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Updated: June 29, 2025
The latter seemed to be making his way toward the animals. "Is he driving them ahead of him?" asked Dave, after a long and silent observation. "That's the way it looks," said Pocus Pete. "It's Len Molick all right," he added, after another shading of his eyes with his hand. "Are you sure?" Dave asked. "Positive. No one around here rides a horse in that sloppy way but him."
"If you couldn't take advantage of it that's not my fault." Then he rode off, collected the strays he was looking for, and made his way back to the ranch. "What's the matter, Dave?" asked Pocus Pete, as he saw the lad leap from his pony. "Did you have a fall?" "No, it was the other fellow," was the grim answer. "Len?" "Yes." "Does he look anything like you?" "Worse!"
He had done a good piece of work, and he realized it. Of course Pocus Pete had helped, but Dave was in a fair way to stop the stampede when the old foreman came along. "I'll get to be a regular cowboy after a while," thought Dave, not without a little smile of gratification. To get to the ranch more quickly the young cowpuncher took a trail that led through a patch of rocky woodland.
No man would think of starting upon a journey without the blessing of the old chief; and a peculiar "hocus pocus" is considered as necessary from the magic hands of Katchiba that shall charm the traveller, and preserve him from all danger of wild animals upon the road.
"I should say so!" Dave exclaimed, fervently. "Wasn't there any one to help you?" asked Pocus Pete. "Not a soul. I did see Len Molick riding off sneaking away. I called to him, but he didn't answer." "How did they break out?" Pete asked next. "That's what's puzzling me," replied the younger cowboy. "Say! Look there!" suddenly called Pete, pointing. "That's how they got out.
The tributary divided into two parts, or branches, shortly above its junction with Rolling River. Hence its name. Forked Branch came down from amid a series of low foot-hills, forming the northern boundary of Mr. Randolph Carson's ranch. "We sure have one fine day for ridin'," observed Pocus Pete, as he urged his pony up alongside Dave's. "That's right," agreed the youth.
"It will be best so," said Mr. Bellmore. A little later Pocus Pete and one of the cowboys returned, to report that the fence had been repaired. "Where's Gimp?" asked Dave, referring to the other cowpuncher who had ridden with him. "Oh, he stayed there on guard. Thought it best t' leave him there to- night anyhow," the foreman said to Mr. Carson. "I understand," was the answer.
You 're sprinklin' after hours and I 'm going to report you to police headquarters. There 's no use of kickin', so you 'd better give me your name an' save trouble." "Sir," I cried, "Reuben Baker is not a name to be ashamed of, and if you think that by any of your underhand hocus pocus you can trespass on my premises and prevent my caring for my own property you are grandly mistaken."
This was an important contribution to our housekeeping, and we poor relations were bound to treat her with a certain respect. However, a very little amused me in those days; and I waited to have my fortune told, as patiently as if I believed in it too! My aunt began her hocus pocus by throwing out all the cards in the pack under seven.
Nor shall I expatiate on the alkahest of that mad scoundrel, Paracelsus, with which he pretended to reduce flints into salt; nor archaeus or spiritus rector of that visionary Van Helmont, his simple, elementary water, his gas, ferments, and transmutations; nor shall I enlarge upon the salt, sulphur, and oil, the acidum vagum, the mercury of metals, and the volatilised vitriol of other modern chemists, a pack of ignorant, conceited, knavish rascals, that puzzle your weak heads with such jargon, just as a Germanised m r throws dust in your eyes, by lugging in and ringing the changes on the balance of power, the Protestant religion, and your allies on the continent; acting like the juggler, who picks your pockets while he dazzles your eyes and amuses your fancy with twirling his fingers and reciting the gibberish of hocus pocus; for, in fact, the balance of power is a mere chimera.
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