"What on earth are they up to, Otto?" I asked. He shook his head soberly. Mischief was brewing, and we longed to ride back and see what was about to happen, but Otto and I at least recognized the danger of such a plan after the warning we had received.
Our thoughts were effectually diverted from this topic when we reached the ranch. The bull was not an amiable beast on ordinary occasions, and we found him in one of his wildest moods. His bellowings had attracted a score of stray cattle from the outskirts of the ranch, and they were standing beyond the reach of his horns as he strained on his picket rope, and they were pawing the ground, pretending to gore one another, until the bull was wild with rage. It took Otto a long time to get a second rope around his horns, and meanwhile Barney and I, by the vigorous use of our quirts, scattered the mavericks over the prairie. The end of the picket rope was then fastened to my saddle, and we began our struggle toward home. Again and again the bull would lower his horns and make a desperate charge at one of his captors, only to be jerked to his knees by the other. At times he would stand bellowing and snorting until Barney rode up and plied the lash, when he would plunge ahead like a runaway locomotive. Only the nimble-footed, long-suffering broncos could or would have endured the wild work. To increase our trouble the stray cattle kept close behind us. Many times they came so close that Otto and I were compelled to halt and hold the bull, while Barney, with hoarse shouts and language as abusive as he dared use, drove them back.
It was nearly dawn when we halted for this purpose on the edge of the large draw where we had seen the mysterious gathering. As I watched Barney dispersing our troublesome followers, I heard Otto muttering to himself some polysyllabic imprecation on cattle in general and the Durham bull in particular, and then he stopped short with a gasp of surprise. Over the ridge on the other side of the draw there struggled into sight two parallel columns of puffing horses, and then there slowly climbed against the ruddy eastern sky the outlines of a building. Even in that imperfect light we recognized it at the first glance as the court-house deprived of its flags.
"Ach, du liebe Zeit!" gasped Otto. "T'ey shteal t'e gourt-house!"
It had been an easy task to shift it from its flimsy under-pinning to the lumber wagons, and the horses had dragged it with little difficulty over the smooth prairie. When necessary, the cowboys had helped pull by fastening their lariats to the sill, and the party had probably reached the draw with less exertion than we. I heard the sharp clank of the drag-chains as they prepared to descend the slope.
"Where on earth are the Garfielders?" said I, and as I spoke we heard the crack of a revolver from beyond the ridge. The cowboys unfastened their ropes, and hurried back yelling like fiends and firing their six-shooters into the air. Afar off the solitary church bell at Garfield began to jingle wildly.
"Sound the tocsin!" shouted Barney, abandoning his chase and riding back to see the fun. "What ho! Garfield to the rescue!"
But it was only too apparent that the town had been taken by surprise, and had few champions in the field as yet. The shots grew fainter, and in another minute the cowboys came over the ridge laughing and swearing at the top of their voices, and rode down to help the teams up the slope.
"Good-by court-house, if they once get her past the draw!" I exclaimed.
"Geewilikins!" said Barney, "I'd like to give 'm a shot," and he began tugging at his pocket.