The Boy Ranchers Among the Indians | Page 7

speedily as possible, to join with the bunch from Diamond X, their
eager talk over the recent events was interrupted by the noise of
shouting.
"What's that?" cried Dick, looking in the direction of the noise. It
appeared to come from a swale, or depression among some small,
rounded knolls.
"Sounds like a cattle stampede," remarked Bud, urging his pony
forward. "And yet it can't be that."
Nort and Dick followed as soon as they could swing their horses about.
The sound of shouting and the thunder of the feet of many
animals--horses or steers--came more plainly to the ears of the boy
ranchers.
CHAPTER IV
ON THE TRAIL
With Bud in the advance, urging his pony to topmost speed, Nort and
Dick followed. Bud shot along the trail, up one rise, down another, all
the while coming nearer to the noise which increased in intensity.
Clearly something was wrong either among a bunch of Diamond X
cattle, or with some of the horses belonging to the ranch outfit. And
that some human individual was concerned in the "fracas" was evident
by the shouts and yells that, now and then, punctured the air.
"By the Great Horned Toad! Look at that!" cried Bud, when he was
within viewing distance.
"He'll be killed!" added Nort.
"No, he's out of it now!" yelled Dick. "But maybe it's the end of him!"

As the three boy ranchers thus gave vent to their surprise, and almost
while they were in the act of exclaiming, a ragged figure of a man had
shot over a stout corral fence, and had fallen in a heap just on the other
side and out of the reach of the teeth and hoofs of a number of half wild
cow ponies. The thud of the animals' bodies, as they threw themselves
against the fence, in the stoppage of their mad race to get the ragged
man, could plainly be heard.
"Whew!" cried Bud, reigning his pony to a sliding stop, as he saw that,
for the present at least, the man was safe, though his inert form might
indicate serious injury. "That was a close call!"
"What was he doing in that corral?" asked Nort, and his hand, almost
by instinct, slid to the handle of his .45 protruding from the holster.
"And who is he?" asked Dick, who had followed his brother's lead.
"That's what we've got to find out," said Bud, who, perhaps from longer
association with western conditions, had manifested no inclination to
draw his gun. "Guess he'll wait for us," he added, as he slid from the
saddle, having ridden close to the prostrate form.
But, even as Bud spoke, and as Dick and Nort dismounted, the stranger
rose to a sitting position, rubbed his hand across his forehead, tried to
smile at the boys and then, in what would have been a jolly voice under
other circumstances said:
"I'm supposed to ask 'Where am I?' I believe, but we'll pass that up, and
I'll substitute 'what time is it?' Just as a variation you know," and he
actually chuckled. "Not that it matters," he added, as he saw Bud
fishing out a sturdy silver watch--the only kind it is safe to carry on a
cattle range. "Doesn't matter in the least."
"Then why--" began Nort. But the stranger stopped him with a friendly
gesture.
"Don't ask me that!" he begged, smiling broadly, as he scrambled to his
feet, thereby disclosing the fact that he was even more ragged as to

garments than at first appeared when he was lying down. "Don't ask me
that. The question has been fired at me ever since I was old enough to
decide whether I'd have butter on my bread or take it in the natural state.
It was 'why did I do this'--'why didn't I do that' until, in very
desperation I gave up trying to answer. I do now. I don't know why I
ask the time. I really don't want to know. There are other questions
more to the point. Don't trouble to answer. And please don't ask me
'why' this, that--or anything. Frankly I don't know, and I care less. I am
here. Where I'll be to-morrow no one knows, and no one cares. It is my
philosophy--the philosophy of a rolling stone. I assure you,
gentlemen--"
This time it was Bud who interrupted. There was a look on the face and
in the eyes of the young ranchman that his cousins could well interpret.
It meant that fooling, nonsense or an evasion of the issue was at an end.
"Look here, stranger," said Bud, and, though his voice was stern it was
not unfriendly. "Maybe you are a tenderfoot, but you don't look it, and I
reckon you've been around here long enough to assimilate