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"I guess you've struck it, Bud," said Snake, grimly. "They sure fooled us, an' I never smelled a rat! Whew!" Bud, with lips that were firmer now, touched spurs to his pony and hastened toward the tents and corral. "What you aimin' to do?" called Yellin' Kid after him. "I'm going to get on the trail of those rustlers," grimly announced Bud Merkel, "and I'm not coming back until I land 'em!
Which he did, on the telephone, learning from his father that Mr. Merkel knew nothing about the stranger, though he "sized him up," as being all right. But Mr. Merkel had done more than this. He had called, on the telephone, or had been in communication, otherwise, with the late employers of Henry Mellon, and the cowboy was well spoken of. He was a reliable hand, it was said.
And, as you know, the Yaqui Indians were, in the main, a tribe of Mexican Redmen, who made their home partly in the Land of Montezuma and partly in Arizona, as best pleased them. Efforts were made by the Mexican Government to keep the Yaquis on a reservation, but the efforts were not always successful. Mr. Merkel was a ranchman of experience, and planned to have his son follow in his footsteps.
Quickly she managed to take from her pocket a notebook, and, one of the ropes coming loose from her hand, she was able to scribble on a torn out page this message: "Get word to my uncle, Henry Merkel, Diamond X Ranch, that Floyd and I are taken. Ask him to send help." She rolled this into a ball, and as the cowboy lurched past her she thrust it into his hand. "Ride! Ride away!"
"To have the nerve to stop and scribble a message to dad when the Yaquis had her and her brother. Clear grit I call that!" "Sure thing!" assented Nort. "Gee! I wish I'd been there!" sighed Dick. "What! To be captured by the Indians and made into sausage meat?" joked Mr. Merkel, for at times they poked a bit of fun at Dick on account of his plumpness.
"Well, I guess this is the last," remarked Mr. Merkel to his son, as Bud, with his cousins, rode slowly up to the ranch house, when the final calf had been cut out and the tally made. "You boys going back after grub?" "Yep," answered Bud, but there was no enthusiasm in his voice. He, like his cousins, was too tired. For the day had been a grueling one, with the heat and hard work.
"The message is to me from the Sheriff of La Nogalique, or at least from some one in his service, for it's signed with his name. I know him, slightly." "Did he see Rosemary and Floyd carried off?" Dick wanted to know. "Not exactly. But wait. I'll read it so you may all hear," said Mr. Merkel, taking the missive from his wife's trembling hand.
"Your cousins, or, to be more exact, your second cousins," explained Mrs. Merkel. "We had a letter last week saying they might come on from California, and now your father has just had a special delivery letter, saying they're on their way. They'll be here any time." "Company's coming! Company's coming!" joyously sang Nell, for she was delighted with the news.
"I should say not!" was the instant response, duet fashion. "No, it wouldn't be right for us to sit back and do nothing," agreed Mr. Merkel. "There aren't any too many men available to help out the sheriff. We've got to do our share.
When we're ready I'll call on you," said Bud, as though he had great plans in preparation. As a matter of fact, as he admitted later, he really did not know what he was going to do, but he was not going to admit that to his father. In other words he was "putting up a bluff," and I have some reason for suspecting that Mr. Merkel knew this. However he gave no sign.
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