Boy Scouts on the Open Plains; Or, The Round-Up Not Ordered

by G. Harvey Ralphson

Then Ned began to notice movements here and there. He fancied that the camp was being surrounded, and how his heart thrilled with rapture at the thought. Unable to keep the secret to himself, he kicked Harry in the shins, and before that worthy could voice an indignant protest, Ned was whispering the inspiring truth in his ear.

In turn Harry told Jimmy, so that presently the three chums were lying there trying to catch fugitive glimpses of what was going on without exciting the suspicion of the cattle poachers.

Then there was a sudden loud cry of alarm. A woman, it turned out, had discovered the lurking shadowy figures in the bushes, when she awoke feeling feverish in the night, and started for the spring close by in order to quench her thirst.

After that it was like a volcano when the whole top blows out. There were loud shouts and yells and screams; there came the quick detonation of firearms and the shrieks of women and children.

The rustlers were taken quite by surprise, and besides a bunch of the Double Cross punchers the sheriff and his big posse was on hand, bent on wiping out the reproach that had so long existed in his territory, so that the camp was pretty well surrounded on every side.

In spite of all precautions, however, when the turmoil and excitement were at their height, some of the men managed to break away and escape, at least for the time being.

Neither Hy Adams nor the leader, Clem Parsons, were among these lucky ones. Ned himself had been quick to act. He had noticed so many things since coming to the rustlers’ camp that he could put his finger on the spot where his rifle as also the weapons of his chums had been stowed. And his first act was to fling himself into that tent with all the eagerness of a hungry hawk.

He had met a man crawling out and collided with him in such a clever way that the fellow was knocked senseless, while the only damage Ned sustained was a lump on the side of his head, which later on yielded to treatment and witch hazel.

No sooner had he found his rifle than Ned was off, in hopes of running across the leader of the rustlers, Clem Parsons, the man who had one of the most checkered careers back of him known to Secret Service officials.

Once again luck was with Ned, for he came upon the tall man with the scar on his left cheek just as he was making headlong for the neighboring rocks. If he had once passed from the sight of those who were busily engaged capturing the camp, there was every reason to suspect that the foxy rascal would not be come up with in a hurry again.