done much runnin'?"

"Quite some," replied Bert with a curious little smile. "The next time you talk to Trent or Henderson ask them about it, if you don't believe me."

He strolled off, and after he had gone the men held a consultation. Chip was openly skeptical regarding Bert's offer to run. "He's a fine lad an' all that," he opined, "but it takes more than an amateur to beat this sharp. The boy would be out of his class, I reckon, if he came up against this yere sprinter."

The others seemed inclined to agree with Chip's view of the matter, but Sandy demurred. "I've been watchin' that lad," he said, "an' I've noticed he don't usually go around shootin' off his mouth about nothin'. Seems t' me before we pass up his proposition it might be a good idea to look up his friends an' see what they say about it."

"Waal, thet's only fair," remarked one of the cowboys known to his mates only as "Bud." "I vote we make Sandy an' Chip a committee o' two to see Trent an' Henderson an' question them on this yere p'int. Yuh don't want to fergit thet if we could find somebody thet could beat this Helena candidate we'd have it on them effete citizens so bad they'd wear mournin' fer a year."

This consideration had great weight with the others, and they all assented to Bud's proposition. It was agreed that at the first opportunity Sandy and Chip should question Tom and Dick on the subject of Bert's running abilities, and so the matter was dropped for the present.

The "committee," however, kept it in mind, and when, as they were returning to the bunkhouse that same evening, Chip and Sandy espied Dick and Tom at no great distance, riding along in leisurely fashion, they immediately hailed them.

On hearing their names called the two friends looked around, and, seeing the ranchmen beckoning to them, cantered over in their direction, and quickly reached the spot on which they were standing.

"What's up?" questioned Dick, "anything wrong?"

"No, not 'specially," answered Sandy, slightly at a loss as to the best way to bring up the subject. "Yuh see, it's this way. Some o' the boys has heard thet your pal, Wilson, is somethin' of a runner, and we was jest cur'ous to know ef it was so. Can you wise us up on this yere mooted p'int?"

Dick looked over at Tom and grinned. "You tell 'em, Tom," he said; "tell them whether Bert can run or not."

"Well," said Tom, "Bert isn't such an awful good runner, no. He's never done a thing in that line except win the Marathon run at the last Olympic games, break every college record from one to twenty-five miles, and set up a new world's record for the five mile distance. Outside of that he can't run worth a cent, can he, Dick?"

For a moment Dick was too amused watching the faces of the two ranchmen to answer. "Wh-what are yuh tryin' t' hand us, anyhow," demanded Chip. "Do yuh really mean he's the same Wilson thet won the big Marathon race?"

"Straight goods," answered Dick; "if you don't believe it, ask Melton."

"Whoop-ee!" yelled Sandy, throwing his sombrero high in the air and catching it deftly as it descended. "No wonder he seemed so confident when he offered to run fer us. At thet time I kind a' thought he was jest stringin' us along."

"You'll find that when Bert says a thing he generally means it," remarked Dick, "but what is it all about, anyway? What was it that he offered to run in?"

Sandy then proceeded to explain all that had occurred that morning, and when he had finished both Tom and Dick gave a long whistle.

"So that's how the land lies, is it?" exclaimed Dick; "the old sinner's never satisfied unless he's winning something or other, is he?"

"You said something that time," acquiesced Tom, a note of pride in his voice; "if excitement won't come to him, he goes looking for it. That's his style, every time."

The two cowboys did not stop to hear any more, but hurried off excitedly to take the news to their companions. They burst into the bunkhouse, where the men had already sat down to supper.

"Boys, we're all a bunch o' locoed Piutes," yelled Sandy. "Do you know who this boy Wilson is, eh? He's the feller that won the Marathon fer Uncle Sam at the Olympic games, an' we never knew it. Somebody kindly make the remarks fer me thet 're approp'rite on sech an occasion."

For a few seconds, astonished exclamations of a very forceful character filled the air, but soon the cowboys quieted down somewhat, and began to discuss the surprising news in every detail. Everybody was jubilant, and already they could picture the chagrin of the townspeople when their favorite was beaten.

"But we don't want to be too certain of winnin', at that," cautioned Bud; "arter all, that Helena runner is a professional, an' Wilson is only an amateur, no matter how good he may be. A feller thet makes a livin' out of a thing is likely to do it better than the sport thet does it fer fun, leastwise, thet's the way I figger it out."

"Thet's all right," spoke up Reddy, "but ef yuh can remember that far back, you'll rec-lect that his pals told us he held a world's record fer five miles. Waal, now, they must 'a' been lots o' professionals runnin' thet distance, and in spite of everythin' they never did no better'n thet. What've yuh got to say t' that, eh?"

Thus the discussion raged, and the cowboys stayed up much later than usual that night arguing every phase of the forthcoming race pro and con. As is usually the case in such discussions, they reached no decision, beyond unanimously agreeing that the best man would win, a proposition that few people would care to argue.

In the meantime the three comrades had met at Mr. Melton's hospitable board, and Dick and Tom recounted with great mirth the surprise of the cowboys on hearing of Bert's athletic prowess.

"It was better than a circus," laughed Dick. "I never saw two more surprised faces in my life."

"I either," said Tom. "I guess they must have thought Bert was champion of some hick village before they consulted us."

"I could see that was their idea when I offered to run," grinned Bert; "that's why I referred them to you."

"The boys place a lot of importance on the foot race," said Mr. Melton; "in the other events they're chiefly competing against each other, but in that they meet the townspeople on common ground, and it means a lot to them to win. And if the winner comes from their own particular ranch, that makes the victory all the more sweet."

"Well," remarked Bert, "if I do run in that race, as it seems very likely I shall, I'll certainly do my best to win for the ranch. I don't suppose there'll be much competition outside of this 'ringer,' anyway."

"No, I don't think there'll be much competition for you," smiled Mr. Melton, "but just the same there'll be some pretty fair runners in that race, and they may make you hustle a little at that."

"I hope they do," said Bert, "but the only thing I'm going in the race for is to show up that crooked runner. It's such fellows as he that give the sport a bad name. I'll do everything in my power to discourage it whenever I get the chance."

"That's the talk," encouraged Tom, "go to it, old boy, and show him up. Besides, it will put you in more solid than ever with the cowboys here. They've got a pretty good idea of you already, I imagine, and this will cinch matters."

"It will give me an awful black eye if I should happen to get licked," laughed Bert; "you never seem to think of that side of it."

"No, we'll have to admit that we don't take that into consideration much," said Dick; "you seem to have such an inveterate habit of winning that we rather take it as a matter of course."

"I don't take it as a matter of course, though, not by a long sight," said Bert; "many a fellow's got tripped up by being over-confident, and not waking up until it was too late. I go into anything like that with the idea that if I don't do my very best I may lose. And then, if a person does lose a race, that excuse of 'over-confidence' doesn't go a long way, I've noticed."

"No, it's better to be on the safe side, I guess," admitted Dick. "But are you going to train at all for this race?"

"Nothing to speak of," answered Bert. "The life we're living these days keeps a fellow about as fit as he can be, anyway. I feel as though I could start running at a minute's notice and give a good account of myself."

They talked over matters in this fashion until they had discussed the forthcoming event at every angle, and then separated for the night.

From that time on little else was thought or talked of about the ranch. Even the roping and riding contests were relegated to the background. News that the Bar Z boys had a promising candidate had been circulated among the neighboring ranches, and there was almost as much excitement rife on them as on Mr. Melton's. The cowboys were always questioning Dick and Tom in regard to Bert's "past performances," and never tired of hearing his exploits as told by his enthusiastic friends.

Never was a day so looked forward to as the Fourth of July that year, and never did a day seem so long in coming. The last days of June were checked off one by one on a highly colored calendar suspended against the wall of the bunkhouse, and at last the impatient ranchers tore the June sheet off, or, as Chip put it, "took a month off."

Saddles were gone over, oiled and polished, and when at last the longed-for day arrived every preparation had been made to celebrate it fittingly. Everybody on the ranch was up before the sun, and after a hasty breakfast they sallied forth to town.

The three comrades rode with them, and the cowboys surrounded them as a sort of bodyguard. Mr. Melton was not able to accompany them, as he had some pressing business affairs to attend to, but he had promised to reach town before the running race, which was not to take place until the afternoon, was "pulled off."

It was a beautiful day and the ranchmen were in high spirits. They laughed and shouted and indulged in rough horse-play like a crowd of school-boys out for a lark, and the boys did their full share to add to the general gaiety. The long miles slipped unnoticed behind them, and the sun was not far above the eastern horizon when the party cantered into Helena.

The town was gaily bedecked in honor of the occasion. The houses were draped with flags and bunting, and in many cases long colored streamers fluttered from the windows and roofs.

The cowboys set spurs to their ponies, and swept down the street like a veritable cyclone. They met other parties who had just arrived, and exchanged greetings with the many friends among them. There was an air of merry-making and good-fellowship in the air that was infectious, and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves.

"They certainly know how to have a good time," remarked Dick. "I guess it's because they have so few holidays that they enjoy them all the more when they do come."

Along the streets booths were lined, selling anything from a ten-cent pocket knife to a blue-barreled Colts revolver. The numerous saloons were going full blast, and were doing a profitable business. Nobody is more of a spendthrift than your true cowboy when he is out on pleasure bent, and the fakirs and saloon-keepers were taking full advantage of that fact.

The party from Melton's ranch, with the exception of the three boys, lost no time in slaking the thirst occasioned by their ride over the prairie, and then they all repaired to the scene of the first event on the entertainment programme, which proved to be a roping and tying contest. Chip entered this and narrowly missed winning the prize.

"Tough luck, old timer," consoled Sandy, "but better luck next time. You made a good stab at it, anyhow."

Other events were run off in quick succession, with the excitement running high and keeping everybody at fever heat. The boys from the home ranch won their share of the honors and a little over, and were proportionately jubilant. "An' ef Wilson wins that race this arternoon," said Sandy, "the boys from the ranch will feel so dawgoned good thet they won't be able t' kick about nothin' fer a year t' come."

"Thet's a good one, thet is," jeered one of the townspeople who had overheard this remark. "Why, that guy Wilson ain't got even a look-in. Our champ will make him look like an also ran."

"Is that so?" replied Sandy sarcastically. "Well, yuh just stick around this arternoon, an' yuh'll realize what a plumb egreg'us idjut a feller can become by livin' in town a spell. Why, yuh poor boob, the feller you're backin' to rake in the chips ain't got even a ghost of a show."

Others of the citizens began to join in the argument, and words were beginning to run high when Hotchkiss, the sheriff, galloped up on his horse. "Here, here, boys," he exclaimed, "no hard feelin' on the glorious Fourth. We're all here to have a good time, an' anybody that don't think so can talk to me."

"All right, Bill," said Sandy soothingly; "we warn't allowin' to have a scrap, but the people o' this yere town is got too big a idea o' themselves, thet's all."

"Come away, Sandy," advised Dick, laughing. "Maybe we'll take a little of the starch out of them this afternoon."

Sandy at last allowed himself to be persuaded, and the cowboys rode off. Soon afterward the three boys left them, for they had arranged with Mr. Melton to lunch with him at the principal hotel.

When they entered its doors he was waiting for them in the lobby, his genial face beaming.

"Well, my lads," he exclaimed, "how do you like the way we spend our holidays out here, eh?"

"Great!" exclaimed Bert, speaking for the others; "the boys certainly know how to make things hum when they get started. There's something doing every minute."

"Yes, they're a great lot," said Mr. Melton. "They're hot tempered and inclined to jump too quickly into a quarrel, but their hearts are always in the right place, and they're loyal to the core. But how do you feel, Bert?" suddenly changing the subject. "Have you got your winged shoes on to-day?"

"Never felt more like running in my life," smiled Bert. "Anybody that beats me to-day will have to travel a little, I think."

"Good!" exclaimed the rancher, "that's the kind of talk I like to hear. Everybody I've talked to in the hotel here seems to think that this Johnson is going to have things all his own way, and I want you to give them the surprise of their lives."

The fact that Bert was a Marathon winner was not generally known, and everybody in town thought that their candidate would have an unknown runner pitted against him, whom he could easily vanquish. It was, therefore, with feelings of the utmost confidence that they streamed toward the place where the race was to be held. They bantered the cowboys they met unmercifully, but the latter kept their own counsel, and only smiled in a knowing fashion. Money was bet freely on both sides, and those who lost stood to lose heavily.

After the boys had finished luncheon, they and Mr. Melton repaired to the meeting place. The race was to be run around a one-mile oval track, and five men were entered as contestants. Besides Bert and Johnson, the winner of the previous race, Jed Barnes, was to race, and two other men from neighboring ranches. As soon as the boys and Mr. Melton reached the track they parted, the former seeking out the dressing room, and the latter securing a seat in the grand stand.

Bert got into his racing togs immediately, and his comrades left him and walked out to secure seats for themselves. This was soon done, and they settled themselves, waiting as best they could for the start.

The stand and field filled rapidly until at last, when the gates were closed, every available space was occupied by a tightly packed, expectant throng. Suddenly a whistle blew and a few seconds afterward the runners walked out and proceeded to draw lots for the choice of position. Bert drew third from the inside rail, Jed Barnes second, and Johnson secured the best place next to the rail.

"That makes a rather bad handicap for Bert," said Tom anxiously. "I wish he could have gotten a better position."

"Oh, well, it might be worse," said Dick, but it must be confessed he was a little worried also. Johnson was a well-built athlete, and seemed to be in the best of condition. Dick recalled that Bert had not gone through any special training, and was assailed with misgivings. However, he had not long to wait. The runners took their places, and the starter raised his pistol in the air.

"Get set!" he called, and amid a breathless silence the racers crouched over, their fingers barely touching the ground.

Crack! went the pistol, and amid a roar from the spectators the five athletes sprang ahead as though released from a catapult. Elbows pressed against their sides, heads up, they made a thrilling picture, and the crowd cheered wildly. At first they kept well together, but they were setting a fast pace, and soon one of the men began to lag behind. But little attention was paid him, for interest was concentrated on Bert, Johnson and Barnes. Before they were half way around the oval the fourth man had dropped out, so the race had narrowed down to these three.

Suddenly Bert increased his stride a little, and spurted ahead. A wild shout went up from the spectators, and those who had not already done so leaped to their feet. "Wilson! Wilson!" chanted the cowboy contingent, while the townspeople no less vociferously reiterated the name of their favorite.

But the "ringer" was not to be shaken off, and he in turn put on a burst of speed that carried him into the lead. As the runners rounded the three-quarter mile mark he was still leading, and Barnes was lagging far to the rear, evidently done for as far as the race was concerned. Chip had said that Johnson could "move some," and the professional did not belie his reputation. Apparently, Bert was unable to close up the gap of nearly a yard that now separated him from his rival, and the yells and cheers of the citizens redoubled, while those of the cowboys died down. Mr. Melton chewed the end of his cigar fiercely, and swore softly to himself.

But Tom and Dick were not deceived. "The old reprobate's only stalling," yelled Dick into Tom's ear, at the same time pounding him frantically on the back. "He isn't going his limit, by a whole lot. Watch him, now, just watch——" but his words were drowned in the shrill cowboy yell that split the air. "Yi, yi, yi!" they shouted, half crazy with excitement. For Bert, their champion, suddenly seemed to be galvanized into furious action. He leaped ahead, seeming to dart through the air as though equipped with wings. Johnson gave a startled glance over his shoulder, and then exerted himself to the utmost. But he might as well have stood still as far as any good it did him was concerned. Bert was resolved to make a decisive finish, and show these doubting Westerners what a son of the East could do. Over the last hundred yards of the course he exerted every ounce of strength in him, and the result was as decisive as even Dick and Tom could desire. Amid a tremendous pandemonium he dashed down the stretch like a thunderbolt, and breasted the tape sixty feet in advance of his laboring rival.

Words fail to describe the uproar that then broke loose. A yelling mob of cowboys swept down onto the field, and, surrounding Bert, showered praise and congratulations. Swearing joyfully, Reddy, Chip, Bud and several of the others of the cross diamond outfit elbowed their way through the crowd at one point, while Mr. Melton, Dick and Tom edged through at another.

"All right, boys," laughed Mr. Melton, "give him a chance to get his breath back, though, before you shake his hands off altogether. Let's work a path to the dressing room for him."

This was no sooner said than done. Dick and Tom, assisted by Reddy and the others, fought a path through the excited crowd, and at last got Bert into the dressing room under the grandstand.

"Waal, m' lad, yuh certainly put it all over that maverick," exulted Reddy; "one time there, though, we figgered he had you beaten to a stand-still. It was sure a treat the way yuh breezed past him at the finish, it sure was."

"I was worried some myself," admitted Mr. Melton, "but I suppose I ought to have known better."

Meanwhile Bert had taken a shower, and started to dress. In a few minutes he was ready to leave the dressing room, and they all started out. Just as Bert was going through the door Johnson, who had had a hard time getting through the crowd, entered. As they passed Bert said, "Maybe this will teach you to stick to straight racing, Summers. Take my advice and cut out the crooked stuff. It doesn't pay in the end."

The defeated athlete started, and muttered an oath. "I know who you are now," he exclaimed. "I recognized you first thing, but couldn't place you. It's just my luck," he continued bitterly. "If I'd had any idea who I was going to run against I'd have backed out. But I'll get even with you some day for queering my game, see if I don't."

"Do your worst," invited Bert. "So long," and he hastened after his friends, who had gone on slowly during this time. "What did he say?" inquired Tom, and Bert repeated the substance of the brief exchange of talk. "But I'm not worrying much over his threats," he finished. "I imagine he'll be a little more careful in the future."

They then repaired directly to the hotel, where they had supper. Afterward they went out again to view an elaborate display of fireworks given under the auspices of the town. Everywhere were hilarious cowboys, who as soon as they recognized Bert crowded about the party and made progress difficult. At last they struggled to a point of vantage where they could see everything going on, and spent an enjoyable evening.

About ten o'clock they returned to the hotel, and after securing their ponies set out on the long ride back to camp, accompanied by such of the ranchmen as could tear themselves away so early. They straggled in singly and in couples all the next day, and it was almost a week before the affairs of the ranch settled down into their usual well-ordered condition.

From that time on, the regard in which the three comrades were held by the rough Westerners never wavered, and the cowboys never wearied of discussing again and again the details of the great race that clipped the wings of the "townies."



CHAPTER VII

The Wolf Pack

One evening not long after their arrival at the camp the three friends, wearied after a day of strenuous activity, were whiling away the time in reminiscences of some of their past adventures. Mr. Melton, who made one of the little group, listened in an interested fashion, and seemed little disposed to interrupt the draught of "memories' mellow vine."

After a while they ceased talking, and a short silence ensued, which was abruptly broken by Bert.

"Look here, fellows," he exclaimed, "here we are monopolizing the conversation, when we might be listening to some really interesting story from Mr. Melton. I vote we petition the boss of this outfit to spin us a yarn."

"Second the motion," shouted Tom and Dick, and the vote was carried.

"You fellows seem to think I have a story on tap all the time," he said with an indulgent smile, "but the fact is I've told you about all the exciting things that ever happened to me, or that I ever heard of. My memory is squeezed as dry as a lemon."

"Just the same, I'll bet if you think real hard you can think of something worth telling," said Bert; "try to, anyway, won't you?"

At first their host made no reply to this entreaty, but gazed ruminatively off into space. At last he spoke.

"I suppose you boys think," he said, "that this country is pretty wild and uncivilized. But take my word for it, it is so tame now that it eats out of your hand compared to what it once was. Why, now it's the rarest thing in the world that you ever see a wolf—that is, a real wolf," as Tom started to interrupt. "What I'm thinking of is a real timber wolf, not one of the slinking coyotes you see every once in a while. There is no animal I'd go farther out of my way to avoid than a hungry timber wolf, and anybody else who knows anything at all about them will tell you the same thing.

"They are half as big again as a coyote, and twice as strong. Why, a full-grown timber wolf will throw a running steer. Man is the only thing in the world they're afraid of, and they're not afraid of him when they're very hungry or running in packs. When driven to it they'll tackle almost anything.

"I remember one time when I had occasion to go to Belford, a little trading station some twenty or thirty miles from our camp, to secure some much-needed supplies. It was the middle of winter, and an exceptionally cold and severe winter at that. Fresh meat was naturally very scarce, and the wolves were becoming bolder and more fearless every day. At night they used to prowl close about the camp, and howl until we got up and plugged one or two of their number, after which they generally dispersed for a time.

"Well, as I have said, it became necessary for me to take the journey for supplies, so one winter's morning I hitched up the team to a rude sort of home-made sled I had made and started off for Belford. The snow was quite deep and, needless to say, there had not been enough travel along the trail to pack it down. The horses made heavy going of it, but we got there at last, and glad enough I was to get inside the shack that served as the general store and warm my half frozen hands and feet at the red hot stove.

"After I was comfortable once more I made my purchases, and after loading them into the sleigh said good-by to the boys and started out on the return journey.

"It was a mighty long trip for the horses, but they were a young team, full of fire and life, and I thought we could make back the same day without much trouble. And likely enough we would have, with time to spare, if it hadn't started to snow; lightly at first, but getting thicker all the time. The horses had started out toward home at a brisk trot, but they gradually slowed down to a walk, and once or twice I had to stop them altogether to let them gather fresh strength.

"What with the slow going and the stops, dusk overtook us while we were still some eight or ten miles from the camp. It couldn't have been later than four o'clock, but the short winter's day was even at that time drawing to a close, and the falling snow made it darker still.

"But no thought of danger entered my head, and I merely swore a little at the prospect of a late supper, for I was cold and hungry. Suddenly, however, the danger of my position was brought home to me in a very sudden manner. Away in the distance I heard the long drawn wolf-howl, than which I firmly believe there is no more blood-curdling sound in existence. The horses pricked up their ears nervously and hastened their lagging pace, and I myself felt a thrill go up my spine. It was not many seconds before the first howl was answered by a second, and then a third.

"'A little faster, my beauties,' I said to the horses, 'we're not so far from home now, and it's up to us to get there pretty pronto.'

"The faithful beasts seemed to understand my words, and strained forward in the harness. The snow had stopped by this time, but was pretty deep, and the sleigh was heavy. After trotting forward at a brisk pace for a way they dropped back into a walk again.

"By now the howls had merged into a general chorus, and looking back over the great expanse of open country over which we were traveling I could see numerous black specks traveling swiftly toward us, becoming larger every second.

"I saw that I was in a mighty tight place, so got out my Winchester repeater and made sure that it was loaded. Then I stationed myself in the back of the sleigh and waited for the enemy to approach.

"On they came, loping swiftly along, silent now that their quarry was in plain sight. I took careful aim at the foremost brute, and pulled the trigger. My shot took effect, for with an unearthly scream the animal dropped, and for a few brief seconds his comrades stopped in order to devour him. At the sound of the rifle shot and the scream of the stricken wolf the horses plunged forward, all thought of fatigue gone in their overwhelming terror. The wolves were not easily to be outdistanced, though, and were soon after us again. They gained on us as though we were standing still, and were soon close to the back of the sleigh. I pumped bullets into them as fast as I could work my repeater, but by this time they were so numerous that it seemed to have little effect. The horses were slowing down again, even their fear of death unable to force them onward. I saw it was a case of lighten the sleigh or go under, so I commenced throwing our precious supplies out of the sled. Bags of flour and sides of bacon flew through the air, and the wolves were momentarily checked while fighting over the prizes.

"I knew that presently they would be up with us again, however, and then, with every resource gone, it looked as though my chances would be slim, indeed. But suddenly an inspiration shot through my mind.

"I drew up the trembling horses, and with a few slashes of my hunting knife cut the harness that held them to the sleigh. Then, with my rifle in one hand, I swung onto the back of the larger of the two horses, and let the other go. He was off like a streak, with my mount a close second.

"I glanced back over my shoulder, hoping that we could gain a little ground before the wolves quit their wrangling over the supplies I had thrown out to them, but was disappointed. They were after us again in full cry, and my heart sank.

"I turned in the saddle and sent shot after shot into the racing pack, and succeeded in checking them a little, but not much. The horse was galloping at a good clip now, though, and I knew that if we could keep ahead for a short time longer we would reach the camp.

"The wolves overtook us without seeming effort, however, and were soon snapping about the horse's heels. My rifle was of little use now, and I drew my revolvers and blazed away at short range. Every shot took effect, but the wolves were nothing daunted. As I told you before, when the timber wolf gets his blood up he is absolutely fearless. No sooner did one of the great gray brutes drop than another leaped into his place, his green eyes glowing balefully and his jaws snapping.

"When both my revolves were empty I clubbed my rifle, and lashed away at the long-pointed heads that were so close to me. Once or twice one would catch the butt of the gun in his teeth, and the marks are in the wood to this day.

"Well, I was so busy fighting off the wolves that I had no time to notice how near we were to camp. But suddenly my heart gave a great leap as I heard a yell in front of me and recognized the voice of my partner.

"I looked ahead and saw that I had almost reached our shack. My partner was standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, and even as I looked came running out toward me. In a few seconds the faithful horse had carried me almost to the shack, and I leaped to the ground. My partner took up a stand alongside me, and as the wolves came on we cleared a space about us with the clubbed rifles. We realized we couldn't keep that up long, though, so we retreated to the cabin. We backed in, but were unable to shut the door before one big gray brute squeezed inside. He was nothing dismayed at being separated from his companions, but leaped straight for us. I fetched him a stunning blow with the butt of my rifle, and before he could recover we both fell upon him and despatched him with our hunting knives. That was about as close a shave as I ever had," and as he finished his story Mr. Melton shook his head.

"I should think it must have been," said Bert, drawing a long breath, "but what did the rest of the wolves do when they found themselves shut out?"

"Oh, my partner and I shot at them from the window until we had killed over a dozen, and the rest, finding that they could not get at us, took themselves off."

"Did they kill the horses?" asked Tom.

"No," replied Mr. Melton, "for some reason they didn't chase them. The next morning we found them both outside the shack none the worse for their adventure. And a mighty lucky thing for us it was, because the loss of our horses then would have meant the failure of all our plans."

"I suppose you went back and got the sled the next day, didn't you?" inquired Dick.

"Oh, yes," replied his host, "we recovered it all right, but then we had to go back to the settlement for more grub, of course. But I was so happy at having escaped with my life that I didn't mind a little thing like that."

The three boys laughingly voted Mr. Melton's story a "curly wolf," and then, as it was getting late, trooped off to bed.



CHAPTER VIII

With Teeth and Hoofs

One of the most important of the many industries of the ranch was the breeding of horses for the Eastern market. Mr. Melton had a number of fine horses, but the most valuable of all was Satan, a big black stallion. His pedigree was as long as his flowing tail, and physically he was a perfect specimen. His only drawback was a fiendish temper, which it seemed impossible to subdue. Strangers he would never tolerate, and Mr. Melton seemed to be the only man on the ranch that could go near him without running a chance of being badly kicked or bitten. Even he was always very careful to keep an eye out for mischief whenever in the neighborhood of the stallion.

All the cowboys hated Satan, and with good reason. More than one of them bore marks of the horse's sharp teeth, and all of them could tell stories of narrow escapes experienced while feeding him or otherwise going through duties that called them into the neighborhood of the beautiful but vicious animal.

He was pastured in lonely grandeur in a spacious corral, shunned by all, but apparently happy enough in spite of this. The three boys often watched him at a safe distance, and regretted that his evil temper made it impossible to be friendly with him. Satan often lost many a lump of sugar or delicious carrot that he would have gotten had he been of a more friendly nature, in this way resembling many humans who build up a wall of reserve or ill-temper about them, and so lose many of the good things of life.

Soon after the arrival of the boys at the ranch Mr. Melton decided to purchase another stallion, as the demand for good horses at that time was exceptionally great. Accordingly, one day another horse made his appearance in a corral adjacent to that in which Satan was kept. The new horse was a good-sized bay, but not quite as large as Satan, although a little younger. The two corrals were separated by a double fence, so that, while the two horses could get within a few feet of each other, they could never get close enough to fight.

From the very beginning they exhibited a mutual hatred, and it was evident that if they ever got within striking distance of each other there would be trouble. Everybody on the ranch was strictly enjoined to keep the gates between the corrals securely fastened, however, and there seemed no possibility of the two rivals meeting.

"But if they ever should," one of the men had remarked, "there'd be some scrap, take it from me. There's nothing in the world worse than a fight between two stallions."

"Why, are they so vicious about it?" Bert, who was standing near, had asked.

"Vicious!" exclaimed the cowboy, "why, vicious ain't no word for it, nohow. They're just devils let loose, that's all."

It was only a few days after this that, as the boys were seated around the table in the ranch house eating luncheon, in company with their host, one of the cowboys dashed into the room, breathless and red of face.

"Satan an' the bay are fightin'," he cried; "somebody must 'a' left the gates open an'——"

But Mr. Melton did not wait to hear any more. Leaping to his feet he dashed through the door in the direction of the corrals. The three comrades followed close on his heels. As they reached the open they could hear shouts and cries and the thudding of hoofs. Mr. Melton increased his pace, and in a few moments they had reached the scene of action.

And it was a fearsome sight that met their eyes. The two big stallions, the black and the bay, were both in Satan's corral, fighting furiously, with a rage and viciousness that words are inadequate to describe. They circled rapidly about, biting at each other with their long yellow teeth, and lashing out with their hoofs. Each was quick as a flash of light, but every once in a while a sharp hoof would find its mark, or the deadly teeth would rip into the other's skin. Blood flowed freely, but neither seemed to notice the wounds that the other inflicted. They had longed to decide the question of supremacy ever since the newcomer's arrival, and now they were determined to settle the matter.

Satan was the stronger of the two, however, and probably in addition possessed a more evil temper than his rival. Biting, screaming, kicking, he circled about his enemy, his savage heart bent on the destruction of the upstart who had dared to invade his domains. As Mr. Melton and the boys dashed up, the black horse whirled like lightning and planted both hind hoofs with deadly effect. The bay horse staggered, but his spirit was still unconquered, and, recovering himself, he rushed for Satan with a ferocity almost as great as his.

"Stop them! separate them!" shouted Mr. Melton; "what are you standing around watching them for? One or the other of them will be killed soon, if we don't do something."

It was but a few moments since the horses had started fighting, although it had seemed much longer. At first the cowboys had seemed in a sort of stupor, so suddenly had the thing happened, but at Mr. Melton's words they sprang into activity. Some of them ran to get pitchforks, while others secured lariats from their saddles and hurried back to the scene of battle.

The bay horse was now getting much the worst of it, and it became evident that if the two infuriated animals were not separated soon the later arrival would either be killed or else so badly hurt that he would have to be shot eventually.

Some of the cowboys rushed into the corral and with shouts and cries endeavored to separate the combatants. The stallions took not the slightest notice of them, however, except to lash out savagely at them whenever they came within striking distance.

"They can't do anything that way," muttered Mr. Melton. "Here," he exclaimed, snatching a coiled lariat from one of his men, "I'll get in there myself and put an end to this business, or know the reason why."

Lasso in hand he rushed toward the corral, and in a few seconds was inside. Fortunately, just as he entered the inclosure, the stallions, exhausted with their efforts, drew apart and stood snorting and pawing the ground. Mr. Melton realized that here was his opportunity, and grasped it on the instant. Swinging the loop in great circles about his head he took careful aim and let go. The rope whizzed through the air, and the lithe coils settled about Satan's neck.

For a second the black stallion was taken by surprise. He rolled his bloodshot eyes toward his owner, but for a brief space made no move. Then with a loud snort of rage he rushed toward the ranchowner, his foam-flecked jaws gnashing and the breath whistling through his red nostrils. Mr. Melton stood quiet, but alert, every muscle tense. Then, when the infuriated stallion was almost upon him, with an agility that it seemed impossible one of his bulk could possess, he leaped to one side, and started running backward.

At the same moment he threw the whirling, writhing coil of rope with such sure aim that it settled with beautiful precision over Satan's powerful shoulders. Before the rope could tighten, however, the black stallion had whirled, and was again making for the ranchman.

When the horse was almost upon him Mr. Melton once more leaped aside, and with a dexterous flick on the rope pulled the loop down over Satan's back. Before the horse could check his headlong speed Mr. Melton had worked the loop down about his legs. With a quick jerk he pulled it taut, and Satan, suddenly hobbled, fell to the earth with a crash.

Several of the cowboys ran up, and in a few seconds the stallion was securely trussed up. The bay stallion in the meantime had retreated to the farthest corner of the corral, and was standing there dejectedly, all the fight gone out of him. He was quickly secured and led back into his own inclosure. Very carefully Satan was then loosed a trifle, and allowed to struggle to his feet. He was still "hunting trouble," as one of the men expressed it, but with the confining ropes about his fetlocks was powerless. He was left hobbled, and the gate to his corral was fastened securely this time.

"That was sure a great ropin' stunt you pulled off, boss," said "Curley" to Mr. Melton. "I never seen the trick done neater, nohow."

"It was great!" Bert exclaimed. "I didn't know you were such an expert roper, Mr. Melton."

"It wasn't so bad for an old fellow," admitted his host with a smile; "it took some pretty quick sidestepping to get out of Satan's way, I'll admit. But when I was twenty years younger I used to rope cattle for a living, and narrow escapes were part of the business."

He turned and gave a few directions to the men, together with strict injunctions to keep the two gates between the corrals closed.

"If anything like this happens again," he warned, "somebody's going to get fired pretty pronto, savvy? And do all you can for the bay. I don't think he's seriously hurt, and if we're careful we can bring him back into shape all right."

After this, he and the boys returned to the ranch house, where they discussed the recent exciting happenings pro and con. The boys had planned to take an exploring expedition that afternoon, but all thought of this was banished from their minds. After a while they returned to the stables, where the stallions were having their wounds doctored. It appeared that, as Mr. Melton had surmised, neither was very badly injured physically, but the bay stallion's spirit seemed utterly broken. After many days, however, he regained the pride which had been so rudely shattered in his encounter with Satan, and proved to be a valuable horse. He was of a more gentle disposition also, and accepted the overtures of friendship that the boys made toward him, so that before their visit at the ranch came to a close they were on very good terms with him.



CHAPTER IX

The Indian Outbreak

"They seem to be having trouble with the Indians on the reservation," remarked Mr. Milton one evening, just after his return from a trip to town; "everybody in Helena seems to be talking about it, and there was a big article in the 'Despatch' this morning, too."

"What kind of trouble?" asked Bert, his interest at once aroused. "You don't mean there's talk of an outbreak among them, do you?"

"That's exactly what I do mean," replied Mr. Melton seriously. "The young bucks are discontented, and are continually making 'war medicine.' Of course, the old men of the tribes do all they can to keep them within bounds, for they know how useless any outbreak would be. But the young men have never had the bitter experience of their fathers, and at present they seem very restless."

"But I thought the days of Indian outbreaks were over," exclaimed Tom excitedly; "why, they wouldn't have a ghost of a chance if they started anything now."

"Just the same there are enough of them to make trouble, if they ever got started," said Mr. Melton soberly. "Of course, as you say, the uprising would be suppressed quickly enough, but not perhaps without considerable bloodshed and loss of property. At any rate, the prospect of such an outbreak is enough to keep people living anywhere near the reservation boundary on the anxious seat."

"But I should think," remarked Dick, "that the authorities would make such preparations to subdue an uprising among the Indians that it would be crushed before they had a chance to get off the reservation."

"Well, the authorities have taken every possible precaution," replied Mr. Melton. "Jim Hotchkiss, the sheriff, told me that word had been passed to officers of the forts to have the troops in readiness for instant action. But the 'noble red man' is cunning in his own way, and lays his plans carefully. And when he is ready to strike he strikes quickly, like the snake. A marauding band will attack and sack a farmhouse, and be forty miles away before the troops arrive on the scene. And in a country as large and wild as this it is something of a task to corner and subdue them."

"There hasn't been any trouble of the kind for a long time, has there?" asked Dick.

"No, not for a good many years," answered Mr. Melton; "and that inclines me all the more to take the present situation seriously. These uprisings come only at long intervals now, but it seems impossible to prevent them altogether. After an outbreak has been put down the Indians are very quiet for a time. They have probably suffered considerable loss of life, and been severely punished by the government. For years the memory of this lingers, but gradually it fades away, and the rising generation of young bucks, with the inherited lust of fight and warfare running riot in their blood, become restless and rebellious under the restraints of civilization and government. They hear stories of their ancestors' prowess from the lips of the old men of the tribe, and they long to go out and capture a few 'pale face' scalps on their own account. After a while they work themselves up to the required pitch, and some fine day a band of them sallies forth on the 'war path.' Then there is a brief time of plundering and murdering, until the troops can come up with them. Then there's a scrimmage, in which most of the band is exterminated, and the rest are herded back to the reservation, with most of the fight gone out of them."

"I should think a few experiences like that would teach them wisdom, and keep them from repeating the experiment," commented Bert.

"It would seem so," assented Melton, "but," with a smile, "youth is always prone to disregard what is told it by its elders, and to insist on finding out the why and wherefore of things by bitter experience."

"I hope there's nothing personal in that," grinned Dick.

"Oh, not at all," replied his host with an innocent expression on his face, but a twinkle in his eye. "I wonder what could have given you that idea."

"Nothing," replied Dick. "I just thought it barely possible, that's all."

"Oh, no," disclaimed Melton, "nothing could have been further from my thoughts."

Dick looked suspicious, and Tom and Bert laughed heartily.

After this little interruption, the talk went back to the subject of the threatened Indian uprising. After a time Mr. Melton said: "It might be a good idea for you boys to ride to town to-morrow and get the latest news. There'll be very little going on about the ranch to-morrow to interest you, and it will be a good way to spend the day. Besides, there are one or two things I forgot when in town, and while you are about it you can get them and bring them back with you."

This plan was received by the boys with acclamation, and they immediately set to making preparations. It was a considerable distance to the town, and they planned to make an early start, before the intense heat of the day set in.

They accordingly packed their "war-bags" that same evening, and before retiring had made every preparation for the morrow's trip.

The next morning they were up with the sun, and after a hasty breakfast leaped into their saddles and were off. It was a glorious day, and the exhilarating air made them feel "right up on their toes," as Tom expressed it. Bert felt called upon to reprove Tom for using this expression, for, as he gravely pointed out, they were not on their own toes at all, but on the horses', so to speak.

"Aw, forget it," retorted Tom flippantly; "it's toe bad about you, anyway."

Having delivered this shot Tom chirruped to his horse, and set off at a smart gallop, followed by Dick and Bert. The two latter hadn't decided what they would do to Tom when they caught him, but they were longing for a canter, anyway, and this gave them a good excuse. But after traveling in this rapid manner for a short distance they pulled in their steeds, for it would never do to tire them thus early in the journey. Tom, seeing that the pursuit had been abandoned, also reined in his horse, and allowed his companions to gain on him.

"Don't shoot," he called. "I'll promise to be good and never do it again—not till the next time, that is."

"All right," laughed Bert, "we'll suspend sentence this time, but at the next offense we won't be so lenient, will we, Dick?"

"Not by a long shot," said Dick; "we'll toe him along at the end of a lariat if he does, that's all." He grinned feebly as he got off this atrocious pun, but Bert and Tom refused to be beguiled into smiling.

"I never thought it of you, Dick, honest I didn't," mourned Bert, sadly shaking his head. "I naturally expect such things from Tom, but I had a better opinion of you. I suppose I'll have to let bygones be bygones, but just the same you deserve nothing less than ptomaine poisoning as punishment."

At this Tom and Dick gave utterance to a howl of execration that made their horses jump, and two tightly rolled sombreros came flying toward Bert's head. But he ducked just in time, and then had a good laugh as Tom and Dick were forced to dismount and secure their misused headgear.

Soon his two friends were back in the saddle, however, and then they set off at a steady trot, discussing in a more serious vein the probability of such an uprising as Mr. Melton feared.

"I don't want it to happen," summed up Bert at last, "but if it's got to happen anyway, I hope it does while we're out here. I feel like a small boy going to a fire. As long as the house has to burn anyway, he wants to be Johnny-on-the-spot."

In this manner the time passed quickly, and before eleven o'clock they were nearing the town. A few minutes later they were riding through its streets, alertly on the lookout for any signs of impending trouble. All seemed much the same as usual, though, except that about the telegraph and newspaper offices there seemed to be unwonted bustle and excitement. Here and there knots of men had congregated also, who appeared to be discussing some important matter.

The three boys rode until they reached the post office, and then, dismounting and hitching their horses, went inside. The post office also served as a telegraph station, and there were various news bulletins posted about the room.

They hastened to one of these, and their faces grew grave as they read. It appeared from the bulletin that the Indians were on the very eve of an outbreak, although they had made no actual hostile moves as yet. Troops had been summoned to the reservation, however, and were expected to reach Helena that evening. They were ordered to stay in the town overnight, and press on for the reservation the following morning.

"It begins to look like business now, all right," said Bert, after he and his friends had digested this information.

"It sure does," agreed Dick, "but likely as not it will all blow over before anything really serious happens."

"Oh, of course, there's always that chance," said Bert, "but let's go outside and find out what the opinion of the townspeople is. They must understand the situation pretty thoroughly, and we can soon find out whether or not they regard this as a false alarm. But it looks to me as though real trouble were brewing."

Bert's opinion seemed to be shared almost unanimously by the citizens. Everywhere men were getting out and overhauling their firearms, and there was a run on the ammunition stores.

"I'm glad we brought our revolvers," remarked Tom; "there seems to be a chance of our having use for them by and by."

"I'm mighty glad we did," acquiesced Bert, "and I brought something beside my revolver, too. Just before we left the ranch I packed my Winchester repeater inside my blankets. I wasn't even thinking of the Indians then, but I thought we might have a chance at a little game, and it would be just as well to pack it along. There's not a chance in a thousand that we'll need it, but you can't always tell."

"It's lucky you did," said Dick; "have you got plenty of ammunition for it?"

"None too much," replied Bert. "I think while we're here I'll buy a few boxes of cartridges."

Acting upon this thought, they bought the ammunition, together with some extra cartridges for their revolvers. This done they made the purchases for Mr. Melton that he had requested of them, and after a satisfying meal at the best hotel set out on their return journey.

It was about two o'clock as they jogged out of town, and as they knew they had ample time in which to reach the ranch before dark they let the horses set their own pace. They had many things to talk about, although the heat of the sultry afternoon made even conversation a task. But nothing could subdue their spirits, and with never a care in the world they rode gaily on.

"It's quite near stage time," Bert remarked suddenly, "we're pretty near the trail, and if we meet it we can get the latest developments of the reservation situation from Buck, the driver. He always has a supply of the latest news. He knows more than the local newspapers of what's going on, I believe."

"I'll bet that's the coach now," exclaimed Dick, pointing to a cloud of dust in the distance.

"Yes, I guess it is," returned Bert, gazing intently at the distant smirch against the clear blue background of sky; "come along, fellows. Ride hard and we'll reach the trail before the coach comes along."

Accordingly they set spurs to their horses and galloped rapidly over the sunburned prairie. In a short time they reached the travel-hardened trail, beating the coach by a good half mile. Then they drew rein, and waited impatiently for the lumbering vehicle to reach them.

With rattle of harness and creak of complaining axle-tree the coach toiled over the endless trail, drawn by four raw-boned mules. As it drew near, the boys waved their sombreros to the driver, who returned the salute with a flourish of his long snakeskin whip.

At last it reached them and the driver rumbled a hoarse greeting. "How goes it, pards," he said, "an' what's the good word?"

"That's just what we were going to ask you," said Bert with a friendly smile. "We've been hearing a lot lately of the expected redskin uprising, and we wanted to know if you had a line on the real situation, Buck. Is there anything really doing, or is it all just talk?"

"I dunno," answered the driver, "some says yes an' some says no, but if you want my honest opinion I'd say thet the Injuns ain't got nerve enough to start trouble no more. Why, they're so all-fired meek an' lowly thet——"

Zip! A bullet whizzed through the sultry air and whirled the stage driver's slouch hat from his head. Zip! Zip! Zip! and the air was alive with the whine and drone of bullets.

"Hold-ups, by the 'tarnal," yelled the driver, accompanying his words with a whirl of oaths. "Down behind the coach, Sam!" addressing the guard, who always rode beside him on the box with loaded rifle; "we'll stand 'em off, or I'm a greaser."

The guard leaped down behind the coach at the same moment that Bert and Dick and Tom made for the same shelter. There were only two passengers in the coach, and they, pale of face and with chattering teeth, joined the little group.

"Them shots came from that bunch of chaparral over there," said Buck, "but it's an almighty queer way for road agents to go about a job. They ginerally——"

"Injuns!" shouted the guard, who had been peering cautiously around the end of the coach. "Injuns, by the Lord Harry, shoot me if they ain't!"

A thrill passed over the three comrades, and they looked warily forth in the direction in which the guard had pointed. Sure enough, over the top of the chapparal they could discern a number of hideously painted faces surmounted by tufts of eagle feathers. The guard, recovering from his first paralysis of astonishment, took careful aim at one of them and pulled the trigger. A yell of pain followed the report of his rifle, and a savage shout went up from the band of redskins. They answered with a volley that bored through the sides of the coach, and narrowly missed several of the little group gathered behind it.

"We got to turn the coach over," exclaimed Buck, "the top an' floor's a whole lot thicker than the sides, and besides, as it is there's nothin' to prevent the bullets from comin' in underneath. Lend a hand, everybody, and we'll get 'er over."

He crept in between the mules and commenced unharnessing them. Bert and his friends leaped to his assistance, although during the process they were much more exposed to the fire of the Indians. The latter were not slow to perceive this, and they opened a steady fire. But fortunately they were poor shots, and most of their bullets went wild. Several struck the mules, however, and the unfortunate animals plunged and kicked so wildly that the three friends and the driver stood in almost as much danger from them as from the bullets. Finally the traces were unfastened, and the mules, released from the harness, raced wildly away.

Bert and the others dodged nimbly back behind the coach, and then all hands set to the task of overturning it. By dint of exerting all their strength they finally managed to lift one side of the clumsy vehicle until it toppled over with a crash.

"There," exclaimed Buck, wiping the perspiration from his face with a big bandanna handkerchief; "so fur, so good, but we got to do more than that. Them Injuns will start to surround us as soon as they see they can't pick us off from the front, and we want to be ready for them."

"What do you think we'd better do?" asked Bert.

"Fust thing is t' get the trunks and mail bags out o' the coach and build a barricade with them," replied the driver, "an' it looks as though we stood a good chance o' gettin' shot full o' lead doin' it, too. If them Injuns hadn't been sech all-fired poor shots we'd a been winged before this, I reckon."

"Well, as long as it's got to be done, we might as well get it over with," said Dick; "come on, fellows, one, two——"

"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Bert. "I think it would be a good plan for those of us who have rifles to be on the lookout and pick off any of the redskins who show themselves. Even if we don't get any, it will prevent them from taking good aim."

"We ain't got but one rifle, though," objected Buck. "Sam, here," motioning toward the guard, "is the only one in the bunch with a rifle."

"No, I've got one in my blanket roll," replied Bert, and before the driver could answer was busily engaged in undoing the tightly rolled blanket.

"I reckon you two had better get anythin' you want off your horses," said Buck, addressing Tom and Dick, "an' then set the critters loose. They ain't a mite o' good here, an' they only take up valuable space."

The boys were loath to act on this advice, but they saw the wisdom of it, and so did as the driver suggested. They knew that the horses, as soon as released, would make for the ranch, and they had little fear of the Indians being able to catch them. Accordingly, a few minutes later the three trusty animals were turned loose, each receiving a smart slap to start it on its way. They galloped off across the plain, and were soon lost to sight in the distance.

Meantime the Indians had been keeping up a straggling fire in the direction of the stage coach, and Bert and the guard set themselves to the task of silencing it. Lying flat on the ground, and aiming their guns cautiously around each end of the coach, they fired with sure aim every time a dusky arm or leg was exposed by their attackers. They were both crack shots, and their bullets seldom failed to reach their mark. Gradually the fire from the enemy died down, and at last stopped almost altogether. The precision of the white men astonished them, and they drew behind cover and held a conference.

"Now's the time!" exclaimed Buck. "Into the coach, boys, and rustle out the baggage. Lively's the word!"

All the little party, with the exception of the passengers, who seemed too paralyzed with fright to move, dashed into the coach, and before the Indians realized what was happening returned, each staggering under some bulky article, trunk, or mail bag.

The savages sprang into life, and a hail of bullets struck against the coach. But they were too late, and the defenders set to work to construct a circular rampart, using the coach as part of it. After arranging the baggage to their satisfaction they dug up earth and covered the improvised ramparts with it.

"So far, so good," said Buck, when at last they stopped to draw breath. "That will hold the red devils off for a time, anyway. But unless we get help in some way I'm afraid we're done for, anyway. There's a big party o' bucks there, and chances are that more will join them before mornin'. Then they'll come at us in earnest, and it will only be a question o' how long we can stand them off. After that——" he ended with a silence more eloquent than words.

"Isn't there—isn't there some way to summon aid?" asked one of the passengers, with blanched cheeks.

"I don't see how," replied Buck; "it would be jest plain suicide fer one of us to make a break now. Besides, it's twenty miles to the nearest town, and the Injuns'll be on us long before anybody could get to town and bring back help, even supposin' the Injuns didn't pot him before he got fairly started. O' course, we couldn't do anythin' before dark, nohow."

"Don't you think they'll attack before that?" asked Dick.

"No, I don't," replied the driver; "they'll want to surround us first, an' they won't start to do that until after dark, 'cordin' to my way o' thinkin'. What do you say, Sam?"

"Them's my sentiments exactly," answered that individual. "There ain't a chance in the world o' their doin' anythin' before that."

As the opinions of these two veterans coincided the matter was regarded as settled, and the boys commenced overhauling their pistols to make sure they were in perfect shape.

There was no further movement on the part of their besiegers, but Buck and Sam knew full well that the Indians were far from giving up their attack. To them the respite was more ominous than an active sally, for they knew that the braves were hatching some scheme for their destruction.

"They're foxy as they make 'em," opined Sam grimly; "the critters are cookin' up some deep plan to circumvent us, or I'm a Dutchman. Jest wait an' see if they ain't."

"If anybody thinks them red devils ain't watching us closer than a cat watches a mouse," said Buck, "I'll just prove it to 'em mighty pronto."

He snatched his sombrero from his head, and placing it on the muzzle of the guard's rifle, held the piece up in the air so that the hat projected above the edge of the over-turned coach. Instantly a sharp fusillade broke from the Indian's position, and one bullet, better aimed than the majority, passed clean through the sombrero, whirling it off the rifle.

"I reckon that shows they ain't asleep," remarked Buck grimly; "ef they don't get our scalps it won't be from lack o' tryin'."

"We've got to figure out some way of getting word to town," exclaimed Bert fiercely. "There must be some way, if we could only think of it. I have it!" he shouted. "Listen! The new branch they've been putting through from the railroad is almost completed, and a foreman I was speaking to a few days ago said they had almost finished stringing the telegraph wires. They're probably up by now, and if I could only get to them I'd have help here in no time!"

"By all that's holy, the lad's right," exclaimed Buck, "an' it ain't far from here neither, considerin' jest the distance."

"But the chances are you'd never reach the railroad, Bert," said Dick anxiously; "they'd wing you before you got anywhere near it."

"I'll have to take a chance on that," responded Bert. "Besides, if I don't go our condition is hopeless, anyhow, so I might as well attempt it."

The two Westerners nodded their heads at this, and Buck said: "O' course, it's only a ragged chance, but it might go through at that. The best thing will be for him to make the try the first second after dark. The redskins won't start to surround us until then, and by quick work he might get out before they'd finished postin' a ring around us."

"But even if you get to the railroad how are you going to telegraph without an instrument?" inquired Tom.

"Leave that to me," replied Bert; "if I can only get that far I'll manage to telegraph all right, never fear."

By this time the sun was low in the west, and a short time afterward it dipped under the rim of the prairie. For a short time the sky was painted in vivid colors by its reflected rays, and then the sudden prairie twilight descended swiftly.

"Now's your time, son," said Buck; "are you all ready?"

"I'll start the first second you think it best," replied Bert, and then turning shook hands all around, ending up with Dick and Tom.

"We'd go with you, old friend, if it would do any good," said Dick, wringing Bert's hand. "I guess you know that without my saying it."

"I know it, all right," replied Bert; "but don't you worry about me. The Indian isn't born yet that can get my scalp."

As he finished speaking Buck said: "You'd better start now, my lad. It's so dark they can't see you, and I don't think they've had time to surround us yet. If you do get through and send the message make for town. Don't try to get back here, because you'd never make it, and if you did it would do no good. There's no use sacrificing your life along with ours."

"Well, I'll get there first," said Bert, "and then there'll be plenty of time to think about whether or not to come back." Needless to say, in his own mind there was little doubt that if it lay in his power he would return and fight, and if need be die at his comrades' side.



CHAPTER X

In Fearful Extremity

With the stealthy tread of a panther, Bert climbed over the improvised rampart, and a few seconds later his form merged into the enveloping darkness and was lost to the view of his anxious friends. They listened with straining ears for any sound of shot or struggle, but the deep silence of a prairie night remained unbroken.

Bert pursued his way swiftly, but at the same time he exercised all the knowledge that a life of adventure had given him to detect with ear or eye the presence of a lurking enemy. He had traveled several hundred yards when suddenly he heard what seemed to be a stealthy rustling, off somewhere to his right. He dropped to the ground like a flash, and, scarcely daring to breathe, peered through the velvety blackness, straining his eyes in an attempt to make out the cause of the sound.

For the space of perhaps a minute all was as still as the grave, and Bert had almost made up his mind that the noise must have been occasioned by a snake or lizard, when suddenly, within three feet of where he lay he made out the form of an Indian, a mere black splotch against the slightly lighter background of the sky. The savage did not move, and Bert knew that he had not been discovered as yet. But the dark form seemed to have no intention of going any further, and Bert came to the conclusion that the brave was one of the band that had been detailed to surround the devoted little party of whites.

Bert knew that it would be impossible for him to move without being discovered by the Indian, so he resolved on a swift, deadly attack as the only way out of the dilemma.

Gathering his muscles for the spring he suddenly launched himself like a thunderbolt at the Indian. With the same motion he drew his revolver and aimed a blow at the savage's head, for he knew that a single shot would give the alarm and frustrate all his plans.

But the wily redskin was not to be so easily caught off his guard. With a grunt of surprise he half turned to meet the attack, and the butt of Bert's revolver dealt him only a glancing blow. Before the savage had a chance to shout a warning, however, Bert had grasped him by the throat with one hand, while he rained blows from the clubbed revolver on him with the other. The Indian made a desperate attempt to loose his assailant's hold and secure the knife from his girdle, but Bert's attack was too fierce and deadly. In a few seconds the struggling form of the brave grew limp and fell to the earth.

Without giving him a moment's further notice, Bert started out over the desert at a swift run, guided by his almost instinctive sense of direction. He ran quickly and lightly with the speed and silence of a wolf, and he breathed a heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving when he realized that he was clear of the besiegers.

In a short time he reached the line of newly laid rails that marked one more stride of civilization into this far western country. He scrambled up the steep embankment, and was not long in locating a telegraph pole. He climbed this quickly and once securely seated in the crossbars made ready to send the message that meant life or death to himself and the little party back there by the over-turned stage coach, dependent on him for their very lives.

He drew from a pocket a pair of cutting pliers that he had secured from the coach's toolbox, and donned a pair of thick leather gloves that he had borrowed from the driver. With the pliers he severed the single telegraph wire, and grasped the two ends in his gloved fingers.

"Now," he thought, "if there's no current in the wire everything will have gone for nothing. But if there is——"

He brought the severed ends together, and was overjoyed to see a snapping little blue spark play about them.

"Great!" he shouted aloud, and then set himself to send the message. He was an expert telegrapher and knew the Morse code as well as he knew his own name. Of course, he had no means of telling whether or not anybody was receiving his sending, but had to go ahead on the chance that they were.