"I wonder if I'll ever find out who my parents are? "thought Dave. "I must have some folks, somewhere."

But as he recalled what had been told him—how he had been swept down the river in a great flood—the chances that he had any kin living seemed more and more remote.

But the boy was awakened out of his momentary brown study.

"Hi there!"

"Look out for that critter!"

"He's a bad one!"

"Rope him!"

Such were the wild cries that greeted Dave as he spurred away from the chuck wagon toward what seemed more than the usual commotion. A steer that had been roped and thrown that a new brand might be put over the almost obliterated one, had broken away and regained its feet and was wildly rushing here and there.

A lasso had been thrown over his head, and this now trailed in the dust Several of the cowboys, clapping spurs to their ponies, set off either to throw more ropes about the escaping beast, or else to grasp the trailing lariat.

"Take him, Dave!" cried Pocus Pete, who wanted the lad to get as much practical experience as possible,

"I'll get him" was the instant call in response.

"Look at him go!" murmured Mr. Bellmore, who half rose from a pile of blankets to watch the antics of the steer.

"Yes, that boy of mine can ride!" said Mr. Carson, who was looking on. A tender look came into his eyes.

No one looking at him would have suspected that, only a comparatively short time before, he had confessed to this same lad that there was no real relationship between them. That they were actually, strangers, save that there was a love between them that could only come of long association.

"Yes. He surely can ride," murmured the ranch owner. "If he lives I hope he'll succeed me as operator here. And if I can put through your irrigation scheme it will make Bar U one of the best ranches in this part of the country."

"Oh, we'll put it through all right," said the Chicago man. "Don't worry about that. We'll put it through"

"If Molick doesn't kick up a row," observed Mr. Carson.

"Yes, of course we've got to look out for him. But I think—"

Mr. Bellmore never finished his sentence.

"Look out, Dave!" he yelled, as if he could warn the lad who was riding toward the rushing steer.

"Oh! Oh!" gasped Mr. Carson.

The next instant they both saw the trailing rope on the steer's head tangle around the legs of Dave's pony. The plucky Crow made a brave effort to keep his feet. But a moment later he went down heavily in a cloud of dust with his rider, while the maddened steer, brought up short, reared and seemed to fall backward on pony and cowboy.



CHAPTER XII

THE FIGHT

With one bound, it seemed, Mr. Carson leaped away from the side of his invalid guest, and was in the saddle of his favorite pony, that had been standing near the chuck wagon.

"He's killed!" was the thought that came instantly into the mind of Mr. Bellmore. "No rider could suffer such a fall, and live!"

Such an idea, too, it seemed, was in the thought of the ranch owner, for he was slightly pale underneath his coat of tan as he spurred his steed forward.

A number of other cowboys had seen the happening, and those who could leave the work in which they were engaged, started for the scene of the accident. But there were some, holding down a refractory steer, or engaged in putting on the hot branding irons, who only looked over, shrugged their shoulders, and kept on with their tasks.

For that, too, was the law of the range. If a man had a fall, he was either killed or he was not killed. If he was killed there was no use dropping important work to go to his aid. If he was not killed he must either help himself, or take such help as could be sent to him at the time.

Cruel, perhaps you will say, but it was eminently practical, and, after all, that is life.

If Dave was really dead no power the cowboys could exert would save him. The accident had happened—it was over with—and that was all there was to it.

Of course some did go to his aid—Mr. Carson and several of the less busy punchers. And, to do justice to the others, not a man but, would have rushed to help Dave had he been in a position to do so. But the work of the ranch must go on—and it did.

Long before Mr. Carson reached the scene, or, for that matter, before any of the others were in a position to help Dave, a movement was observed in the tangle of pony, rider and steer. Just who, or which, was doing the moving it was hard to determine, as the haze of dust still overhung everything.

"Can a person live after that mix-up?" asked Mr. Bellmore, speaking aloud, unconsciously.

"Oh, him plenty mluch alive!" glibly replied the Chinese cook. "Dave he plenty mluch hab fall, an' he come up smilin'."

"Oh, he does; eh?" asked the Chicago man.

"Sure!" was the answer, given with a bland grin. "He clum' up smilin'."

"Well, I hope he does," was the comment.

By this time it could be seen that Dave was at least alive. Out of the haze of dust he limped, But the steer lay prone.

Mr. Carson jumped from his horse, and an instant later had the young cowboy in his arms.

"Dave! Dave!" he cried. "My boy! My boy! Tell me you're not hurt!"

As the other cowboys rode up one of them gave a look at the prostrate steer.

"He's done for," he commented.

It needed but a look at the curiously and grotesquely twisted neck of the animal to tell that it was broken.

"Dave, are you hurt?" gasped the ranchman.

"Well, I've felt better," Dave answered, slowly, making a wry face as he limped to one, side. He leaned heavily on the arm of Mr. Carson.

Then, as if remembering something he had forgotten, Dave looked toward his pony. To his great relief he saw Crow rise to his feet, shake himself and run off a little way, seemingly little the worse for his adventure.

"Thank goodness!" murmured Dave, and there was a prayer of gratitude in his heart. "I thought he was a goner."

"And we thought you were," put in Tubby Larkin, as he strode up. "That was some fall—believe me!"

"Must have got tangled up in the rope," commented Pocus Pete, who had finished a task he was at, and who now spurred forward.

"That's what happened," Dave explained, as he rubbed the back of his head and threw out one leg as if to test whether or not it had been knocked out of joint. "I didn't see the trailing lasso, and it got around Crow's feet."

"Yes, that's how it happened," said Mr. Carson. "But I certainly thought both steer and pony fell on you."

"I managed to roll out of the way," said Dave, grimly.

"Lucky for you," commented Pocus Pete. "That's one of the biggest and worst steers on the ranch, and he weighs something, too."

"His own weight broke his neck," said Tubby, reflectively. "Well, we was needin' some beef an' now we've got it."

"I'm sorry he had to go," remarked Dave, as he walked off toward his pony, having made sure that none of his bones was broken.

"Better him than you," murmured Mr. Carson. "Are you sure you're all right, Dave, my boy?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, yes I'm a bit shaken up, but I'll be all right. I can go on with the round-up."

"You can—but you'll not!" was the ranch owner's decision. "I want you to take a little rest. The worst of the job's over, anyhow."

Dave was nothing loath to have a little respite, and as he came up to the chuck wagon, where Mr. Bellmore was eagerly waiting for him, the Chicago man said:

"Well, I never expected to see you come up this way, Dave," and he held out a welcoming hand.

"Oh, we get used to little things like that"

"Little things!" exclaimed the irrigation engineer. "Well, I thought I had a hard time when I was hanging over that gully. But that wasn't a circumstance to yours."

"It's all in the day's work," said Dave with a shrug of his shoulders, as he sank down on a pile of sacks.

"He's grit clear through," thought the visitor. "I like him more every day I see him."

As for Dave, in addition to the thankfulness in his heart that he was not hurt, and that his favorite pony had escaped, was a deep sense of gratitude for the manner manifested toward him by Mr. Carson. No father could have showed more love toward his own son than the ranch owner did toward his ward, his nameless ward.

The excitement caused by Dave's fall soon passed, for, after all, such things are comparatively common on the ranch, and he had really been more than usually fortunate.

And so the work of the round-up went on, day after day. Hard, hot, sweaty and dusty work it was, too, with little of the romance that attaches to the book stories of life on a cattle range. But no one complained, least of all Dave Carson.

It was about a week after this that Dave was sent out again to look up some stray cattle. He was not riding his own pony Crow, who had, after all, developed a lame shoulder from his fall. So he was left in the stable for a day or two.

As the animal Dave had was rather strange he took the precaution of staking him out as he halted for a bite to eat at noon. Dave was taking his nooning, resting lazily on the silent plain, when he heard a noise that caused him to rouse up suddenly.

What he saw brought an exclamation of anger to his lips, for in the act of cutting the rope that held the somewhat restive pony was Len Molick. Dave had caught him in the nick of time.

Len had looked around, to make sure he was unobserved, but his back was toward our hero, who was down in a little hollow.

"The sneak!" murmured Dave.

Then, silently, he began stalking the bully, who was preparing to go back to his own horse, that was standing with reins over its head.

Len's object was plain. He wanted to let Dave's pony run back to the ranch, so our hero would have a long walk. But his plan failed.

Just as Len was about to sever the lariat Dave sprang up, and with a yell that startled both horses, fairly threw himself on the back of the bully.

"At last I've got you just where I want you, Len Molick!" Dave cried. "Maybe I can't prove you sawed the fence posts, but I don't need any more evidence than I've just had of what you were going to do. I've got you!"

"You—you let me alone!" whimpered Len, who was a coward, as most bullies are.

"I will, when I've finished," said Dave, laying aside his coat.

"What are you going to do?" asked Len, who had straightened up, after having been rolled on the ground by Dave.

"What am I going to do? I'm going to give you the best drubbing you ever had. Stand up and fight now, you big coward!"



CHAPTER XIII

SOME NEWS

Perhaps if Len had done the manly thing—if he had owned to some of his misdeeds, and had promised not to repeat them, Dave might have forgiven him. For Dave was not a fighter by nature.

Physically the two were well matched, with the advantage, if any, in favor of Len, who was larger than Dave. And if Len had acknowledged that he was afraid to fight, Dave would not have pressed it.

But the bully and coward made the mistake of his life. As he sprang to his feet he caught up a stone and suddenly hurled it at Dave. The latter ducked just in time to save his head. And then his anger welled up.

"So that's your game; is it?" he cried.

Even then Len might have gotten out of it, only he did not. He aimed a wild blow at Dave, and then the fight was on.

Len was no match for Dave in skill. The young cowboy easily dodged the blows aimed at him, and for a moment, he refrained from hitting Len hard. Then, as he saw Len again look about for a stone, Dave struck him so hard that the bully toppled over.

"It's no more than you deserve!" Dave exclaimed.

Len got up, and with a cry rushed at his opponent. Again, Dave sent him down.

But I am not going to give you all the details of that fight which was soon over. Len, bruised and sore, cried out that he had had enough.

"That'll teach you to behave after this, I guess," said Dave, as he moved over toward his horse.

Len did not answer for a moment. He, too, approached his steed. And when he was mounted he cast a look full of anger and hate at Dave, and said:

"You wait! I'll get even with you yet!"

It was the usual retort of a sneak and coward.

"You had your chance," said Dave, grimly. "If you couldn't take advantage of it that's not my fault."

Then he rode off, collected the strays he was looking for, and made his way back to the ranch.

"What's the matter, Dave?" asked Pocus Pete, as he saw the lad leap from his pony. "Did you have a fall?"

"No, it was the other fellow," was the grim answer.

"Len?"

"Yes."

"Does he look anything like you?"

"Worse!"

Dave's face was scratched and one eye bruised.

"Well, I s'pose it had to be," chuckled Pocus Pete. "What'd he do, try to rope you?"

"No. He wouldn't have much chance at that, even if I was not on Crow." Then Dave told the story of the encounter.

"Well," said Peter reflectively, "I reckon, just as some one said about dogs, that a certain amount of fleas was good for 'em, a little fightin' is good for some fellows. Are you sure Len got enough?" he asked anxiously.

"He said so," replied Dave, sententiously.

"Well, he ought to know," was Pete's dry comment.

Life at Bar U ranch went on in much the same way for many days. There was a great deal of work to be done, and Dave did his share. But, all the while, he could not shake from his mind the memory of the revealed secret regarding himself.

"I wonder who I am?" he asked himself again and again. But he could not answer. He made up his mind that some day he would have a long talk with Mr. Carson, and see if there was not some way in which clews to his lost parents could be obtained.

"There must be some" reflected Dave.

Mr. Bellmore had almost recovered now. He could ride his horse about, and often accompanied Dave on the latter's trips. The Chicago man could limp about fairly well, but in the West, at least on the cattle ranges, little walking is done. If a person has only to go across the street it is the most natural thing in the world to leap to the saddle to cover the distance.

"Well, I think I must get busy on that water business now," said Mr. Bellmore one day, when he and Dave had come in from a little round-up. "It won't do to wait any longer. My people will be wondering why I am taking such a long vacation."

"They know you were hurt; don't they?" asked Dave.

"Oh, yes, but I'm practically well again."

"What are your plans?"

"I must see if I can get some concerted action in forming an irrigation company. I think I shall talk to Mr. Molick, even if his son and you are not on friendly terms."

"Oh, don't let that stand in the way of business," Dave said, heartily.

"I hope you won't misunderstand my motives," said the water agent.

"Not at all."

It was a few days after this that Pocus Pete, coming in from a distant part of the range, said to Dave and Mr. Carson.

"I see they're putting up some new fences along the river on the Centre O ranch."

"Is that so?" asked Mr. Carson. "That's news to me, I wonder what that means?"

"Perhaps I can tell you," said Mr. Bellmore. "I have made some arrangements with Mr. Molick about water rights. He is going into the irrigation scheme with me. I really need him, as he owns certain patents in the water course. I meant to mention it to you, but it slipped my mind."

"So you are going in with Molick?" asked Mr. Carson, in a curious tone of voice.

"Yes. Is there any objection?"

"Well, I don't know but what there is," was the reply of the ranch owner. "Sit down, and I'll tell you a few things you ought to know, Mr. Bellmore."



CHAPTER XIV

A WARNING

Dave, who had heard what was said between Mr. Bellmore and the ranch owner listened with interest and expectation to what would come next. There was an odd manner about the proprietor of Bar U—a sort of constraint, and Dave fancied there was a little feeling, almost of hostility toward the man he had rescued from such a perilous position.

Up to now Mr. Bellmore had enjoyed to the utmost the hospitality of Bar U ranch. Mr. Bellmore had been made very welcome, and he had had every care and attention while unable to use his injured foot. Now it seemed that a spirit of hostility had cropped out.

"Before I go on to say what I intend to-to give you a warning in other words," said Mr. Carson, "let me ask you, Mr. Bellmore if you know why Molick is putting up new fences along the water course? I'd like to know the reason for that before I give you my warning."

"A warning!" exclaimed the irrigation man, and there was evident surprise manifested in his tone.

"Yes, a warning," repeated the ranch owner. "But please do not mistake my meaning. I'm not warning you of any threatened danger, but only of being careful what business dealings you have with Jason Molick, or any of his men."

"Oh, I thought you meant you were going to warn me to move on," and Dave fancied his friend laughed with an air of relief.

"Nothing like that yet," said Mr. Carson, smiling. "But about the fences, concerning which Pocus Pete spoke to me?"

"Well, I suggested to Mr. Molick that he'd better put them up," said Mr. Bellmore.

"You did!" There was great surprise manifested in the exclamation of Mr. Carson.

"Why, yes, I did"

"What for?" asked Mr. Carson.

"Of course you know that if land is allowed to go unfenced for twenty years—or for a longer or shorter period according to different states— that the land becomes public property, or at least the public has a right- of-way over it and it can not be closed off. I did not want, in case our irrigation company took up Mr. Molick's land, to have a public right-of- way over it, especially so near the water. It might spoil our legal title. So I told him to fence it in before we did any business."

"Then you haven't done any business yet?"

"Not actually closed it, no. I am about to, and then I hope to do some business with you."

Mr. Bellmore smiled frankly, but Mr. Carson's face was grave as he answered:

"Well, I don't know. I'm afraid you can't do business with both of us, Mr. Bellmore."

"Why not?" asked the Chicago man, somewhat surprised.

"Because Mr. Molick and I—to be frank about it—don't pull together any too well. I'm not saying whose fault it is, but he and I have been on the outs for some time, and his men are continually seeking to pick quarrels with my men. He has taken more than his share of the water that is supposed to be for our joint use, and when I objected he was very ugly about it."

I feel it my duty to warn you that if you have any business dealings with him to look well to your own interests. He will take every legal advantage, and some that, in my opinion, are not legal."

"You surprise me!" exclaimed Mr. Bellmore. "I did not know that he was that kind of man."

"Well, he is," put in Dave. "You mustn't think we cowpunchers are in the habit of giving our neighbors black eyes, Mr. Bellmore," went on the young cowboy, "but it is for your own interests that my father is speaking."

Dave did not hesitate at the word of relationship now. Mr. Bellmore did not know the secret.

"Oh, I think I understand," the water-man said. "I'm sorry I began negotiations with Molick, but I don't very well see how I can get out of them. I need his water rights."

"Perhaps he hasn't as many rights as you think he has," suggested Mr. Carson.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there's a dispute about the river boundary lines. I claim more water than I'm getting, but I'm not in a position to enforce my claims just at present. That is why I wanted to know about the fences. It may be that Molick is encroaching."

"I'd be sorry to hear that," Mr. Bellmore said. "When I told him to go ahead and fence in certain open tracts, so we would know just where the water boundaries extended, I had no idea I would cause you trouble, Mr. Carson."

"You haven't—yet," was the dry answer.

"And I don't intend to!" went on the Chicago man.

"Oh, if there's any trouble, I'll not lay it at your door," went on the ranch owner, smiling grimly. "It will be Molick who causes it, if anybody does. But I want, for your own good, to warn you against this man. He has done a lot of mean things in this section, and he is capable of doing more. He's as mean as they make 'em, and I truly hate to say that about a neighbor."

"Oh, I accept it in confidence," replied Mr. Bellmore.

"I know you do, and that's why I didn't hesitate. I thought it my duty," resumed the owner of Bar U ranch. "I've come to like you a heap since Dave brought you here. Seems almost as though you were kin to us. That's why I'd hate to see you wronged. And you surely will be outwitted if you don't watch Molick. He'd take the eye teeth out of a stuffed alligator if he wasn't watched, and sell 'em for watch charms. Dave knows him!"

"Oh, yes. He's made a lot of trouble for us," Dave assented.

"Well, I don't know exactly what to do," said Mr. Bellmore, slowly. "I have asked Molick to go ahead, and have practically promised to do business with him. I can hardly back out now. If I did he might begin suit against my company, claiming a breach of contract."

"He'd do that if he had half a chance," answered Mr. Carson. "But perhaps matters are not so bad as they seem. He's just begun to build the fences, so Pocus Pete says. It may not be too late to stop him. We'll take a run out that way to-morrow and see what's going on. Meanwhile, consider yourself warned against Jason Molick, Mr. Bellmore."

"I shall, and I thank you for telling me. I hope to do business with you, also, in this water matter."

"Well, if Molick has his way I won't have any water to negotiate about," said the ranch owner grimly. "However, we'll go and take a look at the fences to-morrow."



CHAPTER XV

RETALIATION

Benjamin Bellmore's injured foot was now so nearly healed that he had no difficulty in getting about on horseback. True, he had to favor the injured member somewhat, but that did not greatly hinder him; accordingly, early on the morning following the conversation of warning, the irrigation man, Dave, Mr. Carson and Pocus Pete set out across Bar U ranch to see what the Molicks were doing.

"Well, they're at it, I see," remarked Dave, as the little party topped a rise and saw, down in the river valley below them, a number of men erecting fence posts and stringing barbed wire.

"Yes, he doesn't lose any time, that's one thing I'll say for Jason Molick," answered the ranch owner.

Indeed Molick's forces were very active. They seemed to be in a hurry to get a certain length of fence up before night, and as Dave looked at the cowboys and others employed, he realized that the owner of Centre O ranch had called in from the distant parts of his holdings most of his employees and set them to work on the fence.

Nor was this all. Farther off another gang of men, with picks and shovels, seemed to be erecting a small dam, partially across a narrow part of Rolling River.

"Hello!" exclaimed Mr. Carson in surprise, as he saw their activities. "What does that mean?"

"It's some irrigation work," explained Mr. Bellmore. "Molick didn't believe me when I said that even a small dam would impound enough water to supply not only a good herd of cattle but would also water the dry land. So I told him to try it himself, and see how it worked. I thought if he had a practical demonstration he would be willing to go into the scheme with me. But that was before I had your warning," he added with a look at the ranchman.

"Hum, yes," said Mr. Carson, musingly. "Well, Molick has a right to do as he pleases on his own land, of course—at least I reckon so. But I don't like that business of putting a dam across part of the river."

"Why not?" asked Dave.

"He might shut off too much water," was the answer.

"That's so!" put in Pocus Pete. "Quite a bunch of our cattle depend for a drink on what they get from Rolling River, and we've got a lot of cattle below there now," and he pointed to a section south of that part of the valley in which the work was going on.

"Oh, well, we'll not cross a bridge until we come to it," said Mr. Carson. "I'll not assume that Molick is going to do anything wrong. But when he does," he added reflectively, "then he'd better look out."

"I hope I sha'n't have started a quarrel," put in Mr. Bellmore.

"Don't worry," laughed Dave. "It doesn't take much to start a quarrel with the Molicks. Maybe it'll not amount to anything, anyhow. Say, but he is putting up some fence all right!"

Indeed the operations were on a large scale, and seemed to indicate that the Molick outfit had made good preparations.

Mr. Bellmore seemed very thoughtful. He sat on his horse, looking at the work, for the starting of which he was, in a measure, responsible. Then he remarked:

"I think I'll get out of this while I can. I'm sorry I made any tentative proposition to Molick but there's time enough yet to withdraw. I'll tell him our irrigation company can't go into that water deal with him. Can I depend on you to make some arrangements with me, regarding your water rights?" he asked of Mr. Carson.

"Well, if you give me all the particulars, and I find them to be as you say, I wouldn't have any objections to going in," replied the ranchman slowly. "I surely do need more water for my cattle and land, and if irrigation, conservation, or whatever you call it, is going to bring it about, I'll be only too glad to go into it with you. Isn't that what you say, Dave?"

The youth hesitated a moment. He felt a warm glow in his heart that the man he had so long regarded as his father reposed this much faith and confidence in him, when the secret had been disclosed.

"Yes, Dad," said Dave, slowly, "I should think it would be a good thing to go in with Mr. Bellmore's company."

"I thought you'd say so. And now let's hear from Pocus Pete. I always like to let my foreman have a word to say," he added to the Chicago man.

"And I think you do right," was the comment.

"What's your idea, Pete?" asked Mr. Carson.

"Why, I say go into it! That is, if we can get away from Molick. I never did like the idea of him controllin' so much of Rollin' River. Now if we can have all the water of our own we want, so much the better. Go into it, I says!"

"Then it's decided," announced Mr. Carson. "We'll go in with you, provided you are not so tied up with Molick that you can't unfetter yourself"

"I think there's no danger of that," said Mr. Bellmore. "I only made a tentative arrangement with him." I'll go over at once and tell him I've reconsidered my plans."

"There he is now," said Dave, pointing to two figures on horses, riding down toward the Centre O workers.

"Yes, and that bully, Len, is with him," added Pocus Pete. "Do you want to turn back, Dave?" he asked with a mischievous glance.

"Indeed I don't!" was the quick reply, and the eyes of the young cowboy flashed.

Mr. Carson's land, at this point, extended down to the edge of Rolling River, where the stream made a sharp turn. On the opposite shore were the Molick workmen. And as Dave, the ranchman and the others rode forward, Jason Molick and his son also approached the stream from their side of it.

Len glanced up and looked at Dave, but gave no other sign. Probably he had not told of the drubbing he had received.

"Can I ride across here?" asked Mr. Bellmore of Mr. Carson, after a few minutes conversation, during which Jason Molick was inspecting the progress of his workmen.

"Yes, the river, is very shallow here. Go ahead! We'll wait for you. I don't want to go on his land."

The irrigation man left his friends and, crossing the stream on his horse's back, was soon approaching Mr. Molick.

"Well, how do you think we're coming on?" asked Len's father. "I took your advice, you see—I'm going in with you on this deal. I think it's a good one, I'm ready to sign the papers whenever you say so."

"Well—er—I don't want to disappoint you, after what has taken place, Mr. Molick," began the Chicago man in rather an embarrassed fashion, "but the truth of the matter is that I guess there won't be any papers to sign."

"No papers to sign! What do you mean?"

"I mean that the deal is off!"

"The deal off? You mean the irrigation scheme you agreed to go into with me?" and Mr. Molick's voice rose.

"Yes, that deal is off," went on the engineer. "You remember I only broached it to you. I did not clinch it. I pointed out its advantages to you, and you were eager to go in. I said I would talk to you later about it."

"And now you come and say you don't want to go into it with me?" asked Molick in sneering tones.

"Yes, that is a right I reserved, you remember."

"Huh! I know what has made him back out!" exclaimed Len.

"What?" asked his father.

"He's been talking to them!" and Len pointed to Dave and the others from Bar U ranch across the stream.

"Ha! So that's the game!" exclaimed Mr. Molick. "Well, I'll show you that two can play at it, Mr. Bellmore!" he sneered. "If you don't want to go into this scheme with me, after promising—"

"I never promised!" interrupted the other.

"Well, it was the same thing. But if you don't want to go in I can get along without you. I guess you'll find you're not the only one around here who knows about dams and irrigation ditches. I and my son have some brains. We'll show you a thing or two!"

"That's what we will!" boasted Len.

"I'm sure I don't wish to curtail your activities in any way," replied the Chicago man. "I hope you have all sorts of success. But I do not feel like going on with the scheme I outlined."

"Because, I suppose, you're going in with the Bar U folks?" suggested Len.

"I haven't said so," was the quiet retort.

"No, but I can read signs. Well, there's one thing I want to tell you!" Len went on in threatening tones. "I warn you off our land—you and the Carson bunch. And as for that Dave, if I catch him I'll give him the worst licking he ever had."

"Seems to me it was the other way around," retorted Mr. Bellmore, with a grim smile. "At least it was the last time you met."

"Huh!" snorted Len. "Well, tell him to look out, that's all!"

"I don't think there is any need of that," said Mr. Bellmore. "I think Dave can look after himself. But now I'll bid you good day."

"And don't you trespass on Centre O ranch again!" was Mr. Molick's warning. "I've seen enough of you."

Mr. Bellmore felt the same way about it, but did not think it necessary to say so.

He rode slowly back across the stream and rejoined his friends.

"Well?" asked Dave.

"It's all off," the Chicago man said. "I've ended negotiations with them, and I'm sorry I ever tried to do business. But it will be all right. They can do business in their own way, and we'll do ours as we please. I'll look into the irrigation possibilities on your property now, Mr. Carson. We'll not hear anything more from the Molick outfit."

But Mr. Bellmore failed to reckon on the mean characters of the Molick father and son. It was only a few days after this that one of the cowboys came riding post-haste to the ranch house. He dismounted in a cloud of dust, and seeing Dave and Mr. Carson standing together hurried toward them, calling out:

"Th' bottom must have dropped out of Rolling River. It's almost dry down below there, where I've got that bunch of fine cattle, and they can't get anything to drink. What are we going to do? Something must have happened to th' river."

"What can it be?" cried Dave. "Has an earthquake occurred, or has the river unexpectedly taken an underground course?"

"Neither one, I imagine," said Mr. Carson, slowly. "This is retaliation, I fancy. I'll go back with you Skinny, and see what has happened. But I'm sure it's retaliation."



CHAPTER XVI

UNAVAILING EFFORTS

Dave, who had heard this talk, leaped on the back of Crow, and followed Mr. Carson and the cowboy who rejoiced in the euphonious title of "Skinny."

"What do you mean by retaliation, Dad?" he asked. "Has it anything to do with the Molicks?"

"A whole lot to do with them, Dave, I'm afraid," was the reply.

"You mean they have diverted some of your water?"

"Some of it! Better say all of it!" exclaimed the disgusted Skinny. "There ain't enough comin' down Rollin' River, over where I come from, t' make a cup of coffee."

"As bad as that?" asked Mr. Carson in alarm.

"Well, almost. I got skeered and made up my mind I'd come and tell you about it."

"You did just right, Skinny. We may be able to get ahead of these chaps after all."

"I hope we can," murmured Dave.

Though Dave had seldom, for any length of time, lost sight of the fact that he was a "nobody," still he could not help feeling an interest in the ranch, which had been the only home he had known for a long time. In fact it was really the only home he knew, for he did not, of course, recall his days of babyhood. And now, though Dave knew that he was not Mr. Carson's son, though he realized that he might never inherit the broad acres over which roamed thousands of cattle, still he retained the feeling of loyalty and fealty that caused him to hope for the best.

"I wonder if I'll ever find my real folks," mused Dave, as he rode on with Mr. Carson and Skinny. "It's hardly possible, after all these years."

Over the rolling plains they rode, now and then catching sight of distant herds of cattle under the guard of cowboys, again gaining a view of the distant Centre O ranch. But they saw no sign of Molick or Len, nor could they catch, in the direction they were going, a glimpse of the place where the fence work and dam building had been going on.

A little later they topped another rise, and began to descend into a sheltered and fertile valley where Mr. Carson usually sent his choice cattle to fatten before shipping them to the dealers in Chicago and elsewhere.

As the three came within sight of this valley they saw a strange sight Instead of the cattle quietly grazing, with perhaps small bunches of them wandering now and then to the banks of the stream to get a drink, the whole herd seemed scattered along the water course. And instead of quietly drinking the cattle seemed fighting among themselves. Pushing, struggling, rearing with heads up against one another, bellowing and stampeding.

On the outside vainly rode two or three cowboys who were doing their best to keep the rearmost cattle from rushing over those in the front rank, who were nearest the water.

"What does it mean?" demanded Mr. Carson of Skinny, as he urged his horse forward. "What does it mean?"

"It's a stampede!" cried Dave. "Maybe Len is trying some of his mean tricks again."

"It's a trick, but it isn't any like that," said Skinny. "None of that Molick crowd is around here now."

"But what's the matter?" demanded the ranchman.

"Water—or, rather lack of water," said the cowboy briefly. "The cattle are half mad with thirst I expect. And I guess maybe it isn't so much of a real thirst as it is the fear that there won't be any water left after an hour or two. Cattle know more that way than we give 'em credit for."

"This is serious!" exclaimed Mr. Carson.

"I thought you'd think so. That's why I come for you," Skinny explained.

The three rode down the slope, the confusion among the cattle increasing every moment.

"What can you do?" asked Dave.

"Have to drive 'em over to the other range, there's water there, I should think," Mr. Carson answered. "That is, if Molick and his bunch haven't tried any of their tricks there."

"No, they can't stop the supply there," said Skinny. "It's only here, where the river takes a sharp turn above us, that they could cut off the supply."

"Then you think there's no question but that they did it?" as had Dave of Mr. Carson.

"Hardly any doubt," was the reply. "But of course I'll look into it. Watch out now, Dave. Those cattle are fairly wild, and I don't want you to be hurt."

The ranchman looked affectionately at the youth, and Dave felt a warm spot in his heart for the man who had done so much for him.

"I don't believe we can drive 'em back until they've licked up every last drop," said Skinny. "Then they'll know there's no use in stayin' and we may be able to do somethin' with 'em."

"Is it drying up as badly as that?" asked Mr. Carson.

"You'll soon see," was the answer.

Only skillful cowpunchers could have made their way through that maddened, seething, wild herd of cattle. But Dave, Mr. Carson and Skinny were more at home in the saddle than afoot. Their intelligent ponies pushed their way through the heaving mass of steers until the three of them stood on the brink of what had been a fair-sized branch of the Rolling River but a few hours before.

Now all that showed was a small, narrow ribbon of muddy water, in the clay-like expanse of what had been the bed of the original stream.

"Whew!" whistled Mr. Carson. "This sure is bad!"

"I should say so!" exclaimed Dave.

A sharp bend in the course of the stream above them cut off all but a very limited view. But, as far as they could see, the same conditions prevailed. There was only a small trickle of water. It was in the very middle, the lowest point of the stream, and up to the very edge of this the thirst-tortured cattle pressed, sinking down deep in the soft mud.

"We've got to get 'em out of that," declared the ranchman. "A lot of 'em will be mired if we don't."

"There are some mired now," said Skinny, pointing. "Ed and Foster are trying to yank 'em out."

He indicated two cowboys who, with ropes around the mired steers, were trying to drag them to solid ground. Other animals, though, were pressing in to make their way to the water.

It was a hot day, and bore a promise of being hotter. It needed but a glance to show that the water would soon fail entirely. And it was evident what had caused it. At some point, higher up, the supply had been cut off or diverted.

"Well," said Mr. Carson quickly, like a general on the field meeting a reverse, and deciding on the best way to save the day, "well, the only thing we can do is to get the cattle off this range. Take 'em over to the spring, Skinny-you and the rest of the boys. Fight 'em hard-it's the only way. I'll ride on up and see what's happened to our water supply. Dave, you ride back and get Mr. Bellmore. Maybe he can tell us a way out of this trouble. He's a water engineer."

Thus were the orders issued, and the cowboys and Dave prepared to carry them out. Hardly had Mr. Carson ceased speaking than Skinny rode off with a whoop to aid his fellows.

Dave watched for a moment as the cowboys prepared to move the herd of valuable cattle. It would be hard work to get them away from the water while a drop yet remained in the muddy pools. But it must be done, for if the steers were allowed to remain there many of them would be mired, and in the fight for water others would be trampled on and killed.

As Dave galloped back to the ranch to summon the irrigation engineer he saw Mr. Carson head his pony for the bend, above which was the beginning of the Centre O ranch.

Then the young cowpuncher gave a look at the strenuous efforts of the cowboys to move the maddened cattle.

"They'll have their own troubles," Dave reasoned. "I'll help them as soon as I get back."

He covered the distance to the ranch in record time, and found Mr. Bellmore busy over some calculations. The engineer was surprised to learn what had happened, and at once jumped on his horse and galloped off with Dave.

When they again reached the valley Mr. Carson had not yet returned from his trip to the bend, but the cattle were in a worse tangle than before. The cowboys efforts to drive them away from what was now nothing but a long mudhole, were unavailing.

"Something's got to be done!" cried Skinny. "We've lost some already, and more will die soon. We've got to get 'em away from here. But we can't as long as they smell even the mud. What's to be done?"

Dave looked gloomily on, but could not answer. Could the engineer solve the problem?



CHAPTER XVII

THE ROUND-UP

Again and again did the weary cowboys try to force the maddened cattle to move away from the now veritable mud hole, that they might drive them to another range where there was water for them to drink. But the steers, usually intelligent in this matter, seemed to have lost all their instinct. They only wanted to remain near the spot where they had been accustomed to drink.

"Say, this is fierce!" cried Mr. Bellmore.

"It certainly is," agreed Dave. "What can we do?"

"Let's see if we can't lend a hand to get the animals off, and on the move," suggested the engineer. "Those cowboys need help."

Skinny and his mates certainly did. They were almost exhausted from their strenuous labors,

But even with the experienced help of Dave, and the well-meant efforts of Mr. Bellmore, the cattle could not be moved. They fought for places at the edge of the stream-which was a stream no longer, but only a slough, in which more than one fine steer was now mired.

"It's of no use," said Skinny, wearily, after a bit. "You can't budge 'em! They'll have to die here."

"No they won't!" exclaimed the engineer.

"How are you goin' t' stop 'em?" asked another of the cowboys. "They can't get any water here, they won't leave, an' everybody knows that without water cattle can't live long."

"If we can't drive 'em to water we'll have to do the next best thing."

"And that is—" began Dave.

"Bring the water to them!"

"But how can we? The supply is cut off somewhere above. Dad went to see about it, but he hasn't come back yet."

"Then we'll go up there too. Something's got to be done. It may take desperate measures, but if the Molicks have built a dam, to divert your water from here, we'll have to open it; that's all."

"Will they let you?" asked Skinny, settling wearily in his saddle.

"We'll do it whether they let us or not!" exclaimed the engineer. "It's my fault, in a way, that they did this, for I pointed out the advantage it would be to them to have a dam, and I'll do my best to make good the trouble caused. Come on, Dave. Well ride up above and see what we can do. Meanwhile, you boys do your best to keep the cattle from stampeding. They won't let themselves be driven away, that's sure, so we've got to bring water to them."

"If we only can," murmured Cowboy Dave. He felt it to be a hopeless task.

Now that the cowboys had given over their efforts to drive the cattle away from the water-hole the beasts were quieter. Left to themselves, they scattered somewhat and sought for places where little pools might have formed, and where they could slake their thirst. It was not much water that remained, and the bellowings of the cattle, and their panting appearance as their parched tongues fairly hung from their mouths, filled the hearts of Dave and his friend with pity for the poor beasts.

"We haven't any time to lose," said Mr. Bell-more, as he urged his horse, Kurd, toward the bend of the stream. Dave, on Crow, followed, wondering what would be the outcome. Dave glanced back from time to time at the thirst-maddened cattle. Some of them forced their way into the muddy sloughs in spite of the desperate efforts of the cowboys to drive them back. Then it was necessary to try to pull them out by lariats attached to them, and extending to the horns of the saddles.

"Poor beasts!" murmured the young cow-puncher.

He and Mr. Bellmore had ridden for perhaps a mile when they saw a figure galloping toward them.

"Who's that?" asked the engineer, pulling up suddenly.

"Dad," answered Dave. "He rode up to investigate. He'll be able to tell us what happened."

"It's easy enough to guess," said Mr. Bellmore. "The Molicks have built an intercepting dam, to get even with you and me."

And this was exactly what Mr. Carson reported as he rode up.

"They've cut off our water supply," he called to Dave and the engineer. "They've made a board and mud dam right across the river, and turned the water onto their own land. They're making irrigating ditches now as fast as they can work."

"I suspected as much," Mr. Bellmore said, "Is the dam a very big or strong one?"

"Not especially so. But the water is low at this season of the year, and it doesn't take much of a dam to block it off from me. This dam is made of boards, banked up with clay and stones."

"Would it be easy to break away?" asked the engineer.

"Yes, I suppose so. But Molick will take precious good care that it doesn't break away, They're strengthening it all the while."

"Oh, I didn't suppose it would break away of its own accord," the engineer said. "I meant would we have much trouble in making a breach in it?"

"We?" cried Dave." Do you mean—"

"I mean that we've got to break that dam to save your cattle!" the engineer said. "It's the only way!"

"Break the dam!" murmured Dave. Yet his eyes sparkled at the thought.

"Yes," assented the irrigation engineer.

"But we can't do that," objected Mr. Carson. "It's on Molick's land, and if we go there, and start something, he'll fight us. He is a desperate man."

"And so ought you to be with your cattle dying of thirst," said Mr. Bellmore.

"I am, but—"

"There aren't any buts about it," declared the other." This is a desperate situation, and we'll have to meet it desperately. Morally, right is on your side, and I think it is legally, too. I've been looking into the records and titles of lands along this Rolling River and I find that you have not received all the water rights that belong to you, Mr. Carson. On the other hand Molick has taken more than his share.

"And there is no doubt that he had no right to build the dam in the way he has. He should have let some water come down to you. Now the only way to accomplish this is to make a breach in the dam. This will let your cattle drink."

"But if we do that—break the dam—he'll either fight us to prevent it, or he'll build it up again," Dave said.

"He may fight, but I doubt it. He was warned once before that he was exceeding his property rights, and he can't claim ignorance now. And while it is true that he may build the dam over again, after we cut through it, I don't so much care for that."

"A change will have to be made anyhow, but if you can get a little water, temporarily, to your cattle it will save them, and you can drive them to other ranges."

"Yes, I could do that," admitted the ranch-man.

"Then on to the dam!" cried the engineer, turning his horse as he spoke.

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Dave. "That's the way to talk!"

Urged on by the thought of the suffering cattle, the three made good speed to the place where the river turned. There, as Mr. Carson had seen a short time before, was the newly-built dam. A number of cowboys were about it, and Dave saw Len, his enemy.

"Are you game?" asked the engineer.

"I am!" exclaimed the ^ranchman.

Dave said nothing, but there was a flash in his eyes as he nodded his head that told more than mere words.

"You and I will go up and have a talk with them," suggested Mr. Bellmore. "Meanwhile Dave can ride and get some of your men, Mr. Carson. We'll need help if it comes to a fight, though I hope it won't. We'll make a formal protest first. Hurry, Dave, every minute may mean a steer's life."

Dave whirled his steed about and rode hard and straight for the nearest range where some of the Bar U men were guarding the cattle. Meanwhile Mr. Carson and the engineer crossed the stream below the dam, and rode toward the Centre O boys.

"Well, what do you want?" surlily demanded the young heir of the house of Molick. "This is private land, and no trespassers are wanted. Get off!" he snarled.

"We came on business," said Mr. Carson. "Where's your father?"

"I don't know. But he told me if you came on this land to order you off, and that's what I do!"

"Ordering and going are two different things," said the ranchman, with a grim laugh. "You've cut off my water down below, with this dam, and I order you to open it up. My cattle are dying from thirst. Open this dam!"

"Not much!" sneered Whitey Wasson, Len's crony.

"But I tell you my cattle are dying, man!" exclaimed Mr. Carson. "You know what it means to steers to be without water this kind of weather."

"You ought to have thought of that before you pastured them down there," sneered the cowboy.

"Then you refuse to open the dam?" asked Mr. Bellmore.

"We certainly do!" returned Len.

"Then you must take the consequences," said Mr. Bellmore, speaking solemnly. "You will be sued for the value of every animal that dies of thirst, as well as being obliged to pay heavy damages for the trouble you have caused. I know the situation of water rights in this valley, and I tell you that you are acting illegally. Now do you still refuse to open that dam?"

Len looked a bit frightened at this warning, but Whitey whispered to him, and the son of Jason Molick answered:

"Go on! We're not afraid. This dam is on our land and you can't touch it!"

At that moment a distant whoop sounded. Mr. Carson and the engineer looked around and saw a cloud of dust approaching. It soon resolved itself into Dave, leading a number of cowboys who bore picks and shovels—rather unusual implements for cowpunchers. On they came, hard-riding, singing and shouting, eager for the fray. They outnumbered the Centre O outfit.

"Well, since you won't open the dam, we'll have to do it for you," went on Mr. Bellmore. "Lively, boys!" he called, as Dave and his friends rode up. "Tear out the dam and let the water down where it ought to run. Lively now!"

"Don't you touch that dam!" screamed Len.

"Go on! I order you to tear it away!" said Mr. Carson to his men.

"Whoop!" they yelled in response, and a moment later, flinging themselves from their horses, they swarmed into the water and began the work of destruction.

Dave, Mr. Carson and the engineer looked anxious for a moment, feeling that the Centre O boys might put up a fight. But not a gun was drawn.

Perhaps the cowboys employed by the Molick outfit were disgusted with the tactics of their employer, when they heard the story of the thirst-dying cattle. No true cowboy would countenance that sort of thing. So they looked on idly while the Bar U men tore away the dam.

A little trickle of water came through, flowing down the course from which it had been diverted. Gradually it grew in volume until a gushing stream filled the muddy bed of the stream.

"That's what was needed," murmured Dave. "That will save our cattle."

"Stop it! Let that dam alone!" yelled Len, over and over again. But no one paid any attention to him—not even the cowboys of the Centre O. They only smiled and rolled cigarettes. Perhaps they were glad to see Len beaten.

But the bully and Whitey Wasson were whispering together, and soon they rode off at a gallop.

"They've gone to get the Old Man," said one of the Bar U cowboys.

"We don't care," Dave said. "Enough water has gone down now to save our cattle, and it will be some time before they can build up that dam again."

"That's right," agreed Mr. Bellmore. "You needn't try to save any of the boards," he added significantly to the cowboys who were destroying the obstruction.

And so he work went on, and when it had been accomplished the Bar U boys rode away to their usual tasks. For much remained to be done.

"We've got to get the cattle off that range," said Mr. Carson. "Molick will have that dam in place again as soon as he can, and it will be the same story over again."

"That's what he will," assented the engineer. "And though I think you could stop him by legal action, it would take so long that your cattle would die of thirst. The best way is to remove them, and fight him afterward."

The pent-up waters were now rushing down their accustomed channel, and when the cattle range was reached the steers were drinking their fill. Most of them had been saved, only a few died, but some choice ones were included in this number.

"And now for the big round-up!" exclaimed Mr. Carson, when the cattle, their thirst slaked, were willing to be driven on. "I'll move all my stock to some place where Molick can't kill them off. Then I'll fight him to the last ditch!"

"Hurrah!" cried Dave.

"Hurrah for the round-up I" yelled the cowboys. It meant hard work, but it meant excitement, too, and that was a large part of their lives.



CHAPTER XVIII

A MIDNIGHT BLAZE

Once the thirsty cattle had satisfied their longing for water, it was a comparatively easy matter to drive them from the temporary range where they had been sent to fatten. The river was running at its usual rate, but of course it could not be said how long this would continue.

"Len and his father will get busy and build that dam again," remarked Dave, as he and Mr. Bellmore, with Pocus Pete and the cowboys, herded the cattle together to drive them away.

"Yes, I suppose so, until we can take legal action against him," assented the water agent, who was rapidly learning the rudiments of cow-punching.

"And legal action is going to take a long time," said Mr. Carson. "I haven't done any more of it than I've had to in my life, but it is mighty slow action."

"But it is sure in the end," said Mr. Bellmore. "And I am positive that right is on your side."

"Well, we won't take any more chances with the cattle getting water here— at least for a while," said the ranch owner. "We'll make the main round-up while we're at it, and then we'll see what we can do. I'll sell off a big supply of steers, and that will mean less water will be required. Then I'll be in a better position to make a fight against Molick and his crowd."

"That's a good idea—reducing your cattle until the water matter is settled," the Chicago man said.

Talking and laughing among themselves, at the manner in which they had destroyed the dam, and let in the water to its former course, the cowboys rode along, driving the cattle. Not all who had been summoned for this work were needed to drive the steers, since they went willingly enough.

"So some of you had better ride on ahead to the ranch house, and get ready for the round-up tomorrow," said Mr. Carson. "There'll be busy times, then. And, too," he added in a low voice, "I rather want them around the place just at present."

"Why?" asked Dave.

"Oh, you never can tell what Molick will do," was the answer.

"You mean he might try to be revenged on you for opening the dam?" asked Mr. Bellmore.

"Something like that—yes. It wouldn't be the first time if a barn or bunk house or a pile of fodder should go up in smoke. Such things have occurred here."

"And was it never found out who did it?"

"Well, we had our suspicions. Almost always the one who suffered was on the outs with the Molick crowd."

"I think I'll ride back myself," Dave said. "I've got a few possessions I wouldn't like to have damaged,"

"I'll go with you," offered Mr. Bellmore. "There are some valuable papers on this irrigation scheme that I wouldn't like to lose, or see fall into the hands of strangers."

"Oh, I don't really believe there is any danger," went on Mr. Carson. "I was just taking the utmost precaution. But ride on if you want to, Dave. We can handle the cattle all right now, and I want to talk to Pocus Pete about the round-up."

So Dave and his friend rode on ahead, following some of the cowboys who had been summoned to tear away the dam. Now that the excitement was over Dave felt a little reaction, which generally follows high tension. As Dave looked at the young man riding beside him he could not help contrasting their two positions.

"I guess he knows all right who he is," mused Dave. "No worrying about his father and mother or about his future. As for me, I don't know whether I'm a rag-picker's son, or whether I came from a millionaire's family."

Yet, as he thought it over more soberly, Dave could not help thinking that he must have had as parents persons in that broad, and altogether desirable, middle class.

"If they were millionaires they would hardly have been living in a small Missouri town," reasoned the young cowboy, "and if I came from rag-picker ancestors I'd have had on such ragged clothes that Mr. Carson would have noticed that and spoken of it. And that reminds me. I must ask him about the clothing I wore, and about how old I was. Maybe he kept the garments, and they might form a clew. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll ask Mr. Carson about it."

To himself Dave always thought of the ranchman as "Mr. Carson," though when he spoke he called him "Dad," for he did not want strangers to surmise concerning the secret, nor did he wish to hurt the man who had been a father to him.

"Anything wrong?" Inquired Mr. Bellmore, as they cantered along.

"Wrong? No. Why?" asked Dave, looking up suddenly.

"Why you're as glum as an owl, and as silent as one of these prairie dogs," went on the engineer. "You haven't said a word for over a mile. Is something troubling you?"

"Yes—that is, no I" exclaimed Dave. "I was—just thinking"

"Oh, I could see that," returned the other with a laugh. "Well, if it's anything about this water business, don't worry. Molick and his crowd may bother your father for a time, but Bar U ranch will win out—I'm sure of it!"

"I hope so," murmured Dave. "They're a mean crowd, though," and he thought of the cowardly taunt of Len Molick—the taunt which had first given him the clew to his lack of identity.

"Well, I'll do all I can for you and your father," went on the engineer. "I owe a great deal to you both. In fact I am convinced that I owe my life to you."

"Oh, pshaw!" deprecated Dave.

"Yes, that's a fact," went on Mr. Bellmore. "I might have lain caught there in that gully until I died, for it is a lonely place."

"Yes, that's true enough," agreed Dave.

"And so, in a small way, I'm going to do all I can to repay you," said the Chicago man. "I know something about water rights, irrigation and title deeds to streams, even if I'm not much on the cowpunching," he added with a smile, "and such knowledge as I have is at your service."

"Well, I'm sure we'll appreciate it—dad and I," said Dave. "Now let's try a little run. Crow is just spoiling for a good gallop, and the way from here home is as fine a track as you'd want."

Calling to his horse, Dave set him at a gallop, being followed by Mr. Bellmore on Kurd, and the two indulged in an impromptu race, reaching the ranch house at the same time.

"Hi there, Hop Loy!" called Dave. "Grub ready?"

"Alle same leady velly soon," said the amiable Chinese, with a cheerful grin, "How you like plan-cakes?"

"Plan-cakes strike me as about right; don't they you, Mr. Bellmore?"

"I should say they would be eminently fitting and proper," returned the engineer with a laugh.

Presently there were busy scenes being enacted at Bar U ranch as the cowboys came in from their various stations, including those men who were with Mr. Carson, driving in the cattle that had been in such danger.

"Grub" in other words, supper, was served, a prodigious number of "plan- cakes" being consumed. But far from being annoyed, Hop Loy was pleased the more the boys ate. His shrill voice, singing a Chinese song, rose higher and higher as he toiled in his kitchen, baking stack after stack of the brown cakes.

"Velly much glood eat!" he exclaimed with a grin.

"Hop, you're all right!" cried Pocus Pete.

"Your pig-tail is safe with us!" declared Tubby Larkin, as he passed his plate for more cakes.

Preparations for the round-up were made that night, and the real work began next morning. A round-up on a cattle ranch, as I suppose you all know, means just what the word implies. A rounding up, or bringing together, of all the beasts, that a count may be made and some disposed of.

When the cattle roamed freely about the plains there was an intermingling of herds, and the only way one man could tell his "critters" from those of his neighbor, was by the brand marks on their flanks, or cuts in the ears. Of course in later years when there were more fences, the work became easier.

In the round-up the calves born since the last accounting are branded, and cattle matters generally are straightened out, and settled for the ensuing year.

And this was the work that Dave and his cowboy friends did. The main object of having it done now at the Bar U ranch was to provide for the water contingency. Mr. Carson realized that Molick would probably soon again shut off a portion of his supply.

"And if I can't get enough water for all my cattle I'll have to keep a smaller number until the tangle is straightened out," said the ranchman, "I'll sell off while I have the chance, and buy later in the fall."

These were busy times. From distant ranges the cattle were driven in. Those needing branding were "cut out," or separated from the rest of the herd. With skillful throws of their ropes Dave and the others would lasso the creatures, throwing them and holding them to the ground, while another cowpuncher, with an iron made hot in a hastily built fire, imprinted on the flank of the unbranded cow or steer the device of a letter U with a straight bar across it. This marked the animal as Mr. Carson's.

Riders dashed here and there, shouting, yelling, now and then laughing, and occasionally firing off big revolvers to turn some refractory steer.

The dust-cloud was thick over everything. It coated the faces of the cowboys until they appeared to be wearing masks. Now and then one of them would have a fall, but seldom with any serious results.

It was work, toil, sweat, ride hard, gallop here and there, yell, shout, leap, stumble, fall and get up again. And gradually something like order came out of the chaos.

Over at the chuck wagon Hop Loy stood ready to serve a hasty lunch whenever it was called for. Water, thickened with oatmeal, or made spicy with vinegar and ginger, "switchel," as it is called, served to quench the thirst.

"Well, I guess we have 'em pretty well where we want 'em," said Dave, at the close of the day. "Pretty good round-up; eh, Dad?"

"Yes, but it isn't over yet," was the answer. Mr. Carson cast a look at the sky. All his cattle were now gathered in one immense herd, branded, and ready for division during the following few days. A large number would be shipped away, and others would be scattered over the ranch on ranges where the water supply could not be tampered with by Jason Molick.

"Thinking of a storm?" asked Mr. Bellmore, for a midnight storm will sometimes stampede a bunch of cattle more quickly than anything else.

"Well, I don't like the look of the sky," the ranchman said. "But it may blow over."

Night on the prairies. Night, with a great herd of cattle to be looked after. The cowboys rode slowly around the immense herd, singing their own peculiar songs. Some claimed that the cattle were quieter if they heard singing.

"Though th' way some of those fellers howl is enough t' give any self- respectin' cow critter th' nightmare," declared Pocus Pete.

"Go on! You're just jealous 'cause you can't warble!" said Skinny.

Gradually those who were not on night duty rolled themselves up in their blankets and forgot the cares of the day in heavy slumber. Dave lay near Mr. Carson and Mr. Bellmore. But for some reason or other the young cowboy could not sleep. He stared up at the stars which had been dim, but were now quite bright.

"I don't believe we're going to get a storm," mused Dave.

He arose to get a drink of water, thinking perhaps this change might bring slumber. As he stood for a moment, after quenching his thirst, he gazed over the great dark mass of slightly moving cattle. He heard the distant songs of the cowboys. And then, suddenly, Dave saw something else. It was a glow off to the west-a red, dull glow that nearly caused his heart to stop beating.

"That's a fire!" he murmured. For a moment he thought of the ranch buildings, but an instant later he knew it was in the opposite direction.

The glow increased. It lighted the sky. Dave sprang toward the place where the ranchman slept.

"Fire! Fire!" he cried. "The prairie is on fire!"



CHAPTER XIX

FIGHTING FIRE

The cry of fire at any time, is a dreadful one to hear. Whether it be in the crowded city, or in the lonely country; whether on board a ship on the heaving ocean, or an alarm given where factory workers are assembled; it is fearsome, always.

And though Dave and his friends were out on the great, open prairies, where the fire might have full sweep without ever coming near them, yet the cry of the young cowboy roused all instantly.

For fire on the prairies means more than would at first seem, and when a herd of cattle is in its path it is a warning that must be heeded at once if one would save the stock.

If there is not actual danger from the fire itself, there is the risk of its stampeding the cattle causing them to make a mad rush in which many will be killed.

"Fire! Fire!" yelled Dave, but his first cry was enough. All the sleepers jumped to their feet, and an echoing cry came from the cowboys who, on the far side of the herd of cattle were riding around them to keep them from straying.

As yet the animals had not taken the alarm. They could not smell the fire, for it was too far away, and the dull, distant glow in the west, as yet, meant nothing to them.

Nor had Dave's cries, and the answers thereto, given them any alarm. They were accustomed to the shouting and yelling of the cowboys day and night, and a little more or less of this noise did not startle them.

"Fire did you say, Dave?" cried Mr. Carson, as he shook his blanket from him.

"Yes, Dad. Over there!"

Dave pointed to the glow. It was brighter now.

"Yes, it's a fire sure enough," was the ranchman's remark. "And traveling fast, too."

"Wind's blowing her this way," remarked Pocus Pete, who had joined the two." Got t' get busy, boys." That last to the cowboys who were now up, ready for business.

"A prairie fire!" cried Mr. Bellmore. "How are you going to fight it?"

"There are only two ways," said Pocus Pete. "By plowing, or by firing a strip so wide that the main fire can't cross. We won't have time to plow. We've got to fight fire with fire. Come on, boys."

"Oh, if we only had water!" murmured the engineer.

"It wouldn't do us much good," said the ranchman. "When that fire gets here it will be a mile or more wide, and no hose would reach that far."

"That's right," chimed in Dave. He had not seen many prairie fires, but he knew something of their danger. "I guess we'll have to back fire. Though we could send for some plows, Dad"

"Yes, and I think I'll do that," the ranchman said. "The wind may shift, and I'd feel better if I had some plowed furrows between that blaze and my cattle."

Plowing and burning a strip are the two principal methods used in fighting prairie fires. The dry grass of the plains, when it starts to burn, goes like tinder. If it can be done in time, it is often effective to light another fire in front of the one that is rolling forward. This consumes the grass on which the flames feed, and when they reach that spot there is nothing for them to burn. And if one stands on the area burned he will be comparatively safe. Of course care must be taken not to get singed in the back-fire.

Another method is to plow the ground, turning the dried grass under, and leaving only the bare earth exposed. If a strip can be plowed wide enough the fire can not leap over it.

"Lively now, boys!" called Mr. Carson. "Dave, you go over and help keep the cattle from stampeding. Keep 'em milling." This means keeping the animals going around and around in concentric circles, like a mill wheel. When they can be made to do this they seldom break and run wild.

"Oh, Dad! Let me go to fight the fire!" pleaded the youth.

"All right. Only take care of yourself," was the caution.

"I'll go and help the boys mill the cattle," offered the water engineer. "I believe I can do that."

"I think so, though it isn't going to be an easy task," said the ranchman.

The glare of the distant fire was now brighter, and a dull roar could be heard. The cattle seemed to be aware of the danger, and it required hard work on the part of the punchers to keep them from breaking. With shouts and yells, with lashings from their shortened lariats and with shots from their heavy revolvers the punchers did manage, however, to keep the creatures in a compact mass.

Some cowboys, leaping into the chuck wagon, had started to drive to the ranch buildings to bring back plows and plow horses. They might, if they were lucky, return in time to help in keeping back the flames.

But the main fighting force, which Dave joined, rode straight toward the onrushing flames in the desperate endeavor to fight fire with fire. They would need to reach a spot, though, where the wind was blowing away from them and the cattle, and toward the main blaze. Such places can often be found in the rolling prairie, with its many glades and swales. Then, too, the heat of the big fire often creates a vacuum, or back draft, causing air to rush in toward the leaping flames, and making a wind blow toward them that will carry with it the fire started to offset the menacing one.

"Here's a good spot!" exclaimed Pocus Pete at length. "Scatter along here, boys, and set the grass ablaze."

Leaping from the backs of their ponies, the cowboys gave the reins into the hands of one of their number to hold, for the horses could not be trusted to stand alone with the fire coming ever nearer them. And without their mounts the cowboys would be lost.

The spot where the party now found itself was down in a little depression, or swale, and the wind was blowing away from them and toward the main conflagration.

"Light, boys!" cried the foreman, as he struck a match and applied it to a bunch of dried grass that made a rude torch. The others, including Dave, did the same. Soon little spurts of flame in the grass showed where the contending fire was started.

"Watch it now, boys!" Pocus Pete warned them. "If you see it starting to creep back on you swat it out. Take your blankets, and see if you can't find a water hole. Sozzle your blankets in that and swat the blaze if she starts to run back on you."

A spring, or, rather a mud-hole that passed for one, was found, and in this the blankets were wet. Then, as the contending fire burned onward, some little tongues of flame crept back toward the spot where the cattle had been left These were "swatted" with the wet blankets as fast as seen.

"Well, she's going!" cried Dave, as he saw the fire they had set to fight the other leaping onward as though to meet the blazing enemy. "That ought to burn a safety strip."

"If th' wind doesn't turn," murmured Pocus Pete. "If th' wind doesn't turn."

Anxiously now they waited, looking the while to see that no stray sparks set a fire behind them. Dirty, dusty, choking and smoke-begrimed, the cowboys fought the oncoming fire. Back of them their comrades worked hard to hold in check the frightened cattle, while others were racing back with the plowing outfit.

And off to the west glowed, roared and crackled the menacing prairie fire.



CHAPTER XX

THE CHASE

"Lively boys! Swat it out! Farther off to the left there, Skinny!"

"All right, Pete! I get you!"

"Dave, there's a flicker behind you. Swat it out!"

"Out she goes!" answered the young cowboy.

"Tubby, step along with a little more life!" the foreman cried. "Th' fire'll git yo' if yo' don't watch out!"

"I'm goin' along as fast as I can, Pete."

"Well, move faster. We've got to beat this fire!"

Thus with friendly gibes and taunts Pete kept his men at work. The fire was coming nearer, but the burned strip was widening too, and soon would be too broad for the flames to leap over.

They would separate, of course, and travel down on either side of the charred section, but the cattle might be saved.

Up and down the length of the line of fire they had started to offset the other, keeping well back of it, and watching that no stray sparks or wisps of burning grass got behind them, Dave and his comrades worked hard. The immediate danger seemed to have passed, but a shift in the wind might come at any time, and render their task futile.

"A little more, boys, and we'll call it done!" exclaimed the foreman, wiping his grimy, sweaty face on his sleeve. It did not greatly improve his countenance, however.

Dave and the others lengthened the line of back-fire, and then, seeing that they had burned a strip sufficiently wide to make it comparatively certain that the oncoming fire would not leap over it, they turned back to help plow the furrows, or to keep the cattle in order and from stampeding.

Leaping on their snorting ponies the cowboys rode back, leaving behind them two fires where before there had been but one. But soon the two would merge into one, leaving a broad, blackened barren strip, that contained no fuel for the flames.

"It's lucky we struck that swale where the wind blew in the other direction," Dave remarked.

"Mighty lucky," assented Pocus Pete.

Of course where a strong wind is blowing a prairie fire toward one, another method of escape can be taken. If there is time a fire can be started where one is standing. The wind will carry it in the same direction as that in which the main blaze is advancing, but ahead of it. Then, as the grass is burned off, and the ground cools, one can follow the second fire, getting far enough in toward the center of the area one has burned to be safe. But this method can not be used where the second fire would consume buildings or cattle, as would have been the case here.

"How'd you make out?" demanded Mr. Carson, as Dave and the others, smoke- begrimed and weary, rode up.

"All right. There's a big burned patch between us and the fire now," said Pocus Pete. "Have the plows come?"

"Not yet"

"Hark!" exclaimed Dave. "What's that?"

A thunder of hoofs could be heard, thudding on the ground.

"The cattle—a stampede!" gasped Tubby Larkin.

"No, it's the boys coming back with the plow outfit," said Dave. "I can hear the rattle of the wheels on the chuck wagon."

And his guess proved correct. A little later the wagon rumbled up. Led along behind it were a number of horses kept for use on the farm that was attached to the ranch. The animals were quickly hitched to the plows— several of them—and then began the turning over of a number of damp furrows of earth, which would offer no food for the flames.

The fire was increasing, for it found much dry material on the sun-baked prairie. It had not yet reached the strip that had been burned to stop it. Would it pause there, and divide? Or would it still come on toward the cattle?

Those were questions each one was asking.

The cattle were becoming more and more excited as the sky was lighted more brilliantly by the bright glare. The smell of fire and smoke was in the air, and the crackle and roar of the flames sounded louder. The cattle heard and were afraid.

"Come, Dave!" called Pocus Pete. "Guess we'll find our work cut out for us over there now. They won't need us to help with the plowing."

Indeed the cowboys in charge of the cattle had their hands full. Every now and then some steer would make a break, and if he were not quickly turned and driven back it meant that others would follow. Quick action was required.

And while the men selected for that work attended to the turning over of the brown earth, Dave and the others, under the direction of Pocus Pete kept the cattle from stampeding.

The prairies were now as well lighted as at early dawn. In fact with that dull, red glare over everything, it was not unlike a dawn—the dawn that brings a storm in its wake.

The roar of the fire sounded like distant thunder, and there was a smoky taste to the air, which was hot and stifling.

"Look out for that fellow, Dave!" called the foreman, as a big steer made a break for liberty.

"I'll get him!" shouted the young cowboy, as, whirling his lasso in readiness he spurred after the animal.

As Dave rode on, another steer, thinking perhaps to take advantage of the distraction, started out after the first one, and directly behind Dave. With lowered head the animal took after the horse and rider, seemingly with the intention of trying to overthrow them.

"Look out, Dave!" yelled Mr. Bellmore. "He'll toss you!"

The engineer sent his horse on the run toward Dave, but it is doubtful if the Chicago man could have done anything, not being an expert in handling the rope.

But Skinny had seen Dave's danger, and with a yell he took after the second steer. An instant later his lasso had settled over the animal's head, and as the pony stopped short, and braced back, the steer fell, his feet kicking in the air.

Dave himself was not aware of what had happened, so intent was he on driving back the brute he was after. And it was not until he had done this, and looked back, seeing the prostrate creature, that our hero was aware of what had happened. Then he understood at once.

"Thanks, Skinny," he said, pantingly.

"Don't mention it," replied the other. He shook free his rope, and the steer, now subdued, and tractable, rose to his feet and went back to the herd.

It needed every effort and attention on the part of the cowboys to keep the cattle from stampeding, but they managed to do it. The fire came on, halted at the burned strip, hesitated as if considering a leap across, and then divided, rolling down either side of the bare strip.

"That does the trick," said Mr. Carson. "I guess we've saved our stock."

"And we didn't need the plowed strip after all," Dave said, for, so far, the blaze had not approached within danger-distance of the herd.

"Well, it isn't over yet," said the ranch owner. "That fire still has plenty of ginger in it, and the wind may shift any minute. Dave, you worked well!"

"Oh, no better than any of the others."

"Yes you did! You worked well, and I shan't forget it But I'd like to know how this fire started. No cowman would be so careless with matches when he knows how dry it's been. And I don't believe lightning set it. I'd like to know how it started."

"So would I," said Dave, "and I think I'll investigate."

"How? Where?" asked the cattleman.

"Why, I'll go over there where the fire started. I may be able to learn something."

"Better take one of the boys with you," Mr. Carson cautioned him. "That's in the direction of Molick's ranch, and they may be in a bad humor. Take some one with you."

When Dave's intention was made known Pocus Pete and Mr. Bellmore offered to accompany him. Dave was glad to have them.

They rode over the blackened, scarcely-cooled area, there being light enough from the distant flames to enable them to see well. But there was nothing to observe—that is at first.

Finally, however, as they went on, Dave gave a sudden exclamation.

"What is it? "asked the engineer.

"Hush! Not so loud!" was Dave's caution. "Don't you see some one crouched down in the grass there, lighting matches?"

The other two looked to where he pointed. They did indeed see a dark figure. Suddenly it became plain, and the three saw some one stooping over in the dry grass, setting fire to it with matches.

"The scoundrel!" cried Mr. Bellmore. "Who is he?"

"I don't know, but we'll soon find out," said Pocus Pete, grimly. "Come on, boys!"

He spurred forward, followed by Dave and Mr. Bellmore. The person in the grass heard them, and, leaping to his saddle, leaving the little blaze to grow, he was off at a gallop. But Dave and his two friends chased on after him.

"Looks like he was the very man we want," murmured Pocus Pete.



CHAPTER XXI

THE ESCAPE

"What about that fire?" asked Mr. Bellmore, as he galloped on beside Dave.

"I don't know," was the doubtful answer. "What do you say, Pete?"

"What's that?" called back the foreman, his eyes never leaving the dim figure that was racing on ahead.

"The fire he started," replied Dave. "Won't it eat back to the cattle?"

"It may. But they've got enough men to fight it now, and the plowed strip will stop almost any blaze. Come on, we want to get that skunk!"

"Do you think he set the big fire, Pete?"

"I don't know what to think, I'm goin' to catch him first!" was the grim reply. "I'll do my thinkin' afterward."

The glow of the big fire was dying away now. One reason for this was that the blaze was working its way behind a range of hills. Another was found in the coming of the dawn, the fire paling before the glow of the rising sun.

Dave gave a look back at the blaze in the grass he had seen started by the crouching figure. The flames were spreading in the dry, tinder-like grass, and for a moment Dave was worried. Then he reflected that the cowboys who were with the herd ought to be able to handle it, and, as Pete had said, the plowed strip would act in the same manner as had the burned area.

"We've got to take a chance," murmured Dave, "and it can't be a much worse chance than the one we took earlier in the night. And we must get that fellow!"

It would be the worst possible procedure to leave loose in the country so desperate a character as one who would deliberately start a prairie fire. He could do untold damage.

"I wonder who he is?" mused Dave. Yet in his heart he had an answer ready. "Some of the Molick crowd," he whispered. "Their ranch would be safe with the wind blowing the way it does now, and they must know it would send the fire right down on us. It was the Molick crowd, I'll wager a hat!"

He hurried on with the others. Dawn was breaking rapidly now. It seemed scarcely more than a few minutes since Dave saw that glow in the midnight sky, yet it was several hours. But so crowded had they been with work and worry that it seemed hardly more than one—or, at most, a few minutes.

The figure ahead was riding desperately to escape.

"He's got a good horse critter," observed Pete, admiringly. He could admire even an enemy's mount.

"Yes, but he can't keep up that speed," said Mr. Bellmore." And our animals are fresh."

This was true, as during the fire-fighting the ponies of the Bar U ranch had been able to rest. Now they were fresh for the chase that was on. And a fierce chase it was.

Setting a prairie fire, when the person who did it could not but know it would eat its way toward a bunch of cattle, was a crime not far from horse stealing, than which there is no blacker offense in the West, where a man's life depends on his horse. And the person who was riding thus desperately away must have known, or at least feared, that quick vengeance would be dealt out to him.

"Th' skunk!" muttered Pete, as he and the others swept on. "Th' mean, onery skunk!"

Up came the sun from below the horizon, shining red in the smoke-filled air—red and dim, like some great balloon. The morning was hot with the heat of the fire, and it would soon be warmer and more depressing from the heat of the sun's rays.

"It's a good thing dad has his cattle where there's some water for them," said Dave.

"Yes," agreed Pete. "There isn't much, but it's better than being over at the other place, where Molick and his crowd can cut us off altogether."

"If worst comes to worst, and he's built up that dam again," said the engineer, "we'll go and tear it down once more."

"That's what we will," Pete said. "I'm not going to lose the cattle for want of some water, when we saved 'em from the fire."

Dave was about to make a remark, when he gave a cry of surprise instead.

"What's up?" asked Pete.

"Look! If that isn't Len Molick I'll eat my rope!" cried the young cowpuncher. "Len Molick started that fire!"

"It's him all right," agreed Pete, after an instant's glance.

The figure racing on ahead so desperately had turned for a moment in the saddle, and this turning gave a view of his face. Dave had seen it was his enemy—the enemy who had taunted him with his lack of knowledge concerning his birth and parentage.

"And we've caught him with the goods," remarked Pete, indulging in the slang which meant so much. "He'll go to jail for this."

"If we catch him," suggested Mr. Bellmore.

"Oh, we'll get him," declared Pete. "Come on here you cayuse you!" he called merrily to his mount.

But alas for Pete's hopes. Whether the extra burst of speed was more than his horse could respond to, or whether in the excess of his zeal Pete forgot his usual caution probably would never be known.

But the fact of the matter was that his horse Stepped into the burrow of a prairie dog, and, a moment later, the foreman went flying over the head of his steed, landing on the soft grass some distance away.

Dave and Mr. Bellmore pulled up at once, but they had hardly done so before Pete leaped to his feet.

"Ride on I Ride on!" he yelled. "Don't mind me. Get that skunk!"

"But you may be hurt!" Dave called.

"Hurt? No, not a bit! I'm all right!"

"What about the horse?" asked the engineer.

The animal had picked himself up, and walked with a limp toward his master, for Pete had trained him well.

"Poor brute's got a twisted shoulder—I'll have to ride him slow after I rub him down," Pete said, mournfully enough. "I can't make any kind of speed on him. Ride on, you fellows! Don't let that skunk get away!"

It was the law and custom of the range. When a chase was on, if one failed and fell behind, the other, or others, must keep going. It was a hard law, but life on the range was not easy, nor was it one for children.

"All right!" called Dave, recognizing the necessity for prompt action. "We'll get him!"

"And watch out for him," Pete warned them. "He'll be desperate if he finds you're closing in on him."

"We'll watch out," said Mr. Bellmore.

Again he and Dave dashed on, leaving Pete to minister to his injured horse. The foreman at once proceeded to rub vigorously the strained shoulder with a bunch of grass. His steed winced it the pain, but seemed to know it was for its own good.

"I'll have to go back," Pete said, mournfully. "But I hope they catch that skunk!"

It was the meanest name he could think of to call Len Molick.

The chase was resumed. Pete's accident had cost Dave and his companion some precious moments and they had lost distance. But they felt that, eventually, they must win. For their horses were fresher than was the mount of the youth who had set the fire, and already they had appreciably lessened the distance between them.

Len's horse had shown a wonderful burst of speed at first, and he had secured a quick start.

"But it won't do him any good," said Dave. "We'll have him ridden down in ten minutes more."

"I hope so," murmured Mr. Bellmore, "Why. Can't Kurd stand it?"

"Oh, yes, but I'm afraid I can't. This is more riding than I've done since I had my accident, and my ankle is paining me."

"Say, you drop out," Dave urged him. "I can manage Len all right."

"Indeed I'll not drop out! I'm going to stay in to the finish, but I'll be glad when it comes. This Western life is, indeed, rough and ready, Dave."

"Then you're not a Westerner by birth?"

"No, I came from the East. I'll have to tell you my story some day. It's rather a curious one."

Dave reflected that his own was, also, but he was not so sure he wanted to tell it. Every day had increased his admiration for Mr. Bellmore, but there are some facts that we keep even from our best friends.

They were on a downward slope now, and the going was better. Slowly but surely they were overtaking Len. Now and then he glanced back over his shoulder, as if to measure the distance separating him from his pursuers.

"Do you think he'll shoot?" asked Mr. Bellmore.

"He may," said Dave, calmly. "He's a big enough bully to do so, but he's the worst shot you ever heard of. I really believe he's afraid of a gun."

"Still, sometimes those chaps make a bull's-eye out of pure luck."

"We've got to take the chance," Dave said. "Keep well down on your horse's neck."

But Len showed no intention of drawing a weapon. Probably it was all he could do to manage his now fast-tiring steed.

Suddenly the stillness of the morning was broken by a prolonged shrill screech.

"What's that?" cried Mr. Bellmore.

"Railroad train," said Dave. "The line passes just below us. You can see the smoke of the train in a minute. There she is—a fast freight. Whistled because they're going to stop for water I guess. Yes, there she goes up to the tank."

Down below them they could see the crawling freight. As they watched they saw it draw up to the tank and stop. Water poured into the tender of the engine.

"Why, look at Len! He's riding straight for the freight!" cried Dave.

"That's what he is," echoed Mr. Bellmore. "Maybe he's going to take it!"

"If he does—" murmured Dave.

They spurred on, but were too far away. A moment later they saw Len leap from his horse, abandon the creature, and jump on one of the freight cars. The engine whistled, started off and rapidly gathered speed, taking Len away from his pursuers.

"Well, if that isn't tough luck!" bitterly said Dave, as they pulled up. Len had escaped. There was no use in chasing the fast freight.



CHAPTER XXII

TANGLES

Sitting astride his tired horse Dave looked lung and earnestly at the fast-disappearing freight, as it went around a bend in the hills. He could not see Len, but he knew the young bully was aboard.

"Well, you're gone now, but there'll come a time when you may want to come back," mused Dave. "And when you do, I'll get you. I think you started the big fire, but I'll give you a chance to prove you didn't."

He sat there musing for a while longer. The freight was out of sight now but there came to his ears, faintly through the heavy morning air, the sound of the distant puffing. And he could see the trail of smoke.

"Smoke! Ugh!" exclaimed Dave. "I've seen enough, and smelled enough, in the last few hours to last me a year!"

His eyes smarted from the acrid fumes of the burning prairie grass, and his mouth was parched.

"Guess you must want a drink too, Crow," said Dave aloud, and his horse whinnied as though understanding. Dave saw Len's horse, which the young rascal had abandoned, taking a long drink from a pool that had formed under the railroad tank.

Dave's horse needed no urging toward the inviting water and soon both master and beast were drinking deeply. Dave also plunged his head down in a puddle and soused his arms and hands in it.