Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho

“It will be of no use, Mr. Winters,” said he, “for it has been tried already. He has been chased with dogs, caught in traps, and shot at numberless times; but he is to-day as lively and full of mischief as he was a year ago. He is bound to die a natural death.”

Mr. Thomas was speaking of the bear which had so often robbed Uncle James’s cow-pen, and after the boys had listened for a few minutes to the conversation that followed, they learned that this pest had visited the rancho again during the previous night, and walked off with a fine calf, for which Mr. Winters had refused a hundred dollars a few days before. More than that, he had got into a trap which had been made especially for him, but had succeeded in working his way out. This same trap had caught and held two good-sized bears, which had tried their best to escape, but it was not strong enough to confine him. He had tumbled the logs about in every direction, and made off with the bait with which the trap was set.

This bear was a well-known character in that section of the country – as well known as Mr. Winters himself. He was called “Old Davy;” and this name had been given to him to distinguish him from a few other old settlers of the same species; but these had been killed off, one after another, and now Old Davy was left alone. Those who had seen him, described him as a monster animal, fully as large as two ordinary bears. He could be recognized by a large bald spot on his forehead, which was, doubtless, the scar of a wound received during some of his numerous battles, and his track could be distinguished from those of other bears by the peculiar shape of the print left by one of his hind feet. A portion of the foot had either been shot away, or lost during a conflict with dogs, and the track made by this wounded member, showed only the claws and the ball of the foot. But this did not interfere with Old Davy’s traveling, or his fighting, either. He could wander over a good portion of the county in a night, and had, more than once, demonstrated his ability to whip all the dogs that could get around him. Between him and the horse-thieves, the farmers had lost many a dollar.

When Old Davy and his exploits had been thoroughly discussed, Mr. Winters told his nephews why he had come in there. He was on the point of starting for San Diego, to be gone three or four days; and he wanted the boys to manage affairs during his absence. “There is not much to be done,” said he, with a laugh, “but if you can manage to shoot Old Davy and catch those horse-thieves while I am gone, I should be delighted.”

The boys told themselves that they had not the slightest intention of going within a mile of Old Davy. If men like Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly, who had hunted grizzly bears all their lives, could not kill him, they certainly had no business with him. And as for the horse-thieves, they were, doubtless, a band of desperadoes, who used their revolvers or bowie-knives upon any one who came in their way, and the boys were quite sure that they would let them alone also. But, after all, they had a good deal to do with the horse-thieves, and with Old Davy also. Some exciting events happened in the settlement during the next few hours, and when Uncle James returned from San Diego, he was more astonished than he was when he listened to Frank’s story of his first encounter with Pierre Costello.

CHAPTER III

A STRANGE STORY

“Now,” said Archie, when he had seen Uncle James ride off toward San Diego, “what’s to be done? It’s dreadful slow hanging around the house all the while, and I propose that we visit that bear trap. We might repair it, you know, and perhaps we can make it strong enough to hold Old Davy the next time he gets into it.”

As no objections were raised to this proposition, the boys strolled slowly toward the stable, where Mr. Winters now kept all his fine riding stock, it being unsafe to allow the animals to run at large. There was no danger that the robbers would get any more horses out of that stable, for Dick Lewis and old Bob Kelly had taken up their quarters there. Archie thought it would have been a good thing for him and Frank, if this precaution had been adopted a few days before.

The stable was full of horses, but Frank and Archie could not find any to suit them. While Johnny and Dick were saddling their nags, the cousins, with their bridles in their hands, walked slowly up and down the floor, critically examining the twenty sleek, well-kept animals which were standing quietly in their respective stalls; but they measured every thing by Roderick and King James now, and none of their uncle’s horses were good enough for them.

“I believe I won’t go, fellows,” said Archie, at length. “I have a good mind to say that I will never leave the rancho again, until I get my horse back. Will you agree to that, Frank, if I will?”

“No, sir!” replied his cousin, quickly. “I can’t see the use of hurting my nose to spite my face. I am going on that expedition with Captain Porter this winter, if I have to ride a mule.”

“Well, it beats me that there is no one here who can catch those robbers,” said Archie, bitterly. “Dick Lewis, I have lost all faith in you.”

The trapper was seated on a bench beside the door, busy at work on a new hunting shirt, which, like all the rest of his garments, was gaudily ornamented with beads and bright-colored pieces of cloth. He smiled good-naturedly at Archie, but made no reply.

“I built my hopes high upon you,” continued the latter. “You have spent your life on the frontier; fought all through the Mexican war; have shot dozens of grizzly bears and Indians; been in numberless scrapes with all sorts of desperate characters, and yet you allow Old Davy to invade the rancho every night, and walk off with some of uncle’s best stock, and permit a band of horse-thieves to settle down here in our very midst, and carry on their trade without a word of protest. What do you mean by it?”

“We have done all we could, little ’un – me an’ old Bob have,” replied the trapper. “But don’t you know that thar are things movin’ around us all the while, that no livin’ man can’t foller, ’cause they don’t leave no trail?”

“Of course there are,” said Johnny. “Birds, for instance.”

“But the birds didn’t steal my horse,” exclaimed Archie.

“I aint sayin’ they did,” returned Dick. “I know well enough that your hosses were stole by men, ’cause I seed the prints of their feet in front of this yere very door. I know which way they went, too, fur me an’ old Bob tracked em.”

“You did?” cried Frank. “Then why didn’t you follow them up, and catch them?”

“’Cause we couldn’t; that’s the reason. It’s a leetle the queerest thing I ever hearn tell on.”

“What is?” asked all the boys in a breath. They began to get interested and excited now, for the trapper’s mysterious manner indicated that he had some great secret to communicate.

“I haint sartin that I had oughter say any thing about it,” replied Dick. “It’s something I can’t begin to see through, an’ that’s the reason I haint told your uncle of it. You ’member when Mr. Winters lost them two hosses of his’n, don’t you? Wal, the next mornin’ me an’ ole Bob tracked ’em nigh onto five miles, an’ finally lost their trail about a hundred yards from the creek that flows on this side of Don Carlos’ rancho. Thar war the prints of their hoofs in the soft ’arth, as plain as bar’s ears, an’ thar the trail ended. Now, where did them two hosses go to? That’s what I want to know.”

“Perhaps they turned up or down the creek to find a ford,” said Frank.

“They couldn’t have done that without leavin’ a trail, could they? It was a good hundred yards to the creek, as I told you, an’ me an’ Bob sarched every inch of the ground, but couldn’t find the print of a single hoof.”

“The robbers may have doubled on their trail, for the purpose of throwing you off the scent,” suggested Johnny.

“I don’t reckon that men who have hunted wild Injuns an’ varmints as long as me an’ Bob have, could be fooled by sich a trick as that ar’,” replied the trapper. “I have since found out all about it, youngsters. Them hosses didn’t make no more trail; that’s the reason we couldn’t foller ’em.”

“Then, of course, they didn’t go any farther,” said Dick Thomas.

“Yes, they did. They went acrost that creek, an’ into Don Carlos’ rancho, an’ never touched the ground, nor the water either.”

“Into Don Carlos’ rancho!” repeated Archie in great astonishment.

“And never touched the ground!” echoed Johnny. “Were they carried over?”

“Sartinly not. They walked.”

“How could two solid flesh-and-blood horses walk a hundred yards without stepping on the ground?” asked Frank.

“They could step on something else, couldn’t they? They walked on clouds!”

As the trapper said this, he settled back on the bench, and looked at the boys, to observe the effect this astounding announcement would have upon them. He expected them to be greatly amazed, and they certainly were. Any four boys in the world would have been amazed to hear such a declaration fall from the lips of a man whom they knew to be strictly truthful, and who, moreover, was not jesting, but speaking in sober earnest. They looked at the trapper a moment, and then at one another, and finally Johnny and Dick Thomas burst into a loud laugh; while the cousins, who were better acquainted with their old friend, thrust their hands deep into their pockets with an air which said plainly that they did not understand the matter at all, and waited patiently for him to explain.

“You may believe it or not,” said Dick, “but it’s a fact, ’cause ole Bob seed it with his own eyes. He watched the hul thing from beginning to end, and it well-nigh skeered him to death.”

“What did he see?” asked Frank, growing more and more bewildered. “I didn’t suppose that Bob was afraid of any living thing.”

“Nor he aint, nuther,” returned the trapper, quickly. “But show him something that can’t be hurt by a rifle-ball, an’ he’ll take to his heels as quick as any body. As I was sayin’, the trail of them two hosses ended thar on the bank of that creek, an’ we couldn’t find it ag’in. Me an’ ole Bob puzzled our heads over it fur a long time, an’ we finally made up our minds that that ar’ old Spaniard, Don Carlos, could tell us all about the matter if he was a mind to, an’ Bob said that we would go back the next night, an’ watch his rancho. Wal, when the next night come, we couldn’t both go, ’cause your uncle said he wanted one of us to keep an eye on the stables: so I stayed at home, an’ ole Bob went alone. He was gone about three hours, an’ when he come back I seed a sight I never seed afore, an’ one I never expect to see ag’in. Ole Bob’s face was as white as a Sunday shirt, an’ he was shakin’ all over like a man with the ager.”

“What had he seen?” repeated Frank, who was impatient to get at the bottom of the mystery.

“Easy, easy, youngster, I’m comin’ to that,” replied Dick. “Now, I’ve knowed ole Bob ever since I was knee-high to a duck, an’ I’ve been with him in more ’n a hundred fights with Injuns, an’ Greasers, an’ varmints – sometimes, too, when we jest did get away with our ha’r, an’ that was all – but I never seed him skeered afore. It made me feel kinder funny, I tell you, ’cause I knowed that thar had been something onnatural goin’ on; an’ I aint ashamed to say that I looked all around this yere stable, to make sure that me an’ him were alone. The ole feller didn’t say any thing, till he had filled his pipe an’ smoked it about half out; an’ then he told me what he had seed. ‘Dick,’ says he, ‘thar’s been awful things agoin’ on about that ar’ old Greaser’s rancho, an’ if I hadn’t seed it all with my own two eyes, I shouldn’t believe it. I went down thar where we lost the trail last night, an’ arter hidin’ my hoss in the bushes, tuk up a position from which I could watch both sides of the creek. I knowed that Don Carlos had gone to bed, ’cause thar was no light about the rancho, an’ the doors an’ winder-shutters were all closed. I hadn’t been thar in the bushes long, afore I heered the trampin’ of hosses; but it stopped all of a sudden, an’ fur the next five minutes I lay thar on the ground listenin,’ an’ peepin’ through the trees, tryin’ to get a sight at the fellers. But I couldn’t see ’em, an’ finally I begun to crawl up closer.

“‘Now, the last time I looked at the rancho, it was dark an’ still, an’ thar wasn’t a sign of a human bein’ about it; an’ durin’ the two minutes I was crawlin’ t’wards them hossmen, thar wasn’t even the rustlin’ of a leaf to tell me that thar was any thing goin’ on. But sich fellers as them that live in that rancho don’t make no noise about their work. They had done a good deal in them two minutes; an’ when I looked acrost the creek ag’in, I knowed how it come that we had lost the trail of them hosses. I seed enough to skeer me wuss nor I was ever skeered afore, an’ if I could have got up from the ground, I should have made tracks from thar sudden: but, Dick, I couldn’t move – something held me fast.

“‘I told you that the last time I looked t’wards the rancho it was all dark, didn’t I? Wal, it wasn’t so now. The walls of the buildin’, an’ the bank of the creek, were lighted up by streaks of fire; an’ where they come from I couldn’t tell. Howsomever, I didn’t think much about that, fur I seed somethin’ else that made my ole ’coon-skin cap raise up on my head. It was a bridge of clouds, which ran from the wall of the buildin’ down to the water’s edge. Mebbe you won’t believe that, Dick, but I seed it with my own eyes. Them streaks of fire, that come from the rancho, lighted up every thing fur a hundred yards around; an’ I could see the clouds a rollin’ an’ tumblin’ like the smoke from the mouth of a cannon. More ’n that, thar was a small flatboat in the creek, which I hadn’t seed thar afore, an’ on it were four hosses an’ three men. Two of the hosses were Roderick and King Jeems. Each one had a feller on his back, an’ each feller was holdin’ another hoss by the bridle.

“‘By the time I had noted these things the boat begun to move, an’ then I seed something else that skeered me. That ar’ boat, Dick, was rowed acrost that creek without hands. It’s a fact, ’cause I seed it. I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I wasn’t dreamin’, but thar wasn’t no mistake about it. Them two fellers sot thar on their hosses, without layin’ a finger on an oar or paddle, the other stood in the starn, with his hands in his pockets, an’ yet the boat carried them acrost. It wasn’t no time in reachin’ the other bank, an’ when it stopped, the hossmen rode out on this bridge of clouds, which seemed to have been put thar on purpose fur them, and went t’wards the house. I kept clost watch of them, to see which way they turned, but they didn’t turn at all. They kept straight ahead, an’ went into the rancho. I rubbed my eyes ag’in, an’ when I opened ’em the boat wasn’t thar, the bridge of clouds had disappeared, the fire had gone out, an’ the rancho was as dark an’ silent as though thar had never been nobody about it. I tell you, Dick, I was skeered when I seed that; but I’ve got a leetle courage, I reckon, an’ I made up my mind that I would find out the meanin’ of them strange doin’s, or die a tryin’. I had seed them two fellers go into the rancho, an’ I wanted to know how they got in, an’ what they were goin’ to do thar. I didn’t stop to think the matter over, ’cause I knowed I should back out if I did; but jumpin’ to my feet, I ran down the bank of the creek to the water, an’ struck out for the other shore. I wasn’t long in gettin’ acrost, an’ presently I found myself standin’ clost to the wall where I had seed the fire shinin’, an’ where them two hossmen had gone in. Was I really awake? Had I seed any body about thar at all? Dick, thar wasn’t a door or winder on that side of the buildin’! The wall was as solid as the ground – not a single crack or crevice in it. How could them two fellers have gone through a stone wall five foot thick? I axed myself that question, an’ then I fetched a little whistle, an’ turned an’ run fur my life. I swum that creek quicker’n it was ever swum afore, I reckon; an’ when I reached my hoss, I put spurs to him, an’ come home a flyin’. I kept lookin’ back all the while, to see if thar wasn’t somethin’ follerin’ me, an’ I didn’t draw an easy breath until I come within sight of this rancho. I’ve seed an’ heered of a heap of queer things durin’ the sixty years I’ve been knocked about on the prairy, but this yere is a leetle ahead of ’em all.’ That’s the way old Bob told me his story, youngsters,” said Dick, in conclusion. “You may laugh at it if you want to, but I won’t, ’cause I know that every word of it is the truth.”

For a few moments after the trapper ceased speaking, the boys stood looking at him and at one another in blank amazement. His story reminded them of the tales of enchantment they had read in the Arabian Nights. As strange as it may seem, however, they were not so much astonished at the recital of the singular events that had happened at the old Spaniard’s rancho, as they were to know that Roderick and King James had been seen to go in there. Frank turned the matter over in his mind, and told himself that he had heard something that would, sooner or later, lead to the breaking up of the robber-band. Like the others, he could not explain the “bridge of clouds,” nor could he understand how a boat could be ferried across a wide creek without hands, or how a solid stone wall, five feet thick, could open to admit the horsemen; but still he knew that if these things had really happened, they were the results of human agency, and that there was nothing supernatural about them. He did not believe that Don Carlos had any thing to do with the horse-thieves, and yet it did not seem possible that such proceedings as the old trapper had witnessed could go on in his rancho without his knowledge. Don Carlos was a prominent personage in the settlement. He was one of the wealthiest men in Southern California, numbered his cattle and horses by thousands, his money by bushels instead of dollars (Uncle James had once told his nephews that he had seen three barrels of gold in the old Spaniard’s bed-room), and there was no need that he should risk his life by engaging in any such business. Besides, he had lost several fine horses himself, and had been untiring in his efforts to discover the thieves. If he was one of the guilty parties, he certainly had reason to congratulate himself on the skillful manner in which he had avoided arousing the suspicions of his neighbors.

“I have told you the story, youngsters,” said Dick, “an’ you can do what you think best. You can bear one thing in mind, howsomever, an’ that is, if you’re goin’ to be keerless, like you allers are, an’ try to find out what’s been goin’ on at that rancho, you can look to the settlers for help, if you want any. Ole Bob says that thar aint money enough in Californy to hire him to go back thar; an’ if he won’t go, you’d better believe that Dick Lewis won’t go nuther. I don’t want to see any thing that ole Bob is afeared of.”

“I think we had better let the matter rest until Uncle James returns,” said Frank. “He will know what ought to be done. Now let us go out and look at that trap.”

“You had better keep away from thar,” said Dick. “If Ole Davy happens to be prowlin’ about in the woods, he’ll larn you more of the nater of grizzly bars than you ever knowed afore.”

“O, we’re not going to trouble him,” replied Johnny.

“And if he knows when he is well off he won’t trouble us either,” said Archie. “I’ve wanted to fight somebody ever since I lost that horse; and I’m just as willing it should be Old Davy as any one else.”

The cousins had a good deal of trouble in selecting their horses; but, with the trapper’s assistance, they were finally mounted to their satisfaction, and after securing their weapons, and a couple of axes, with which to repair the trap, they whistled to their dogs, and galloped toward the mountains.

CHAPTER IV

“OLD DAVY.”

It was a long time before the boys ceased to wonder at the singular story they had just heard. They discussed it while they were riding toward the mountains; but after they had all expressed an opinion, they were as much in the dark as they had been before. They could not understand it at all. Dick Thomas declared that old Bob must have fallen asleep while he was watching the rancho, and that the bridge of clouds, the streaks of fire, and the boat that was ferried across the creek without hands, were things which he had seen only in his dreams. Such incidents, he said, might have happened in feudal times, and in some old castle which had been built with secret doors and dungeons and passage-ways; but no one need try to make him believe that they could take place at that late day, in a civilized country, and in a house that had been erected simply for a dwelling. It was ridiculous. Johnny said that was his opinion, too; but Frank and Archie, who knew that the old trapper was not the man to fall asleep while watching for an enemy, were confident that something unusual and exciting had been going on at Don Carlos’ rancho. Bob was a very ignorant man, and of course he was superstitious. He believed in signs and omens, and any thing he could not account for was sure to frighten him. This may have led him to exaggerate the occurrences at the rancho, but, for all that, they knew that he had been a witness to some strange scenes.

“Old Bob didn’t make up that story,” said Archie, decidedly, “and he never dreamed it, either. He saw something, and I’ll know what it was before I am two days older. It’s my opinion that that old Spaniard has got my horse: and if he has, he must give him up, or there’ll be a bigger fuss in this settlement than there was when the Indians attacked it years ago.”

But all thoughts of Don Carlos and his rancho, and the mysterious things that had happened there, were soon driven out of their minds; for, by this time, they had reached the spring near which Frank, Archie, and Johnny had been captured by Pierre and his band, and there they found the trap of which they were in search. It was built of heavy logs, with a movable top, like the lid of a box, to which, when the trap was set, a “trigger” was adjusted, in such a manner that, when the bait was removed, the top would fall down, confining the bear in the pen. The boys thought that Old Davy must have possessed immense power of muscle to work his way out of that trap. He had left the marks of his great claws and teeth on the logs, and there were the prints of his feet where he had passed along the muddy bank of the spring into the woods.

Frank and his companions sat in their saddles looking at the trap, while the dogs, with all the bristles on their backs sticking straight up, ran about in a state of intense excitement. The boys were all thinking about the same thing: and that was, if they dared to send on the dogs, and could find and shoot Old Davy, what a feather it would be in their caps! That would be doing something that Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly and all the best hunters in the settlement had tried in vain to accomplish. There was one of their number who was reckless enough to believe that they could do it, and that was Archie Winters.

“Hi! hi!” he yelled, so suddenly that he startled all his companions. “Look to him, dogs. Hunt him up!”

No sooner were the words spoken, than the dogs uttered a simultaneous yelp, and disappeared in the bushes. There were five of them in the pack – Marmion, and four splendid hounds, which belonged to Dick. Their young masters had often declared that they should never follow Old Davy’s trail, for he was a famous hand to destroy dogs, and during his numerous fights, he had killed nearly all the finest animals of this species in the settlement. A few months before, every farmer in that section of the country had pointed with pride to his pack of fifteen or twenty hounds, to which he gave as much care and attention as he bestowed upon his horses; but Old Davy had thinned them all out, and now some of the settlers had only two or three remaining. Frank and Dick had, thus far, kept their favorites at a safe distance from the grizzly, but Archie had sent them right into his mouth. When the dogs came up with him, they would of course attack him, and that would be the last of them. A bear that could demolish twenty fierce hounds in a single fight, would not wink over five antagonists. However, it was too late to recall them. They were already out of sight, and yelping fierce and loud as they swept up the mountain in pursuit of the grizzly.