George in Camp; or, Life on the Plains

by Harry Castlemon

While the work of driving the cattle out of the field was in progress, a horseman appeared on the ridge of which we have spoken, riding slowly along, with his eyes fastened on the ground, as if he were following a trail. Just as he reached the top, he heard the report of a rifle, and looked up to discover that the cattle of which he was in search, were running about a wheat field, and that two persons were engaged in shooting them down. One of the cattle fell just as he raised his eyes. When he saw this, he placed his hand on one of the revolvers he carried in his belt, and seemed on the point of dashing forward to take satisfaction for the loss he had sustained; but he evidently thought better of it a moment later, for he backed his horse down the swell until nothing but his own head could be seen over it, and there he sat and saw all that Ned and Gus did. When the wounded steer came over the swell, staggering from the effects of the bullet Ned had shot into him, the man shook his clenched hand in the direction of the wheat field, muttered something to himself, and galloped off in pursuit of the uninjured cattle, leaving the wounded one to take care of himself.

“There!” exclaimed Ned, when the laggard of the drove had disappeared over the swell, “it’s done, and I am glad of it. If the owner of those cattle finds out that we did it and has anything to say about it, I shall tell him that this is my land—it may be mine some day, you know, and before long, too—and that no cattle except my own have any right on it.”

“I wish that steer had got over the fence before he died,” said Gus.

The boys seemed to be highly elated over what they had done. They had performed the same feat which, not so very many months ago, had set the whole settlement together by the ears, and no one was the wiser for it. Of course some rancheman would some day find out that one of his fattest steers had been killed and another badly wounded, but how was he going to find out who did the shooting? Ned fully expected that there would be trouble about it; that there would be threats and inquiries made, and that he and Gus, being safe from discovery, would have many a hearty laugh in secret over the storm they had raised.

“Remember one thing,” said he. “No matter what is said or done, we don’t know anything about it. They can’t crowd us into a corner tight enough to make us own up. That would only make matters worse.”

Gus readily agreed to this, and the boys shook hands on it. In order to make assurance doubly sure they rode around the rancho and approached it, just at dark, from a direction opposite to that they had taken when they rode away from it in the morning. When the events of the afternoon became known nobody could fasten the guilt upon them by saying that they had been seen coming from the direction of the wheat field. They found supper waiting for them, and when they had eaten it they went into the office to spend the evening in reading and conversation.

While they were thus engaged inside the house, a proceeding which looks strange at the first glance, but which will be plain enough when all the circumstances connected with it are known, was going on outside of it. A horseman, who was riding rapidly along the road toward the rancho, turned off just before he reached it, and made his way to the corral that was located a short distance to the right of the shed in which Ned had taken refuge on the night of the fight. He stopped in front of the gate and uttered an exclamation of disappointment when he found that it was secured by a heavy padlock. After looking about him for a moment, as if he were turning some problem over in his mind, he dismounted, pulled the bridle over his horse’s head and hung it upon the horn of the saddle; whereupon the animal turned and galloped toward a watering-trough a short distance away, where he was joined by a small, dark-colored mule which had followed the horseman down the trail. The horseman himself moved toward the house, pausing every now and then to listen and reconnoiter the ground before him, and presently reached the steps leading to the porch. These he mounted with cautious tread, and was about to place his hand upon the door when it was suddenly opened from the inside, a flood of light streamed out into the darkness, and the horseman was confronted by a stalwart herdsman who started back in surprise at the sight of him.

Arresting by a hasty gesture the cry of amazement that arose to the herdsman’s lips, the visitor stepped into the hall, and, closing the door behind him, uttered a few short, quick sentences in a low tone of voice which the other received with subdued ejaculations of wonder. When he ceased speaking the herdsman hastened away, and the visitor, who seemed to be perfectly familiar with the internal arrangements of the house, moved quickly along the hall, turning several corners, and finally opening a door which gave entrance into Mr. Ackerman’s office.

There was a happy party gathered in that office, if one might judge by the ringing peal of laughter which echoed through the hall, when the door was opened; but it was quickly checked at the sight of the boy who entered as though he had a perfect right to be there, and whose appearance was so sudden and unexpected that it brought two of the three persons in the room to their feet in an instant.

“Why, George!” they both cried in a breath—and a quick ear would have discovered that there was more surprise than cordiality in their tones—“Is this you? Where in the world have you been so long? We have been worried to death about you!”