The Boy Ranchers of Puget Sound

Frank said nothing, and when the echoes died away among the woods there was once more a nerve-trying silence, except for the savage barking of the dog. It lasted a few minutes, and then Harry spoke again:

"The shots will be quite enough to put dad on to those fellows' trail. I expect he's crawling in on them now."

The boy's whisper was hoarse with anxiety, but he made no attempt to move and Frank wondered at his self-command. Shortly afterward there was an unexpected change in the situation, for a faint flicker of light shot up again from where Frank supposed the barn to be. This was puzzling, because, while the light was rather high up and there seemed to be a brighter blaze beneath it, Frank could not see the fire. Then the explanation flashed upon him as the black shape of the building became dimly visible against the uncertain glow. The smugglers had lighted a second fire behind the barn, which now stood between them and Mr. Oliver. Frank gasped with dismay as he realized that it was a simple and effective trick. If the rancher moved forward hastily he must betray himself to his enemies by the noise he made, while if he proceeded slowly and cautiously the barn would probably take fire before he reached a spot from which he could drive back the men, who were no doubt piling up brushwood against the building.

"It looks as if they'd got us!" he whispered.

"No," said Harry sharply and aloud. "The thing didn't strike me, but dad's not to be caught like that. Now, as any row we make will draw them off him, we'll hurry up. Get up and run."

Frank did so, but although he had been longing to do something of the kind a few minutes earlier he found that he had no great liking for the part Harry expected him to play. It was decidedly unpleasant to feel that in all probability he was fixing upon himself the attention of several men who could shoot very well. He had gone only a few paces, however, when there was a shot from behind the barn and Harry laughed – a breathless laugh.

"That's dad. He's headed them off again!" he said.

Frank ran on, but thrilling as he was with excitement it occurred to him that this battle was a rather intricate one, in which he was right. These bushmen were accustomed to hunting and trailing, and did not rush at each other's throats, shouting and firing more or less at random. Instead, they seemed to be maneuvering for positions from which they could prevent their opponents from making another move. Nowadays, in any battle large or small, in which men are engaged who can handle the terrible modern rifle, the position is the one essential thing, since it is only the most desperate courage that can drive home an attack upon a well-covered firing line.

Soon after the boys had heard the shot a shadowy figure slipped out from among the fruit trees close in front of them and Frank called, "Webster!"

The man swung around, but instead of answering he sprang backward, and Frank realized that he had almost run into the arms of one of the smugglers. The boys did not see where he went, though he made some noise, and they afterward concluded that he had mistaken them for grown men. In the meanwhile they went on again more cautiously, until at length they were stopped by a low cry and Mr. Oliver rose from the grass a few feet away. They were on the other side of the barn now and could see that the fire had got hold of it. There was no doubt that some of the logs were burning and a pile of brushwood which had been laid against them was burning fiercely.

"It's spreading," said Harry. "Can't we put it out?"

"No," said his father with grim quietness. "It would take time and at least a dozen wet grain bags, while it wouldn't be safe for any one to approach the light."

There was something in his voice that startled Frank.

"You have hit one of them?" he asked.

"There's reason for believing it. Webster and I couldn't watch the four sides of the barn, and they chose the one that seemed the most unlikely. Still, as it happened, I got around quick enough."

"Then what are we to do now?" Harry inquired.

"Fall back on the house," replied Mr. Oliver. "I've sent Webster on, and it's no use waiting for another of them to come out into the light."

The boys turned back with him, moving quickly but making no more noise than they could help, and on reaching the dwelling they found Mr. Webster standing in the kitchen. The room was dark except for the faint glow which shone out from the front of the stove, and Miss Oliver was still sitting where the boys had last seen her, with an open box of cartridges at her feet. There was, however, light enough outside, for a red glare which grew steadily brighter streamed across the clearing.

"Where's the dog?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," said Mr. Webster. "I let him out before I came along. I expect you're going to hear him presently."

There was silence for the next six or seven minutes during which Frank heard the ticking of a clock and the crackle of knotty pinewood in the stove. He could see Mr. Oliver standing a little on one side of the open window, an indistinct figure with face and hands that showed dimly white. His pose indicated that he was holding a rifle level with his breast, and presently as the red glow behind the fruit trees grew higher and brighter the barrel twinkled in a ray of light. Then there was a furious barking and Jake laughed at the sound.

"Well," he said, "they don't mean to keep us waiting."

Mr. Oliver turned to the boys. "Keep clear of this window and watch the other one. You're not to fire a shot unless I tell you."

The barking of the dog grew louder and it was evident that the animal was following the smugglers toward the house, but Frank could see nobody for a while. Then he made out two or three moving shadows among the fruit trees, but they vanished again as the light sank, and he almost wished that they would spring out from cover and make a rush upon the building. He could imagine them creeping stealthily nearer and nearer, and the strain of the forced inaction became nearly unbearable. He learned that night that it is often a good deal easier to fight than to wait.

At last a harsh voice rose from the gloom.

"You'll have to get out, Oliver," it said. "Clear out in your sloop with the folks you have with you and we'll let you go. You're mighty lucky in getting the option."

"And what about the ranch?" Mr. Oliver asked.

"We'll tend to it," another man answered pointedly. "Pitch your guns through the window and come out right now!"

"You're wasting time," replied Mr. Oliver, "I'm going to stay."

"Then you'll certainly be sorry," some one else broke in. "We've had about enough trouble right along with you and we've come to hand in the bill. You headed us off a good trade, you brought the revenue folks in, and we mean to get even before we leave. Just now we'll be satisfied with your homestead, but that won't be enough after the next shot's fired."

It was a grim warning and what made it more impressive to Frank was the fact that he could not see the man who uttered it. So far, the smugglers had only revealed their presence by their voices. The next moment there was a cry of pain or alarm and a rifle flashed.

"Kill that blamed dog," somebody ordered with an oath.

Then Mr. Oliver called to Harry, who had gone to the window across the room.

"Can you see anybody on that side?" he asked.

"No," was the answer. "I think they're all in front."

Mr. Oliver turned to Jake. "Slip out through the back window with the boys and work around to the stumps. From there you'll have those fellows clear against the light. Wait until the shooting starts – and then do what you can."

"Sure!" was the short answer, and Jake crossed the room.

Harry had already dropped from the window, and Frank promptly followed him, feeling relieved now that he had something definite to do. Circling around through the fruit trees they reached the first row of stumps, one end of which ran up rather close to the house. As Frank crouched down among the roots of one he saw the smugglers. There were six or seven of them visible along the edge of the trees, though he fancied that there were more of them farther back in the shadows, which grew thinner and then more dense again as the light rose and fell. Still, before the men could reach the house they would have to cross a clear space where the glow was brighter, which they were evidently reluctant to do. Their hesitation was very natural, since they had discovered that their opponent was unusually quicksighted and handy with the rifle.

A few moments after the boys reached the stumps a great blaze shot up as part of the barn fell in, and Frank saw a man who seemed to be the leader of the gang run forward, heading toward the back of the house. As he did so Frank recognized him and Harry cried out softly, for one of the runner's shoulders was higher than the other and he had a rather curious gait. Then there was a shout from one of those behind.

"Plug the brute! Look out for the dog!"

A low and very swift shadow flashed across the open space behind the man. Harry laughed hoarsely as the man went down and rolled over with an indistinct object apparently on his back. He cried out, there was a confused shouting, and some of his companions came running toward him, showing black against the light. Frank held his breath as he watched. He expected to see two flashes from the window, since Mr. Webster and Mr. Oliver had now an easy mark, but they did not fire. The next moment he shrank in sudden horror, for the cries grew sharper and suggested pain and an extremity of fear. Then he felt that, regardless of the hazard, he could almost have cheered the smugglers on as they ran toward the prostrate man, who was struggling vainly with the furious dog. They surged about him in a confused group, and just then, to Frank's amazement, a pistol flashed among the firs on the edge of the bush. It was followed by a sudden clamor, whereupon the group broke up, and running men streamed out across the clearing. The smugglers vanished, and Harry sprang out from among the stumps shouting wildly.

"It's Barclay! He's brought a posse with him!" he cried. "Come on. We must choke off the dog."

When they reached the spot they tried with all their might to drag back the furious animal. The man, who had flung his arms about his throat and face, now lay still, with the big and powerful animal still tearing at him. It was not until Jake arrived and partly stunned it with his rifle butt that it let go, and then two or three breathless strangers came running up to them. They dragged the smuggler to his feet and Frank saw that his jacket was torn to pieces and that the back of his neck from which it fell away was red. He did not seem capable of speaking and he drew his breath in gasps, but the newcomers hustled him along between them toward the house.

"Stick to him," said Harry. "He's the boss of the gang."

They thrust the man into the kitchen, where he fell into a chair and, for the lamp was lighted now, gazed at Mr. Oliver stupidly.

"Well," he said, "I'm corralled – my gun's in the clearing." He raised his hand to his neck and brought it down smeared red before he added, "It's mighty lucky he didn't get hold in front."

Mr. Oliver, who made no answer, swung around and faced Mr. Barclay standing hot and breathless in the doorway smiling at them.

"It's fortunate I came along," he said, and striding forward glanced at the man in the chair. "We've got you at last."

"Sure!" admitted the other, still in a half-dazed manner. "I'll have to face it – only keep off that dog."

Mr. Barclay looked around at Mr. Oliver. "I expect the boys have also got most of his partners. Before we broke cover I sent a party to head them off."

Harry suddenly called to Frank, who sprang toward the door, but when they reached the bush they met the rest of the men coming back with several prisoners. They reported that two or three had escaped and they would have to wait for daylight before following their trail.

Half an hour later the boys sat down again in the kitchen where Mr. Oliver and Mr. Barclay, who had been out in the meanwhile, were talking by the stove.

"I'd an idea that these fellows might look you up, which was why I came along as fast as I could manage," Mr. Barclay was explaining. "I think I told you we got practically every man who was waiting for the schooner at the inlet, and the two or three who escaped to-night won't count. In the meanwhile I'd arranged at two or three different places to seize everybody we suspected of having a hand in the thing, and if the boys I left that work to have been as lucky as we are we can take it for granted that we have put an end to the gang. There's enough against the fellow the dog mauled to have him sent up for the rest of his life." He broke off and turned to the boys. "The schooner will be sold by auction, and if you are inclined to leave the matter in my hands you can give me a written claim for salvage services."

"How much should we put down?" Harry asked.

"I would suggest three thousand dollars," responded Mr. Barclay with twinkling eyes. "It doesn't follow that you'll be awarded the whole of it, but it's generally admitted that one shouldn't be too modest in sending in a claim. If you two become partners you could buy a ranch."

Harry turned with a smile to Frank. "Well," he said, "if you're willing, we might consider it in a year or two."

Then one of the men came in to report that the prisoners had been secured in the stable. Mr. Barclay soon dismissed him with a few brief instructions and sat down again, lighting a cigar.

"I don't know that there's much more to tell," he said. "When we were a mile or two off the cove we saw the blaze of your barn, and that gave us an idea of what was going on. We sent the steamer along as fast as she could travel, but I broke my posse up to surround the clearing as soon as we got ashore. Then we lay by and waited so as to get as many of the gang as possible. They were too busy watching you to notice any little noise the boys made, and on the whole I think we can be content with this night's work."

"Have you decided what led up to the shooting of that man in the schooner's cabin?" Harry asked.

"That," said Mr. Barclay, "is a matter for the criminal court, but I've made a few investigations, and my notion is that the fellows lost their nerve when it became evident that somebody had given them away. They suspected one another, and that led to trouble, while I've no doubt that the Chinaman held most of the secrets of the gang. He'd be a particular object of suspicion, but from what I can gather there was a general row during which she jibed and got ashore. There was, at least, one other man badly hurt, but they seem to have gone off in the same boat. The vessel probably struck on an outlying reef and came off almost immediately on the rising tide."

Frank went out soon afterward and sat down near the house. The fire had almost burned out and a light wind which had sprung up drove the last of the smoke the other way. The air that flowed about the boy was sweet and scented with the fragrance of pine and cedar. All around him the bush rose in somber masses and a faint elfin sighing fell from the tops of the tall black trees. It was the song of the wilderness and the wild and rugged land had steadily tightened its hold on him. As he sat and listened he was certain at last that he would never leave it to go back to the cities.

CHAPTER XXXI

FRANK BECOMES A RANCH OWNER

Three or four days had passed since the attack on the ranch when one afternoon the boys stood on the deck of the sloop. Bright sunshine streamed down on the cove and there was a brisk breeze. The boys had gone down to hoist the mainsail so that it would dry, as it had been rolled up damp when last used; and as Frank straightened himself after stooping to coil up the gear he noticed that a man stood at the edge of the water with a small camera in his hand.

"Look, Harry!" he exclaimed softly, as his companion crawled from behind the sail.

"Hello!" called Harry. "What do you want?"

"Keep still!" commanded the stranger sharply. Then he raised his hand. "That's all right! Now you may move if you like."

"So may you!" Harry answered with a chuckle. "In fact, I guess you better had!"

There was an ominous growl somewhere above the man and then a savage barking, as the dog – who had followed the boys to the cove and afterward wandered away – came scrambling furiously down the steep path. The man seemed to watch its approach with anxiety, and when it came toward him growling he stooped and picked up a big stone.

"Hold on!" Harry shouted. "Put down that stone! He doesn't like strangers, and you'd better not rile him."

The man did as he was bidden, but when it looked as if the dog would drive him into the water Frank dropped into the canoe. To his astonishment, the stranger suddenly held the camera in front of him and backed away a few paces, pointing it like a pistol at the growling dog, who seemed too surprised to follow. Then Frank ran the canoe ashore and told the man to get in while he drove off the dog.

"He's young," explained Frank. "Somehow we haven't managed to tame him."

He headed for the sloop, and the man got on board.

"You seem stuck on taking photographs," Harry remarked.

"I make a little out of them now and then," the stranger answered with a smile. "You're Harry Oliver?"

"That's my name."

"Then your friend is Frank Whitney?"

"Yes," replied Harry. "But you haven't answered my question yet."

"I wanted to have a talk with your father; but I find that he's out."

"He won't be back until to-night; and, while we'd be glad to give you supper, it really wouldn't be worth while to wait. He doesn't want any fruit trees – the last we bought from outsiders had been dug up too long. He's full up with implements, and we're not open to buy anything."

The stranger laughed good-humoredly.

"Hadn't you better wait until you're asked? I'm not drumming up orders." Then he changed the subject. "You've had trouble here lately, haven't you? From what I gather, your father has done a smart and courageous thing in holding off that opium gang."

Harry thawed and fell into the trap. He was not addicted to saying much about his own exploits, but he was proud of his father, and the man discovered this from his hesitating answer. It was the latter's business to draw people out, and sitting down in the shelter of the coaming he cleverly led the boy on to talk. Frank tried to warn his companion once or twice, but failed, and soon the stranger drew him also into the conversation. Some time had slipped away when the man finally rose.

"I'm sorry I missed your father," he said, "but as I want to catch the steamer that calls at the settlement to-night, I must be getting back."

Harry paddled him ashore, and when he returned with the dog Frank grinned at him.

"That fellow hasn't told you his business yet, and I've a pretty strong suspicion that he's a newspaper man."

Harry started and frowned.

"Then if he prints all that stuff I've told him it's a sure thing that dad will be jumping mad. Didn't you know enough to call me off?"

"You wouldn't stop," Frank answered, laughing. "I kept on winking for the first five minutes, and then somehow he gathered me in too. He's smart at his business."

"I guess we'd better not say anything about the thing," decided Harry thoughtfully. "Anyway, not until we know whether you are right."

They went ashore soon afterward; and a few days later Mr. Webster called at the ranch.

"Have you Barclay's address?" he asked Mr. Oliver. "I want to write him."

Mr. Oliver gave it to him, and Mr. Webster continued:

"They're getting up a supper at the settlement, and the stewards would like to have you and the boys come. They're asking everybody between here and Carthew."

"What do they want to get up a supper for?"

Mr. Webster hesitated.

"Well," he said, "among other things, the new man is opening his big fruit ranch, and we've just heard that there's a steamboat wharf to be built and a new wagon trail made. Things are looking up, and the boys feel that they ought to have a celebration."

"All right," assented Mr. Oliver, "the boys and I will be on hand."

A few minutes later Mr. Webster started home, and then Frank opened a letter he had brought him. He was astonished when he read it.

"It's from Mr. Marston, who got me the position with the milling company – he's a relative of ours," he informed Mr. Oliver. "It appears that he is in Portland on business – shipping Walla wheat – and he says that he promised my mother he'd look me up if he had time. He may be here shortly."

"We'd be glad to see him," Mr. Oliver answered cordially. "It isn't a very long way to Portland."

Frank, however, had no further word from Mr. Marston; and in due time the evening of the supper arrived. Mr. Oliver and the boys sailed up to the settlement. Landing in the darkness, they found the little hotel blazing with light. The night was mild, and a hum of voices and bursts of laughter drifted out from the open windows of the wooden building. On entering the veranda, they were greeted by the man who had kept the store when Frank first visited the settlement.

"I'm glad to see that you're better," Mr. Oliver remarked.

"Thanks!" replied the other. "I've just got down from Seattle – the doctors have patched me up. It's time I was back at business – things have been getting pretty mixed while I was away." Then he changed the subject. "The boys would make me chairman of this affair, and they're waiting. You're only just on time."

"The wind fell light," said Mr. Oliver. "As there seems to be a good many of them, they needn't have waited for my party if we hadn't come."

"Oh," laughed the storekeeper, "they couldn't begin without – you."

Mr. Oliver looked slightly astonished; but there was another surprise in store for him and the boys when they entered the largest room in the building. It was, for once, brilliantly lighted; and crossed fir branches hung on the rudely match-boarded wall, with the azure and silver and crimson of the flag gleaming here and there among them. Frank could understand the attempt to decorate the place, because, as a matter of fact, it needed it; but he did not see why the double row of men standing about the long table should break out into an applauding murmur as Mr. Oliver walked in. Most of them had lean, brown faces and toil-hardened hands, and were dressed in duck with a cloth jacket over it and with boots that reached to the knees, but there were two or three in white shirts and neat cloth suits.

"Boys," said the storekeeper, "our guest has now arrived. Though he tells me the wind fell light, he's here on time, which is what we've always found him to be in all his doings." He waved Mr. Oliver to the head of the table. "That's your place. It's my duty to welcome you on behalf of the assembled company."

There was an outbreak of applause, and Mr. Oliver looked around with a smile.

"Thank you, boys," he beamed; "but I don't quite understand. I just came here to talk to you and get my supper."

Amid the laughter that followed there were many voices answering him.

"You'll get it, sure! To-night we'll do the talking – Sproat's been practicing speeches on the innocent trees all day, and Bentley's most as good as a gramophone. We're mighty glad to have you! Sit right down!"

The storekeeper raised his hand for silence.

"You're our guest, Mr. Oliver, and that's all there is to it." He turned to the others and lowered his voice confidentially. "I guess Webster didn't explain the thing to him. Our friend's backward on some occasions – he doesn't like a fuss – and it's quite likely that if he'd known what to expect he wouldn't have come."

There was another burst of laughter; and when Mr. Oliver had taken his place, with the boys seated near him, Frank noticed for the first time that Mr. Barclay occupied a chair close by. Then he also saw that Mr. Marston, who had written to him, sat almost opposite across the table.

"I got here this afternoon and was trying to hire a horse when I heard that you were expected at this feast," the latter said. "Your people were in first-rate health when I left them."

It was difficult to carry on a conversation across the table, and Frank turned his attention to the meal, which was the best he had sat down to since he reached the bush. By and by the storekeeper stood up.