Black Cloud’s visit

It was mid-afternoon of the day following the start of Mr. Mayberry and Rob, riding double, from the shanty in the lonely basin. Gathered in the big living room of the ranch house of the Harkness range was a cheerless little group, consisting of the Boy Scouts of the Ranger Patrol, Mr. Harkness and several cow-punchers, including Blinky. They had returned, disheartened and apprehensive, a few hours before, from a painstaking search of the mountains for a trace of Rob. But they had found absolutely none, and as Mr. Harkness had just said, felt as if they had indeed reached “the end of the rope.”

“You don’t think, then, there is a chance of our finding him?”

It was Merritt who spoke.

“I’m afraid, much as I dislike to say it, my boy, that we have used up every possible resource at our command,” rejoined the rancher.

“Then what are we to do? We can’t give up the search like this. He may be wandering about in the mountains now.”

“With nothing to eat,” put in Tubby tragically.

“I only wish you could suggest something,” said Mr. Harkness in a weary tone, that made Merritt ashamed of his querulous speech.

“What your experience has been unable to suggest it is unlikely that we could think of,” he rejoined. “I’ve only one thing to say, Mr. Harkness, and that is that we delay notifying his parents in the East till the last flicker of hope has died out.”

“You mean that we may still hear some news of him?”

“I know Rob Blake,” rejoined Merritt, “and if he has an ounce of strength he will make his way back.”

“But the tracks of the big bear?”

“Silver Tip,” put in Harry.

“That looks bad, I know,” stubbornly rejoined Merritt; “but somehow I feel that Rob will yet come out all right.”

“I hope so, I am sure,” breathed Mr. Harkness fervently.

As the reader will have guessed by the rancher’s remark, the searching party had encountered the tracks of the big grizzly in the course of their wanderings. Huge as were the monster’s paws, there was no danger of mistaking them for those of any of his kindred. The fact that the huge brute was on that side of the range had proved a disturbing factor in the hunt for Rob Blake. It indicated another source of danger to the missing boy, aside from the peril of Indians, hunger and thirst, and many other dangers that he might have to face.

Suddenly Mr. Harkness started up from the big hewn-oak chair in which he had flung himself, and sat up, listening intently. The others did the same, Blinky running to the window.

“There’s some one on a pony coming over the foothills like blazes bent for election!” he announced.

“Wh-o is it?” demanded Mr. Harkness.

“Can’t make out. Doesn’t ride like any of this outfit,” said Blinky.

“Maybe it’s news of Rob,” exclaimed Merritt.

The same thought flamed up in the heart of each of the returned searchers.

“It’s an Indian!” cried Blinky suddenly.

“How do you know?”

“Can tell by his riding. I can see his blanket flapping out, too.”

“Perhaps he has news of the boy.”

“He knows something of importance; he wants to get here quick,” was the cow-puncher’s rejoinder. “He’s spurring on that plug of his for all he’s worth. Indians don’t ride that hard unless they are in a hurry.”

Everybody was on their feet now, and by common consent a movement toward the door began.

They had not long to wait before the rider galloped up, and drew rein so violently as to cast his mount back on its haunches. As Blinky had said, the newcomer was an Indian. He had evidently ridden long and hard. His pony’s coat was covered with a coating of dust, and his blanket was whitened with the same stuff. The paint on his face was almost obliterated by the same substance.

“How!” he exclaimed, gazing with a hawklike intensity into the ring of faces.

“How!” said Mr. Harkness in the same manner. “Black Cloud!” he exclaimed the next instant, as the chief slipped from his pony.

The chief nodded gravely, and then looked about him uneasily. He evidently did not like to be the centre of so many curious faces. Divining his thought, the rancher invited him inside, ordering one of the cow-punchers to take the chief’s pony.

“Has has he news of Rob?” begged Merritt, pressing forward.

“Now, see here, Merritt,” said Mr. Harkness, not unkindly, “the way of an Indian is one of the wonders of the world. You leave him to me, and if he does know anything of the boy I’ll get it out of him.”

Together the Indian chief and the rancher passed into the living room of the ranch house, and the door closed on them.

For more than an hour they remained closeted, and then they emerged once more. Black Cloud, so the eager boys noticed, looked more than usually grim and determined, while Mr. Harkness’s face bore a stern look. The Indian’s pony, which had been fed, watered and rubbed down, was brought round for him, and he cast once more a searching glance about him. Then, without a word, he leaped upon his little animal’s back and dashed off.

“He he had news?” demanded Merritt, the foremost in the rush that instantly surrounded Mr. Harkness.

“Yes, grave news,” was the reply; “but come inside. I will tell you all he told me. In the first place, to relieve your anxiety, I must tell you that while Rob was for a time a prisoner of the tribe, he is so no longer, having, as we surmised after we saw his sombrero on that scamp’s saddle, escaped.”

“Then nobody knows where he is?”

“That’s it.”

Blank looks were exchanged as they clustered about the rancher to hear what the chief of the Moquis had visited him for. Evidently, from the rancher’s manner, there were graver thoughts still in his mind.

“To explain to you what is to follow,” he said, “I must say that things are now at a crisis as regards the leadership of the Moquis tribe. For the first time in many years Black Cloud’s power is threatened. A younger chief, named Diamond Snake, has attained great supremacy in the tribe, and is using his influence to undermine the leadership of Black Cloud. Diamond Snake is not a full-blooded Indian, but he once worked for Clark Jennings on his father’s ranch, before the family moved here.”

“Gosh-jigger them!” burst out Blinky devoutly.

“Black Cloud, who is a pretty sensible Indian, refused to have anything to do with Jennings and his gang, and as late as last night, he tells me, warned them not to try to implicate his tribe in trouble. In spite of that, an attack is to be made on our mavericks in the Far Pasture by Jennings and his crowd, disguised as Moquis, and ”

“It was Jennings and that bunch, for a bet, that stampeded the cattle!” cried Blinky.

“I think so. They could easily rig themselves up as Moquis and deceive any one, particularly in the excitement. Black Cloud became suspicious after his interview with Jennings, and laid in hiding in the brush. What he heard confirmed his suspicion that Jennings meant to disguise himself and his helpers as Indians, when they raided the cattle, and so throw the blame on the tribe. Old Black Cloud readily saw that this would work him immeasurable harm, so rode right off to warn me.”

“But why should he do this?” asked Merritt.

“It’s clear enough,” rejoined the rancher. “He knows I’m pretty influential, and he also knows that there’s a hot time coming for his tribe when they are finally rounded up. By coming to me and telling me of Jennings’s plans, he figures that I, on my part, will go to the front for him and save his tribe from any severe penalty.”

“But will you?” asked Harry.

“I promised him to,” rejoined Mr. Harkness. “His visit may be the means of saving me thousands of dollars. But now I am in a serious predicament. Most of my punchers are off on the Bone Mound Range, rounding up mavericks. Jennings will have quite a force, and how are we to oppose him?”

“We’ll help you,” spoke up Harry boldly.

“Who?”

“Why, the Boy Scouts. Except Merritt and Tubby, we can all rope, and not one of us is scared of a little shooting, or anything like that.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of taking you boys into danger.”

“I guess you’ll have to take them,” put in Blinky soberly.

“Why?”

“Well, there’s only myself and three other punchers, and we’ll need at least a dozen to take care of the raid. Let the kids help. They’ll do all right. I watched ’em carefully while we were trailing poor Rob, and they’re made of the right stuff.”

So it was arranged that the boys were to take part in protecting the Far Pasture against Clark Jennings and his marauders. There was now little doubt in the minds of Mr. Harkness and the others that the stampede had been instigated by Clark and his friends, disguised as Moquis. In fact, we know from the conversation we overheard in the mountains that such was the case.

“Where has Black Cloud gone, to join the snake dance?” asked Merritt, when this had been settled.

“No; at least, he has gone there, but with the object of preventing it, if possible. In some way he has learned that Mayberry has sent for soldiers, and that he means to surprise the tribe at the height of their revelry. Black Cloud, for this reason, is determined to stop it if he can.”

“Can he, do you think?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know. He told me that Diamond Snake, in order to make himself more popular with the tribe, was a red-hot advocate of giving the dance with all its trimmings.”

“I’d like to see it,” said Merritt suddenly.

“See them eating rattlers, eh?” put in Blinky.

“Do they eat them?” asked Tubby, interested at once at the mention of his favorite topic.

“Eat ’em alive,” was the startling reply; “that is, except the ones they throw into a red-hot pit of coals.”

“Did you ever see a snake dance?” asked Merritt eagerly.

“No, but I heard my grandpop talk about ’em. He’s one of the few white men that ever saw one and got out alive.”

“What do you mean?”

“That by Moqui law if a white man is caught looking on at their fal-de-lals and fandangos, he is tortured to death.”

“Hum! I guess I don’t want to see one as badly as I thought I did,” muttered Tubby.

At this instant there came a sharp ring at the telephone. Mr. Harkness hastened to the instrument and took up the receiver. His face paled, and then broke into a joyous smile as he heard the voice at the other end.

“News of Rob!” he shouted, wheeling about.

Instantly they pressed forward about him, eager to hear.

“He’s Hullo! Yes. What’s that? Oh, yes. Boys, Rob was at Red Flat some time ago. He is now mounted and on his way here. I am talking to Mr. Mayberry, the Indian agent, who saved him from a terrible death.”

“How far is Red Flat from here?”

“About twenty miles, and the boy has a good horse.”

“He ought to be here in a couple of hours, then?”

“About that,” rejoined Mr. Harkness, resuming his conversation with the Indian agent. Suddenly they heard his voice raised as if in expostulation.

“Don’t do any such thing, Mayberry!” the boys heard the rancher exclaim. “You are mad to attempt it!”

“Oh, I know, duty is duty, but it’s no man’s duty to place his head in a trap. Why, man alive, it’s courting death, you ”

“He’s rung off,” he exclaimed, turning to the inquiring group behind him. “I don’t know what I wouldn’t give to be able to stop him in what he is about to do.”

“Is he in trouble?” asked Harry.

“No, my boy, but he soon will be. He is going to ‘reason’ with the Indians. Reason with them!” he burst out bitterly. “Reason with a rock, a rattlesnake, a coyote, or anything else senseless or cruel, but don’t reason with an Indian.”

“If you’re enjoyin’ this here present life,” put in Blinky sagely.