While Bob and his men were staking out their horses they were besieged by anxious Brindles who wanted to know just where they had been and what they had done during their absence.  No incident connected with the experience of their successful comrades was deemed too trivial for their notice.  Bob and the rest answered their questions as fast as they were able, and asked a good many in return.  They learned that Captain Clinton had fallen in with the stolen cattle about one o’clock that morning, but the Indians they had hoped to find with them were not to be seen.  The captain had pursued them so closely that they did not have time to drive the stock into the Staked Plains, to die there of thirst, and neither did they harass the column, as George said they would.  Their force was too small to accomplish anything by it.  The captain had spent all the forenoon in gathering up the stock, and it was now feeding on the prairie close by, guarded by a large squad of troopers.

“I’ll tell you what’s a fact, boys,” said one of the Brindles.  “This raid must have been a big thing, for just after you left us we struck the trail of a large drove that joined ours, and a little farther on we found another.  But they were both older than our own, so the scout said, and the drove we followed was left behind as a sort of bait for us to swallow, while the main herd was driven off.”

“Why didn’t you go on after the main herd?” asked Bob.

“It would have been of no use.  It had too much of a start; and besides, we have already got just as much on our hands as we can attend to.  We have been all day gathering up the cattle we have got, and it is just all we can do to hold fast to them.  The fellows up there must attend to the rest.”

By “the fellows up there” the troopers meant to indicate the cavalry attached to the several posts north of the Staked Plains.

When Bob went back to the captain’s head-quarters, George, being a privileged character, went with him.  The officer questioned them closely in regard to their movements, took copious notes to assist him in making out his report to the colonel, and by the time he got through he came to the conclusion that the two young men deserved especial mention for the skill and courage they had exhibited.  He rewarded them on the spot by giving them more work to do-some that was not supposed to have any danger in it, but which, nevertheless, gave them an opportunity to show whether the success that had attended them during their last scout was owing to good luck or good management.

“I am more than satisfied, because you have accomplished more than I expected of you,” said the captain as he put his note-book into his pocket.  “As you will probably have some hard riding to do to-morrow, I will see that you are allowed a good night’s rest.”

“Are we going back to the fort in the morning, sir?” asked George.

Although Bob was fully as anxious as his companion was to know what the captain meant by saying that he and his squad would probably have some hard riding to do the next day, he never would have dared to ask such a question; and if he had, the officer, if he had made any reply at all, would very likely have told him that he would find out all about it in due time.  But he expressed no surprise at George’s inquisitiveness.

“I am going back to fort,” said he, “but you and the corporal will have to stay and help Mr. Wentworth with the cattle.  You will be of more use to him, George, than half a dozen green hands, for you know how to drive stock and can act as instructor to the rest.  You know where Holmes’s ranche is, I suppose?  Well, I shall want the corporal to stay with Mr. Wentworth until he gets there, and then you will have to guide the squad to the fort.  If you should happen to meet any raiders on the way, why take them in,” added the captain with a smile.-“Corporal, is Carey badly hurt?”

“He grumbles a good deal, sir, but I think it is more from anger than pain.”

“Perhaps you had better take a man in his place and let him go to the fort with us, so that the doctor can look at his arm,” said the captain.

“I tell you there is nothing like having friends at court,” said Bob as he and George walked away.  “Until you came among us I didn’t know that these officers could be so very friendly and good-natured.  Why, George, if I knew the country as well as you do, and could get scout’s pay, I would stay in the army all my life.  We have got a sort of roving commission now, and I hope we can do something with it before we go back to the fort.”

Details for such duties as this which had just been assigned to Corporal Owens are about the only recreations that fall to the lot of a private soldier on the Plains, and they are eagerly sought after.  Being almost always commanded by a sergeant or corporal who has proved to the satisfaction of his superiors that he can be trusted, the men never fail to enjoy themselves to the fullest extent.  It is a great relief to them to be entirely out of reach of their Argus-eyed officers, who are so prompt to take them to task for the least neglect of duty.

When they reached the place where the Brindles were encamped, they found that Carey had been successful in his mission.  He had brought Mr. Wentworth and his boys back with him, and the troopers were crowded about them listening to Sheldon’s account of his experience among the Kiowas.

“Get all you can out of them, boys,” exclaimed Bob, “for you will not see them after to-night.”

“Why won’t we?” asked half a dozen troopers at once.

“Because they are not going to the fort.  They are going to Holmes’s ranche, wherever that is, and we’re going to see them safely there with the stock.”

“We? who?”

“Our same old squad-all except Carey.”

The owner of that name, whose face had lighted up with pleasure, jumped to his feet with an angry exclamation.  “What do you mean by that, corporal?” he demanded.

“It’s no fault of mine, Carey,” replied Bob.  “The captain thinks you had better go to the fort, so that the doctor can look at your wound.”

Carey made no reply, but elbowed his way through the crowd and started toward the other end of the camp.  In a few minutes he was standing in front of Captain Clinton with his hand to his cap.

“What is it, Carey?” asked that officer after he had returned the salute.

“My respects to you, sir,” answered the trooper, “and, if I might take the liberty, I’d like to know why I am to be left behind while the rest of our squad goes off on a picnic with them cattle?”

“Why, you are wounded,” said the captain.

“Just a little scratch, sir,” protested the trooper.  “But even if I had no right arm at all, I could ride and shoot, and when it came to yelling I’d be there too.”

“Very good.  If you think you can stand it, go on.”

“Thank you, sir.  I knew you wouldn’t go back on old Carey.  I’ve been in every muss my troop has been in, and nobody ever hinted that I didn’t do my duty.”

The captain nodded his head and waved his hand in token of dismissal, and the trooper hurried away.

Up to this time George Ackerman had always messed with the officers, but that night he took supper with Bob’s squad, because both he and they considered that he belonged to it.  During the progress of the meal he reminded the corporal that the latter had promised to tell him a story.

“Oh yes,” said Bob, after thinking a moment.  “I was telling you, I believe, that if Mr. Wentworth killed that Indian he would be arrested and tried for murder.  Well, that’s an Indian’s idea of justice, and it seems to be the agents’ idea too.  The Indians think they have a perfect right to kill and scalp whenever they feel like it, but if a white man kills one of them it is an awful thing.  If they can’t get hold of the man who did the shooting or any of his relations, they look to the government for pay.  On a certain occasion a scouting-party of ten men was surprised and utterly wiped out.  The surprise was so complete that every one of the party was killed at the first fire, with the exception of a corporal, who had just time to knock over two of the reds before he too was shot.  Shortly afterward a peace was patched up, and a band of braves came in, bringing with them an old woman for whom they asked a government pension because her two sons had fallen in battle.  Inquiries were made, and it turned out that these two sons were the very Indians who had been killed by the corporal.  What do you think of such impudence?”

George did not know what to think of it, and probably the reader doesn’t either; but this very incident is on record.

By daylight the next morning the camp was deserted.  The main body of the troops was riding rapidly toward Fort Lamoine, and a few miles behind it came the herd which Captain Clinton had recaptured.  It was moving leisurely along in front of Mr. Wentworth and George, who controlled it with less difficulty than the rest of the squad would have experienced in managing a dozen cattle.  Behind them came Bob and his men, with the two boys, who were mounted on a couple of their father’s horses which had been found with the herd.  George’s quick eye had already noticed that there were at least half a dozen different brands among the cattle, and he told himself that when the animals bearing these brands had been delivered up to their lawful owners, Mr. Wentworth would have very little stock left.

Bob and his troopers enjoyed this “picnic” by being lazy.  They had nothing to do worth speaking of but to follow along in the rear of the herd and talk to the boys, the most of the work being performed by George and Mr. Wentworth, who during the first part of the journey managed the cattle both day and night.  They offered to assist in any way they could, but the practised herders did not need them, and besides, they were afraid to trust them.

“I don’t want to lose these steers and horses again, after all the trouble I have had to get them,” Mr. Wentworth always replied.  “I know you are good soldiers, or else you couldn’t have got my boys back for me; but you can’t herd cattle.  The least awkward movement on your part would send them galloping back toward the Staked Plains again.  Wait until they get over their fright, and then you can try your hands at guarding them during the night.”

On the afternoon of the fifth day Bob noticed that George’s field-glass was often brought into requisition both by himself and Mr. Wentworth, and on riding forward to inquire the cause of it, he was informed that they were looking for Mr. Taylor’s ranche.

“And who is Mr. Taylor?” was Bob’s next question.

“He is one of Mr. Wentworth’s neighbors who was raided by the Indians.  We know it, for we have some of his cattle with us; but whether or not they did him any damage beyond stealing his stock, we don’t know; and we can’t tell, either, until we find his house if it is still standing, or the ruins of it if it has been destroyed.”

“Then we must be getting pretty near our journey’s end,” said Bob, whose arms and shoulders began to ache when he thought of the tedious routine of drill and guard-duty upon which he must enter as soon as he returned to the fort.

“I don’t know what you mean by near,” replied George.  “The fort is all of a hundred and fifty miles from here, and we are not going toward it.  We are going toward Holmes’s ranche; and even if we have the best of luck, it will take us two weeks to get there.”

“That sounds better,” said Bob, who was greatly relieved.  “When you spoke of Mr. Wentworth’s neighbors, I was afraid that our pleasure-excursion was about to be brought to an end, for he doesn’t live so very far from the fort, you know.”

“It’s just over there,” shouted Mr. Wentworth at this moment.  “I see cattle, and that proves that the raiders didn’t scoop Taylor as they did me.  Now look sharp; we’ve got rounding out enough to do already.”

“What does he mean by that?” asked Bob.

“He means that we mustn’t allow our cattle to mix in with Mr. Taylor’s, for if we do we shall have to round them all out again.  By ’rounding out’ we mean separating the different herds from each other; and that is something that none but good herdsmen can do.  It requires skill and a big stock of patience, I tell you.  Just let a few green hands try it, and see how much they would make at it.  Why, they would scare the cattle so that they would run clear out of the State.”

Although Mr. Wentworth had declared that Mr. Taylor’s ranche was “just over there,” our friends did not reach it that day, nor until late in the afternoon of the next.  Before they got there they knew just what Mr. Taylor’s experience with the Kiowa raiders had been, for they had passed two or three of his herds, whose keepers had told them all about it.  The Indians had suddenly made their appearance, coming from the south, and driving before them a large number of cattle; and although they had not come within five miles of Mr. Taylor’s ranche, they had picked up one of his small herds which happened to be in their path.

Our friends camped that night close by Mr. Taylor’s ranche, which proved to be a perfect little fort.  It was built of heavy stone, was well supplied with provisions, and defended by five stalwart fellows who were armed with Winchester rifles.  The raiders would have had a nice time of it if they had come there.  The owner listened in great surprise to Mr. Wentworth’s story, made much of his boys, and would not let him and George “round out” the stock that bore his brand.

“You’re welcome to the steers, neighbor,” said he.  “I’ve got more left than I can take care of if the Kiowas bounce me as earnestly as they did you, and you will need them to help you start a new herd.”

This same thing was repeated by every one of the half a dozen other ranchemen to whom Mr. Wentworth offered to surrender their stock.  They all sympathized with him, and wanted to aid him by every means in their power.  The result was, that our friends arrived within one day’s march of their journey’s end with just as many cattle as they had when they left the Staked Plains.  Although Mr. Wentworth had been “completely cleaned out,” he was still worth something like twenty thousand dollars.

George and his party made their last camp a short distance from the cabin of a squatter, who rode over to see them during the evening.  He went home about ten o’clock, and George and his companions lay down on their blankets, leaving the herd to the care of four mounted troopers.  The latter, who during the journey had exhibited the greatest eagerness to learn something of the mysteries of cattle-herding, had so far progressed in knowledge and skill as to be able to stand guard at night, and to give George and Mr. Wentworth an opportunity to obtain the rest of which they began to stand so much in need.  About midnight George mounted his horse and rode around the herd to assure himself that everything was just as it should be.  He went on horseback, because everybody rides while working about Texas cattle.  If a man should venture among them on foot during the daytime, his life would be in danger; and if he went around them at night, he would probably stampede the whole herd.

“All serene,” said Loring, who was the first guard George encountered during his rounds.  “The moon shines so brightly that I can see the movements of every steer in the drove.”

“If we were a little nearer the river perhaps things wouldn’t be quite so serene,” answered George.  “The Mexicans take just such a night as this for their raids.”

About an hour after George had retired to his blanket Loring noticed that the cattle began to show signs of uneasiness.  Those that were standing up began to move about, those that were lying down arose and moved about with them, and presently the whole herd was in motion.  The cattle did not attempt to run away, but walked restlessly about, as if they were unable to find a place that suited them.

“Suke, thing! suke, thing!” said Loring coaxingly.

The travelled reader would have said at once that Loring was a Southerner; and if he could have heard Phillips on the other side of the cattle trying to soothe them with “Co-boss! co-boss!” he would have said that Phillips was from the North.  But the cattle did not understand either of them, or if they did they paid no attention to them.  Their restlessness increased every moment, and finally Loring, good soldier though he was, deserted his post and started for camp as fast as he could make his horse walk.

“Ackerman,” said he in an excited voice, “get up.  There is something wrong with those cattle.”

George was on his feet in an instant.  One glance at the herd was enough.

“I should say there was something wrong!” he exclaimed.  “How long has this thing been going on?”

“Not more than five minutes.”

“Which way are they looking,” continued George.

“Every way, but the most of them keep their heads in that direction,” said Loring, waving his arm toward the south.

“Call everybody in camp while I speak to Bob and Mr. Wentworth.  No noise now.  I am afraid we are going to have trouble.”

In less than two minutes all the troopers had been aroused, and George was holding an earnest consultation with Mr. Wentworth and the corporal.  “I’ve seen cattle act that way before,” said he, speaking as rapidly as he could make his tongue move, for time was precious; “and if we were a little nearer the river I could easily tell what is the matter with them; but I never heard of the Greasers coming so far into the country as this, and it may be nothing but nervousness that’s troubling them.  My advice would be to mount the men and move them quietly in line on the north side of the herd, and perhaps by making such a show of numbers we can keep them within bounds until they are quieted down.-What do you say, Mr. Wentworth?”

“It is the only thing that can be done,” replied Mr. Wentworth, who seemed to be greatly excited and alarmed; “and even that is a slim chance.-Make haste, corporal.  Do all you can for me, for if I lose this herd I shall be ruined, sure enough.”

“Catch up!” commanded Bob.

“Look here,” said George, seizing his friend by the shoulder and speaking with all the earnestness he could throw into his tones:  “if you get in line in front of those cattle, and they start to run toward you, don’t try to stop them, for you can’t do it, any more than we could stop those buffaloes the other night.  Run before them, and gradually draw off to the right or left of them, and you will get safely off; otherwise they will certainly run over you.  But I am afraid it is too late to do anything,” added George as he noted the increasing restlessness of the cattle.

“It is too late! it is too late!” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, rubbing his hands nervously together.  “There they go!”

Even as he spoke a noise like the rumbling of distant thunder sounded in their ears, and instantly the whole herd made off at the top of its speed.  Looking over the mass of horns and tails that was tossed wildly in the air, the troopers were horrified to see Phillips standing directly in front of it.  Being fully determined to do his duty to the utmost, the brave fellow sat in his saddle, swinging his arms about his head, and no doubt shouting at the top of his voice to stop the advance of the frightened herd, which was bearing down upon him with the resistless power of an avalanche.

“The man is crazy!” cried George in great alarm.  Then, raising both hands to his face and using them as a speaking-trumpet, he yelled, with all the power of his lungs,

“Run! run for your life!”

Phillips afterward said that he did not hear what George said to him-in fact, he couldn’t hear anything but the noise of those hoofs-but, seeing that if he remained where he was his death was certain, he wheeled his horse and fled with the speed of the wind.  The last his friends saw of him was as he dashed over the top of a ridge, with the stampeded cattle close behind him.  When they were all out of sight and the rumble of their hoofs had died away in the distance, the troopers turned to look at Mr. Wentworth.  He stood with his hands in his pockets gazing disconsolately in the direction in which the herd had disappeared, but had nothing to say.

“Now, here’s a go!” whispered Bob, giving George a nudge in the ribs with his elbow.  “What am I to do?  This is something Captain Clinton didn’t think to provide for, isn’t it?  I was ordered to go to Holmes’s ranche with Mr. Wentworth, but I wasn’t told to follow up and collect his cattle if they were stampeded.”

“You mustn’t think of following them up,” said George decidedly.  “There is no man in the world who could get that same herd together again, for it will join others as soon as it gets over its fright; and how could we tell these cattle from others bearing the same brand?  They are gone, and that’s all there is of it.  You must mount at once and see if you can find anything of Phillips.”

“All right!-Mr. Wentworth,” said Bob, “we are very sorry for the loss you have sustained, but we have done all we could for you.”

“I know it, corporal, and I am very grateful to you and to the captain, who was kind enough to send you with me.  Such things as these will happen sometimes, in spite of everything.  Now I hardly know what to do.”

Neither would anybody else have known what to do under the same circumstances.  Mr. Wentworth had no home, no property except his rifle and the horses he and his boys rode, no work to do, and but little to eat in his haversack.  It was a trying situation for a man who but a few days before had been worth a fortune, and almost any one would have been disheartened.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” said George.  “You can easily find your way to the Ackerman settlement, and if you go there and give Mr. Gilbert a note of introduction which I will write for you, he will take care of you until you can decide upon something.”

George did not feel at liberty to tell Mr. Wentworth all he had on his mind.  As soon as he returned to the fort he intended to write to his guardian, asking him if he might furnish Mr. Wentworth with a sufficient number of cattle from his own herds to give the impoverished man a new start in life.  Of course Mr. Wentworth had a few cattle of his own among those that had just run off, but it would take some time to gather them up; and as he would not want to be troubled with his boys while he was engaged in the work, George intended to ask Mr. Gilbert to take care of them during their father’s absence, and to lend Mr. Wentworth a few good herdsmen to assist him in getting his stock together.  While he was thinking about it, and before Mr. Wentworth could thank him for his generous offer, something happened which told them very plainly that the stampede that had just taken place was not owing to the nervousness of the cattle, but to the presence of those of whom George Ackerman had every reason to stand in fear.

Their attention was first attracted by some unusual sound.  They could not have told what it was or from which direction it came, but they all heard it, and waited for it to be repeated, that they might locate and define it.  There was a moment’s silence, and then a chorus of wild yells arose on the night air, accompanied by the rapid discharge of firearms.  The troopers looked at one another in blank amazement, and then at George, who was not long in assigning a cause for the disturbance.

“The Greasers are attacking the squatter,” he exclaimed; and he was quite as much astonished to be called upon to say it as the troopers were to hear it.  It must be a strong and daring band that would venture so far into the country, and almost involuntarily George whispered the name of Fletcher.  Bob was quick to decide upon his course.  He knew just what Captain Clinton would expect of him if he were there.

“Mr. Wentworth,” said he, “we must lend that man a helping hand.  As you can’t go with us on account of your boys, you will have to look out for yourself and them.”

“And I am just the man who can do it,” replied Mr. Wentworth.  “Good-bye and good luck to you!  Shoot hard, and shoot to hit.”

“How cool and confident he is!  I wish I had half his courage,” thought Bob as he ordered his men into their saddles, following it up with the commands, “Forward!  Trot! gallop!”

The troopers fell into line as they moved off, and a few yards in advance of them rode George and Bob.  The former could easily have taken the lead if he had desired to do so, but, knowing that he did not command the squad, he curbed his impatience as well as he could and kept close by his friend’s side.  The troopers unslung their carbines, George made ready his Winchester, while Bob, who believed as firmly in the virtues of “cold steel” as did the gallant officer whom he afterward accompanied on his last memorable march, drew his sabre.  All on a sudden the firing ceased, and when the troopers rode over the brow of a ridge a few minutes later, they saw a thin blue smoke arising from the squatter’s cabin, and that told them more than they wanted to know.  George was both astonished and enraged at the sight-astonished to know that the raiders would stop during one of their marauding expeditions, when haste was so necessary, to attack and burn so humble a dwelling as the abode of the squatter, and enraged to see that they had been successful enough to do even that.  There was a crowd of Mexicans around the building, and others with horses were standing close by.

“Gobble the horses, Bob,” said George, who was so highly excited that he could scarcely speak, “and then you can ride down and capture the raiders at your leisure.”

Bob caught the idea in an instant.  Turning in his saddle, he waved his sabre over his head, but instead of giving the command “Charge!” he effectually closed the mouths of his followers, who had already opened their lips and drawn in a long breath preparatory to giving vent to their favorite yell, by saying in a low tone, “Silence!”

Bob did not know whether or not this order had ever before been given during a charge, and, what was more, he did not care.  His object was to cut the men who were lingering about the burning cabin off from their horses, and in order to do that he must get as close as he could to them before he was discovered.