CHAPTER VII
A RACE IN THE MOONLIGHT
Now through waving grass up to their knees, now through stretches of sage brush the hunters rode. Three or four times they caught sight of cattle in the distance, which Horace eagerly declared belonged to the Half-Moon, explaining that the biggest herds were in Long Creek bottoms, about fifty miles southwest, where the cattle could find water as well as good grazing ground.
"Fifty miles, gracious! Do you own so much land?" asked Larry of
Mr. Wilder.
"No. We have a thousand acres, more or less. But my neighbors and
I have leased the rights to graze in Lone Creek."
"Neighbors?" repeated the elder of the brothers in surprise. "Why I can't see any house but yours. In fact, I haven't seen any since we left Tolopah."
"And there isn't any within thirty miles. There are two on the south and more north, even farther away. But we call them neighbors just the same. Anybody within a day's ride is a neighbor," explained the ranchman. And as he noted the look of amusement that appeared on the faces of the brothers, he added: "You won't think so much of distances after you've been out here a while."
At the end of two hours, as they mounted the crest of a great roll in the prairies, the dried-up course of a stream was disclosed.
"If you follow that, it will lead you to Lone Creek," explained
Horace. "Down about ten miles there's a place called the Witches'
Pool, where we go fishing. It's so deep it never dries. We'll go
there some day."
"More ghosts?" inquired Larry as he repeated the name of the pool.
"No, no ghosts," laughed Mr. Wilder, "just the ignis fatuus, or will-o'-the-wisps. All cowboys are very superstitious, you must remember. The land round the pool is swampy and at night you can sometimes see the lights dancing about. I suppose some one saw them, and, finding no person there, immediately decided the pool was a gathering place for witches."
"Pete says it's the bodies of the men who have died of thirst on the plains searching for water," declared Horace in an awed tone.
"That's an ingenious explanation, but it is not the truth, my boy. The lights are caused by certain gases that come from the marshy ground and glow when the atmosphere is in a certain condition. Over in Scotland, on the peat bogs, they call them 'friars' lanterns.'"
"My, but I'd like to see one," sighed Tom.
"Then I'm afraid you'll be obliged to camp by the pool. You might go there a hundred nights and never see a sign of one," returned the ranchman. And then, as the shadows cast by the mountains were reaching farther and farther out onto the prairie, he thought it best to turn the minds of the boys into other channels.
"Shall we camp in the open or would you rather push on to the foothills?" he asked. "It'll be dark by the time we get there."
"I vote to keep going," answered Larry.
"How far is it?" inquired Tom, who was beginning to feel the effects of the many miles in the saddle.
"About fifteen, which means two hours at least, because the darker it gets the slower we'll be obliged to go till you two get more used to riding the plains," responded Bill.
"If we keep on, and I feel stiff in the morning, we'll be there and I shall not be compelled to cover the fifteen miles," mused the younger of the brothers as much to himself as to the others. "I'm for pushing on, too."
Laughing at their guest's discomfort, the others readily acquiesced, and they crossed the stream bottom.
Save the noise made by themselves, the twitter of birds, and the occasional cry of some prairie dog routed out by their approach, the silence of the plains was intense. At first Tom and Larry did not notice it, but as they rode mile after mile they began to feel its depression.
"It often drives men crazy," asserted the ranchman when Larry mentioned his feeling. "That's why we never send a man out alone to herd. Having some one to talk to it a big relief, I can tell you, after you've been a week or so on the prairies with nothing but a bunch of stolid cattle. The very monotony of their grazing and chewing their cuds gets on your nerves."
As darkness came on, however, the awful silence was broken. From all sides came the barking of coyotes, as though they were signaling one another their whereabouts.
"That howling would scare me a great deal quicker than any ghosts or witches," observed Tom. "My, but it's mournful! Do they keep that up all night?"
"Indeed they do," replied Horace, delighted to think one thing had been discovered which the two visitors feared, "only it gets worse the darker it grows. Besides, when they are hungry, they'll follow you and attack you."
"That wouldn't be so bad so long as you had a gun with you," interposed Larry. "I'd like to get a shot at one."
"Then there's your chance, over on the left," exclaimed Mr. Wilder.
Unslinging his rifle, the elder of the Alden boys looked eagerly in the direction indicated. But it was so dark he could see nothing and he said so.
"Can't you see those two little balls of fire right opposite you?
If you can't, say so. I'll stop him myself," returned the ranchman.
Yet even as he spoke the coyote turned and fled.
"It's just as well," added Mr. Wilder after he had announced the fact. "You'll have a chance to shoot at something better than a measely prairie wolf to-morrow, I hope."
"Or perhaps to-night," chimed in Horace. "Maybe a ghost'll attack our camp."
"That will do, youngster. If you talk any more about ghosts, I'll make you ride back to the ranch in the dark. If you keep on, you'll work yourself up so you'll think every sound you hear is a Spaniard from the mine, and there will be no sleep for any of us."
This command had the desired effect, and Horace gave up the attempt of trying to frighten his friends.
For a time the darkness grew more and more intense till it was all the riders could do to make out the forms of one another. But at last the clouds passed over, revealing the stars, and soon the moon rose, full and brilliant, changing the swaying grass into a seeming sea of silver with its light.
In wonder the brothers gazed at the transformation and Larry said:
"I wish the plains could be like this always. They don't seem half so terrible."
But the boys soon had other things to think about. They were so close to the mountains that they could see the great cliffs glistening in the moonlight above the trees from which they rose, sheer.
"I don't wonder they say these mountains are haunted," exclaimed Tom. "I can almost believe I see men moving along the top of that middle cliff."
"Better curb your imagination then," chided Mr. Wilder. "It's a good thing we've got to pitch camp pretty soon or you'd all get the nerves."
At Tom's words the other boys had sought the middle cliff with their eyes and suddenly Bill exclaimed:
"Tom's right, father! There are men moving along the top of the precipice!"
Mr. Wilder had been intent on searching the base of the mountains for a place to camp for the night. But at his elder son's statement he looked up quickly, drawing rein that he might be sure the motion of his horse played no trick on his eyes.
Breathlessly the others waited his decision.
The cliff at which they all were staring so intently was about half way up the mountain and above it rose another wall of rock. And it was against the base of this latter that the objects which attracted Tom's attention were silhouetted.
"By jove! They are men," exclaimed Mr. Wilder excitedly. "I never knew there was a trail along the base of that cliff before."
The boys were tremendously stirred up as they heard this confirmation.
"Perhaps they are the men going to guard the Lost Lode for the night," Horace whispered. "They wouldn't need a trail to walk on, father."
"Steady, boy, steady," returned the ranchman. "Those men are flesh and blood, don't worry about that. Who they are I don't know. Probably some hunters like ourselves."
"That couldn't be the way to the mine, could it?" hazarded Larry, whose eagerness to discover a silver mine had received new impetus. "Can't we go there to-morrow and find out?"
"We'll see when to-morrow comes," declared Mr. Wilder. "But there's no occasion to get excited. The mountains are full of men hunting and prospecting all the time. Come on, we'll camp under that big tree up there to the right. Whoever gets there first will be boss of the camp."
The challenge for a race, with the honor of being in command of the hunt as the prize, served to take the boys' thoughts from the mysterious men on the trail as nothing else could, and quickly they leaped their ponies forward.
The spot selected by the ranchman for their night's bivouac was about a quarter of a mile away and in the opposite direction from the cliffs.
Yelling like young Indians, the boys urged their jaded ponies to greater efforts.
Tom and Horace, being lighter than the others, had not tried their mounts so much, and rapidly they drew ahead.
"We simply must beat them," called Bill to Larry. "If they get in first, they'll make us haul all the water and wash dishes—at least Horace will, if he wins."
Leaning over their ponies' necks and rising in the saddles to lighten their weight as much as possible, the two elder boys set out to overtake their brothers.
With spur and lariat end they belabored their mounts and gamely the horses responded.
Leap by leap they cut down the lead, were soon abreast of the others and then forged ahead, shouting in triumph as they opened clear ground between them.
Only about a hundred yards were the leaders from the tree.
Feeling his pony tiring under him, despite his urging, Horace gasped at Tom:
"Hit Blackhawk with the end of your lasso and then hang on for dear life!"
Instantly Tom obeyed.
As the big black felt the blow he uttered a snort of rage, jerked forward his head and seemed to fly over the ground.
Like a flash he caught Bill and Larry. Frantically they strove to keep up with him, but in a few bounds he had passed them.
"Tom wins!" yelled Horace with glee.
But his delight at the success of his ruse was shortlived.
Blackhawk was not accustomed to being beaten and, though ordinarily he had a good temper, when he was angry he could be very mean. Accordingly, as though reasoning to himself that he had done his share in carrying his rider so many miles, when he felt the sharp cut of the lariat he resented it. And his resentment took the form of a vicious lunge forward of his head, which enabled him to get the bits in his teeth, with which advantage no one could control him.
Despite his greater weight, the ranchman had been close up with the boys and had noted Blackhawk's action.
Realizing that it would be hopeless to try to overtake the runaway, and fearing that some injury might befall Tom, Mr. Wilder shouted:
"Rope the black, Bill! He's got the bit!"
Loosening his lariat as quickly as possible, the elder of the
Wilder boys began to whirl it round his head.
"Throw it! throw it!" roared the ranchman, "Can't you see you're losing ground every second?"
Never before had Bill been called on for so important a cast of his lasso, and for a moment his hand trembled.
"Steady! Let her go now!" counseled his father.
At the word Bill put forth all his strength and the rope shot from his hand, the noose opening perfectly as it sped through the air.
Fascinated, the others watched as it hung a moment in the air and dropped directly over Blackhawk's head.
"Pretty cast!" praised the ranchman. "Now ride along. Don't pull up too soon."
But his words were too late.
The pony which his elder son rode was perfectly trained to rope steers. As it caught the sharp hiss of the lariat the animal had slackened its stride, and the instant it felt the rope tighten had stiffened its legs and braced, almost squatting back on its haunches.
And the next moment Blackhawk was jerked from his feet, measuring his length on the ground, while Tom went sailing through the air, alighting about twenty feet away.
"Hold as you are!" ordered Mr. Wilder of Bill and then dashed for the kicking black, with Larry and Horace at his heels.
"Tom! Tom! are you hurt?" called his brother.
For a second there was no reply, and then their anxiety was relieved by seeing Tom stand up.
"Any bones broken?" asked Mr. Wilder, who had reached the black and was dismounting.
"No. I'm all right, thanks to the prairie grass," replied the younger of the brothers. "Is Blackhawk hurt?"
"I don't think so. Ease up, Bill. I've got him by the bridle."
Quickly the elder of the Wilder boys rode forward, and as the prostrate pony felt the rope loosen he bounded to his feet.
With skilled eye the ranchman looked him over and there was a world of relief in his voice as he said:
"We got out of that scrape mighty luckily. There isn't a scratch on Blackhawk, and if Tom's——"
"There's no scratch on me either," returned the boy. "But what about the race, do I win or not?"
"Considering you flew from Blackhawk's back almost to the tree, I reckon you do," declared Mr. Wilder.
And looking up, Tom noticed that he was, indeed, standing under the branches of the tree that marked the goal.