PROFESSOR DUKE’S SECRET
The girls had already returned from the woods and met Uncle Hans, as they called him.
“I got somet’ing by mine trunk in for you young ladies,” said Hans Mueller, with a broad smile. And later on when his trunk arrived he presented each of them with a bottle of the highest grade of olives. He also had some olives for Mrs. Powell, for use on the table.
“I import dem olives myself alreatty yet,” he vouchsafed. “Nopody by Chicago has olives half so goot.”
“I knew you’d be surprised to see Uncle Hans here,” declared Songbird Powell. “And I knew an outing on the ranch would do him a world of good. He has been confining himself too closely to business since he got back from the war.”
“It was grand of you, Uncle Hans, to fight for Uncle Sam,” declared Martha.
“And vhy, I like to know?” demanded Hans Mueller. “Since I come by der United States over I been just such a goot American like anypody.”
“That’s the way to talk, Uncle Hans!” cried Jack, and slapped him on the shoulder.
The next day the young folks took great pleasure in showing Hans Mueller around the place.
“He vas chust like a farm, only different,” remarked the delicatessen man. “Dot iss a nice lot of cows you got, Songpird. I dink dos cows vould make apout a million pounds of frankfurters, not?” and at this remark there was a general laugh.
A few days later Jack noticed that Songbird Powell seemed to be worried over something. The owner of Big Horn Ranch held an earnest consultation with Joe Jackson, and then the foreman of the ranch rode off in hot haste, accompanied by two of his cowboys.
“What’s the matter—is something wrong?” questioned Jack of Spouter.
“Four of our best horses are missing,” answered Spouter. “The men are not sure whether they strayed away or have been stolen. Jackson and the fellows with him are going to ride along the river and see if they can find out.”
“Didn’t you say something about other horses being stolen before we got here?”
“Yes. But they didn’t belong to my father. They belonged to the men who formerly owned this ranch. They left them here, but at their own risk.”
“Were the animals now missing the horses we rode?” questioned Fred.
“No. They were the mounts used by Jackson and his men. That is, three of the horses were. The other was that beautiful black my father occasionally rode.”
“You mean Blackbird?” exclaimed Randy.
“Yes.”
“Why, I think Blackbird is the finest horse on the ranch,” declared Gif.
“He certainly is a splendid nag,” answered Spouter. “And my dad thinks a great deal of him.”
The horse in question was a three-year-old, shining black in color, with a peculiar diamond-shaped spot of white on his forehead and a similar spot on his chest. Because of these spots some of the cowboys often referred to him as Two-spot.
“I suppose those horses are worth some money,” remarked Fred.
“Indeed they are!” declared Spouter. “I heard my father say he wouldn’t take four hundred dollars for Blackbird. And the other animals must be worth at least a hundred and fifty dollars apiece. You know they always had pretty good horses on this ranch.”
“I certainly hope they get some trace of the horses,” said Jack.
But this hope was not fulfilled. Jackson and those with him came back disappointed, saying that they had found no trace of the animals.
About a week later came another surprise. The young folks, including the girls, had gone off to the woods for the best part of the day, and when they returned, much to their astonishment, they saw seated in rocking chairs on the veranda Ruth and May.
“My goodness!” screamed Mary. “Ruth and May! Glory hallelujah! How in the world did you get here?”
“And you never let us know!” wailed Martha, as she bounced up the steps to embrace her school chums.
“We got started sooner than we expected,” answered May.
“Did you come alone?” questioned Jack, as he, too, came forward, his pleasure showing on his face.
“No, we didn’t come alone,” answered Ruth. “We came with Mr. and Mrs. Rover. They are inside with the others.”
“My mother and dad!” burst out Andy. “Where are they?” And he raced into the house, followed by his twin.
There followed a joyous reunion all around. Everybody was happy to see everybody else, and for a while it seemed as if all were trying to talk at once.
“We had a splendid trip over,” declared Mrs. Nellie Rover. “Not a single hitch all along the way. Tom had everything mapped out to the last detail.” And she gave her husband an affectionate glance.
“That’s what army discipline did for me,” answered Tom Rover. “I didn’t used to be so particular. But now I’ve got in the habit of walking a regular chalk mark.”
“Yes, I’ve walked me a chalk mark, too,” put in Hans Mueller. “I run mine delicatessen stores chust like they vas by army regulations alreatty. And it pays, belief me!”
“It’s a regular touch of old times to see you around, Hans,” said Tom, grabbing his former school chum by both arms. “How is that new pickling machine getting along?”
“Vot pickling machine you mean, Tom?” questioned Hans, looking at him blankly.
“Why, that machine you’re going to invent whereby you can grind up old oilcloth and automobile tires and make dill pickles of them.”
“I don’t vas got no machine like dot, Tom,” answered the delicatessen man in bewilderment. “I buy mine dill pickles by der barrel. Dem dill pickles grows, you can’t make ’em by no machine.”
“Oh! Then maybe it was a new sourkraut stamper,” went on Tom innocently.
“Oh, Tom, you vas joking chust like you alvays vas!” exclaimed Hans, a light breaking in on him. “Vell, I don’t care. You vas a pretty goot fellow anyhow,” and Hans smiled as broadly as ever.
“It sure is a touch of old times,” declared Songbird Powell. And then, unable to restrain himself, he burst out:
|
“From among the mountain tops
Where the brooklet flows,
There I love to linger long—” “Counting up my toes,” |
broke in Tom, with a twinkle in his merry eyes.
“Counting up my toes!” snorted Songbird. “Nothing of the kind! You always did knock my poetry endways, Tom. That last line was to read like this:
| “Where the sunset glows.” |
The young folks had a grand time that evening singing and dancing, and did not retire until the older heads had hinted several times that they had better do so.
“Oh, Jack, it’s a splendid place to come to!” said Ruth, when she was on the point of retiring. “I know I’m going to have the best times ever.”
“And to think my Uncle John owns the place!” put in May. “Isn’t it simply glorious?”
After that the days seemed to speed along swiftly. The boys and girls made up various parties up and down the river, and on the hills and in the woods. Once they got up a grand family picnic, and everybody attended.
During those days the boys often wondered whether Brassy Bangs would show himself. But Brassy kept out of sight, and for the time being they heard nothing further concerning him. But they did hear through Joe Jackson of Bud Haddon. That man had been met on the trail to Bimbel’s ranch in company with several other persons.
“They were a bum-looking bunch,” declared Jackson. “I wouldn’t give one of ’em house room on this ranch.”
“Haddon certainly didn’t make a very good impression on me,” declared Jack. “I’m frank to admit I think he’s a thoroughly bad egg.”
From time to time the boys had been sending letters to some of their other school chums, and a number of letters had come in return. One day Gif received a long communication from Fatty Hendry which he read in wonder.
“Here’s something that will interest all of you,” he declared, after he had finished. “I guess it clears up the mystery surrounding Professor Duke.”
“What is it?” questioned Fred eagerly.
“It’s a letter from Fatty Hendry. He’s been staying at a place named Ellenvale, which, as you know, is about thirty miles north of Haven Point. He says that Snopper Duke came from that place, and has an aged father living there.”
“Has Duke been taking care of his father?” questioned Jack.
“Yes. And his father has been very sick and has had to have several operations. It seems the operations cost a lot of money, and Duke wanted two of his younger brothers to help pay for them. But they wouldn’t contribute a cent.”
“Gee, that was certainly rough!” declared Randy. “No wonder the professor was grouchy at times.”
“That isn’t all of it,” went on Gif. “Fatty got interested and made a little investigation, and he found out that there was another brother, a little older than the professor, who had gotten into difficulties with the firm he was working for. That firm was on the point of having him arrested, so Fatty heard, but at the last minute Professor Duke came forward and settled up for him, so he wasn’t prosecuted.
“But Fatty adds in his letter that he heard this not only took every cent the professor had, but it also placed him in debt to Colonel Colby and some of his friends.”
“Well, that’s what I call hard lines!” declared Jack emphatically. “The poor professor must have been worried half to death.”
“Does Fatty say anything further about Duke’s father?”
“Yes. Since the last operation the old gentleman is feeling quite like himself again.”
“And what became of the brother who got into trouble?” asked Spouter.
“He disappeared, and Fatty says there is a report that he went to England, where the family originally came from. I suppose Professor Duke was glad to have him go.”
After this Gif handed around the letter so that all might read it. After its perusal Andy was the first to speak.
“It’s too bad,” he said, with a deep sigh. “I’m mighty sorry now that I didn’t treat the professor with more consideration. That poor man certainly had as much of a load as anybody to carry.”
“We’ll have to make it up to him when we get back to Colby Hall,” declared Randy. “I’m going to show him just what I think of him,” he went on. “He certainly was a fine fellow to help his old father and to get his brother out of that hole.”
The boys were still discussing this matter when they suddenly saw Joe Jackson dash up to the ranch house on his horse and dismount in great haste.
“Hello, something is wrong!” declared Jack.
Songbird Powell and Tom and Sam Rover had seen the approach of the foreman, and men and boys ran out to listen to what he might have to say.
“Four more horses are gone!” declared Joe Jackson. “The best horses on the ranch! And, boss, I’m certain this time that they didn’t stray away. They were stolen!”