CHAPTER XV
"THE NIGHT TRICK"
The party at the schoolhouse was declared a success by all Jane Ann Hick's Eastern friends—saving, of course, The Fox. She had only danced with Tom and Bob and had disproved haughtily of the entire proceedings. She had pronounced Ruth's little plot for getting Ike and Sally together, "a silly trick," although the other girls had found considerable innocent enjoyment in it, and the big foreman of Silver Ranch rode home with them after midnight in a plain condition of ecstacy.
"Ike suah has made the hit of his life," Jimsey declared, to the other cowboys.
"He was the 'belle of the ball' all right," chimed in another.
"If I warn't a person of puffectly tame an' gentle nature, I'd suah be a whole lot jealous of his popularity," proceeded he of the purple necktie. "But I see a-many of you 'ombres jest standin' around and a-gnashin' of your teeth at the way Ike carried off the gals."
"Huh! " grunted Bud. "We weren't gnashin' no teeth at old Ike. What put our grinders on edge was that yere purple necktie an' pink-striped shirt you're wearin'. Ev'ry gal that danced with you, Jimsey, was in danger of gettin' cross-eyed lookin' at that ne-fa-ri-ous combination."
Sunday was a quiet day at the ranch. Although there was no church nearer than Bullhide, Bill Hicks made a practice of doing as little work as possible on the first day of the week, and his gangs were instructed to simply keep the herds in bounds.
At the ranch house Ruth and her girl friends arranged a song-service for the evening to which all the men about the home corral, and those who could be spared to ride in from the range, were invited. This broke up several card games in the bunk house—games innocent in themselves, perhaps, but an amusement better engaged in on week days.
The boys gathered in the dusk on the wide porch and listened to the really beautiful music that the girls had learned at Briarwood Hall. Ruth was in splendid voice, and her singing was applauded warmly by the cowboys.
"My soul, Bud! " gasped Jimsey. "Couldn't that leetle gal jest sing a herd of millin' cattle to by-low on the night trick, with that yere voice of hers?"
"Uh-huh!" agreed Bud. 'She could stop a stampede, she could."
"Oh, I'd love to see a real stampede!" exclaimed Helen, who overheard this conversation.
"You would eh?" responded Jane Ann. "Well, here's hoping you never get your wish—eh, boys?"
"Not with the Bar-Cross-Naught outfit, Miss Jinny," agreed Bud, fervently.
"But it must be a wonderful sight to see so many steers rushing over the plain at once—all running as tight as they can run," urged the innocent Helen.
"Ya-as," drawled Jimsey. "But I want it to be some other man's cattle."
"But do you really ever have much trouble with the cattle?" asked Helen. "They all look so tame."
"Except Old Trouble-Maker," laughed her twin, who stood beside her.
"Looks jest like a picnic, herdin' them mooley-cows, don't it?" scoffed Jimsey.
"They'd ought to be on the night trick, once," said Jane Ann. "It's all right punching cows by daylight."
"What's the night trick?" asked Heavy.
"Night herding. That's when things happen to a bunch of cows," explained the ranchman's neice.
"I believe that must be fun," cried Ruth, who had come out upon the porch. "Can't we go out to one of the camps and see the work by night as well as by day?"
"Good for you, Ruth!" cried Tom Cameron. "That's the game."
"Oh, I wouldn't want to do that," objected Mary Cox. "We'd have to camp out."
"Well, them that don't want to go can stay here," Jane Ann said, quickly. If anything was needed to enlist her in the cause it was the opposition of The Fox. "I'll see what Uncle Bill says."
"But, will it be dangerous?" demanded the more careful Madge.
"I've ridden at night," said Jane Ann, proudly. "Haven't I, Jimsey?"
"Just so," admitted the cowboy, gravely. "But a whole bunch o' gals might make the critters nervous."
"Too many cows would sure make the girls nervous!" laughed Bob, grinning at his sister.
But the idea once having taken possession of the minds of Ruth and her girl friends, the conclusion was foregone. Uncle Bill at first (to quote Jane Ann) "went up in the air." When he came down to earth, however, his neice was right there, ready to argue the point with him and—as usual—he gave in to her.
"Tarnashun, Jane Ann!" exclaimed the old ranchman. "I'll bet these yere gals don't get back home without some bad accident happening. You-all are so reckless."
"Now Uncle Bill! don't you go to croaking," she returned, lightly. "Ain't no danger of trouble at all. We'll only be out one night. We'll go down to Camp Number Three—that's nearest."
"No, sir-ree! Them boys air too triflin' a crew," declared the ranchman. "Jib is bossing the Rolling River outfit just now. You can go over there. I can trust Jib."
As the rest of the party was so enthusiastic, and all determined to spend a night at Number Two Camp on the Rolling River Range, Mary Cox elected to go likewise. She declared she did not wish to remain at the ranch-house in the sole care of a "fat and greasy Mexican squaw," as she called the cook.
"Ouch! I bet that stings Maria when she knows how you feel about her," chuckled Heavy. "Why let carking care disturb your serenity, Mary? Come on and enjoy yourself like the rest of us."
"I don't expect to enjoy myself in any party that's just run by one girl," snapped Mary.
"Who's that?' asked the stout girl, in wonder.
"Ruth Fielding. She bosses everything. She thinks this is all her own copyrighted show—like the Sweetbriars. Everything we do she suggests"
"That shows how good a 'suggester' she is," interposed Heavy, calmly.
"It shows how she's got you all hypnotized into believing she's a wonder," snarled The Fox.
"Aw, don't Mary! Don't be so mean. I should think Ruth would be the last person you'd ever have a grouch on. She's done enough for you"
"She hasn't, either!" cried Mary Fox, her face flaming.
"I'd like to know what you'd call it?" Heavy demanded, with a good deal of warmth for her. "If she wasn't the sweetest-tempered, most forgiving girl that ever went to Briarwood, you'd have lost your last friend long ago! I declare, I'm ashamed of you!"
"She's not my friend," said Mary, sullenly.
"Who is, then? She has helped to save your life on more than one occasion. She has never said a word about the time she fell off the rocks when we were at Lighthouse Point. You and she were together, and you know how it happened. Oh, I can imagine how it happened. Besides, Nita saw you, and so did Tom Cameron," cried the stout girl, more hotly. "Don't think all your tricks can be hidden."
"What do you suppose I care?" snarled Mary Cox.
"I guess you care what Tom Cameron thinks of you," pursued Heavy, wagging her head. "But after the way you started those ponies when we drove to Rolling River Canon, you can be sure that you don't stand high with him—or with any of the rest of the boys."
"Pooh! those cowboys! Great, uneducated gawks!"
"But mighty fine fellows, just the same. I'd a whole lot rather have their good opinion than their bad."
Now all this was, for Jennie Stone, pretty strong language. She was usually so mild of speech and easy-going, that its effect was all the greater. The Fox eyed her in some surprise and—for once—was quelled to a degree.
All these discussions occurred on Monday. The Rolling River Camp was twenty miles away in the direction of the mountain range. Tuesday was the day set for the trip. The party would travel with the supply wagon and a bunch of ponies for the herders, bossed by Maria's husband. On Wednesday the young folk would return under the guidance of little Ricardo, who was to go along to act as camp-boy.
"But if we like it out there, Uncle Bill, maybe we'll stay till Thursday," Jane Ann declared, from her pony's back, just before the cavalcade left the ranch-house, very early on Tuesday.
"You better not. I'm going to be mighty busy around yere, and I don't want to be worried none," declared the ranchman. "And I sha'n't know what peace is till I see you-all back again."
"Now, don't worry," drawled his neice. "We ain't none of us sugar nor salt."
"I wish I could let Ike go with ye—that's what I wish," grumbled her uncle.
Ruth Fielding secretly wished the same. The direction of the Rolling River Camp lay toward Tintacker. She had asked the foreman about it.
"You'll be all of thirty mile from the Tintacker claims, Miss Ruth," Bashful Ike said." But it's a straight-away trail from the ford a mile, or so, this side of the camp. Any of the boys can show you. And Jib might spare one of 'em to beau you over to the mine, if so be you are determined to try and find that 'bug'."
"I do want to see and speak with him," Ruth said, earnestly.
"It's pretty sure he's looney," said Ike. "You won't make nothing out o' him. I wouldn't bother."
"Why, he saved my life!" cried Ruth. "I want to thank him. I want to help him. And—and—indeed, I need very much to see and speak with him, Ike."
"Ya-as. That does make a difference," admitted the foreman. "He sure did kill that bear."
The ponies rattled away behind the heavy wagon, drawn by six mules. In the lead cantered Ricarde and his father, herding the dozen or more half-wild cow-ponies. The Mexican horse-wrangler was a lazy looking, half-asleep fellow; but he sat a pony as though he had grown in the saddle.
Ruth, on her beloved little Freckles, rode almost as well now as did Jane Ann. The other girls were content to follow the mule team at a more quiet pace; but Ruth and the ranchman's neice dashed off the trail more than once for a sharp race across the plain.
"You're a darling, Ruthie!" declared Jane Ann, enthusiastically. "I wish you were going to live out here at Silver Ranch all the time I do! I wouldn't mind being 'buried in the wilderness' if you were along"
"Oh, but you won't be buried in the wilderness all the time," laughed the girl from the Red Mill. "I am sure of that."
"Huh!" ejaculated the Western girl, startled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that we've been talking to Uncle Bill," laughed Ruth.
"Oh! you ain't got it fixed for me?' gasped the ranchman's neice. "Will he send me to school?"
"Surest thing you know, Nita!"
"Not to that boarding school you girls all go to?"
"Unless he backs down—and you know Mr. Bill Hicks isn't one of the backing-down kind."
"Oh, bully for you!" gasped Jane Ann. "I know it's your doing. I can see it all. Uncle Bill thinks the sun just about rises and sets with you."
"Helen and Heavy did their share. So did Madge—and even Heavy's aunt, Miss Kate, before we started West. You will go to Briarwood with us next half, Nita. You'll have a private teacher for a while so that you can catch up with our classes. It's going to be up to you to make good, young lady—that's all."
Jane Ann Hicks was too pleased at that moment to say a word—and she had to wink mighty hard to keep the tears back. Weeping was as much against her character as it would have been against a boy's. And she was silent thereafter for most of the way to the camp.
They rode over a rolling bit of ground and came in sight suddenly of the great herd in care of Number Two outfit. Such a crowd of slowly moving cattle was enough to amaze the eastern visitors. For miles upon miles the great herd overspread the valley, along the far side of which the hurrying river flowed. The tossing horns, the lowing of the cows calling their young, the strange, bustling movement of the whole mass, rose up to the excited spectators in a great wave of sound and color. It was a wonderful sight!
Jib rode up the hill to meet them. The men on duty were either squatting here and there over the range, in little groups, playing cards and smoking, or riding slowly around the outskirts of the herd. There was a chuck-tent and two sleeping tents parked by the river side, and the smoke from the cook's sheet-iron stove rose in a thin spiral of blue vapor toward that vaster blue that arched the complete scene.
"What a picture!' Ruth said to her chum. "The mountains are grand. That canon we visited was wonderful. The great, rolling plains dwarf anything in the line of landscape that we ever saw back East. But this caps all the sights we have seen yet."
"I'm almost afraid of the cattle, Ruthie," declared Helen. "So many tossing horns! So many great, nervous, moving bodies! Suppose they should start this way—run us down and stamp us into the earth? Oh! they could do it easily."
"I don't feel that fear of them," returned the girl from the Red Mill. "I mean to ride all around the herd to-night with Nita. She says she is going to help ride herd, and I am going with her."
This declaration, however, came near not being fulfilled. Jib Pottoway objected. The tent brought for the girls was erected a little way from the men's camp, and the Indian stated it as his irrevocable opinion that the place for the lady visitors at night was inside the white walls of that tent.
"Ain't no place for girls on the night trick, Miss Jinny—and you know it," complained Jib. "Old Bill will hold me responsible if anything happens to you."
"'Twon't be the first time I've ridden around a bunch of beeves after sundown," retorted Jane Ann, sharply. "And I've promised Ruth. It's a real nice night. I don't even hear a coyote singing."
"There's rain in the air. We may have a blow out of the hills before morning," said Jib, shaking his head.
"Aw shucks!" returned the ranchman's neice. "If it rains we can borrow slickers, can't we? I never saw such a fellow as you are, Jib. Always looking for trouble."
"You managed to get into trouble the other day when you went over to the canon," grunted the Indian.
"'Twarn't Ruthie and me that made you trouble. And that Cox girl wouldn't dare ride within forty rods of these cows," laughed the ranchman's neice.
So Jib was forced to give way. Tom and Bob had craved permission to ride herd, too. The cowboys seemed to accept these offers in serious mood, and that made Jane Ann suspicious.
"They'll hatch up some joke to play on you-all," she whispered to Ruthie. "But we'll find out what they mean to do, if we can, and just cross-cut 'em."
The camp by the river was the scene of much hilarity at supper time. The guests had brought some especially nice rations from the ranch-house, and the herders welcomed the addition to their plain fare with gusto. Tom and Bob ate with the men and, when the night shift went on duty, they set forth likewise to ride around the great herd which, although seemingly so peacefully inclined, must be watched and guarded more carefully by night than by day.
Soon after Jane Ann and Ruth rode forth, taking the place together of one of the regular herders. These additions to the night gang left more of the cow punchers than usual at the camp, and there was much hilarity among the boys as Jane Ann and her friend cantered away toward the not far-distant herd.
"Those fellows are up to something," the ranchman's neice repeated. "We must be on the watch for them—and don't you be scared none, Ruthie, at anything that may happen."