Story 8 at Comanche Ford of Cattle Brands, a collection of western campfire stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Cattle Brands, a collection of western campfire stories by Andy Adams. Story 8 at Comanche Ford. Here's our Ford, said Juan, our half-blood trailer, pointing to the slightest sag in a low range of hills distant twenty miles. We were Texas Rangers. It was nearly noon of a spring day and we had halted on sighting our destination, Comanche Ford on the Concho River. Less than three days before we had been lounging around camp near Tipi City, one hundred and seventy-five miles northeast of our present destination. A courier had reached us with an emergency order which put every man in the saddle within an hour after each receipt. An outfit with eight hundred cattle had started west up the Concho. Their destination was believed to be New Mexico. Suspicion rested on them as they had failed to take out inspection papers for moving the cattle and what few people had seen them declared that one half the cattle were brand-burned or blotched beyond recognition. Besides, they had an outfit of twenty heavily armed men, or twice as many as were required to manage a herd of that size. Our instructions were to make this crossing with all possible haste and if our numbers were too few, there to await assistance before dropping down the river to meet the herd. When these courier orders reached us at Tipi, they found only twelve men in camp, with not an officer above a corporal. Fortunately, we had dad root with us, a man whom every man in our company would follow as though he had been our captain. He had not the advantage in years that his name would indicate, but he was an exceedingly useful man in the service. He could recite a gun, shoe a horse, or empty a six-shooter into a tree from the back of a running horse, with admirable accuracy. In dressing a gun-shot wound he had the delicate touch of a woman. Every man in the company went to him with his petty troubles and came away delighted. Therefore there was no question as to who should be our leader on this raid, no one but dad was even considered. Sending a brief note to the adjutant general by this same courier stating that we had started with twelve men, we broke camp and in less than an hour were riding south-west. One thing which played into our hands in making this forced ride was the fact that we had a number of extra horses on hand. For a few months previous we had captured quite a number of stolen horses, and having no chance to send into the settlements where they belonged, we used them as extra riding horses. With our pack mules light and these extra saddlers for a change we covered the country rapidly. Sixteen hours a day the saddle makes campfires far apart. Dad, too, could always imagine that a few miles farther on we would find a fine camping spot and his views were a lot to us. We had been riding hard for an hour across a table-land known as Siboyo Mesa, and now for the first time had halted at sighting our destination, yet distant three hours hard riding. Boys, said Dad, we'll make it early to-day. I know a fine camping spot near a big pool in the river. After supper we'll all take a swim and feel as fresh as pond lilies. Oh, we swim this evening, do we? inquired Orchard. That's a Christian idea, Dad, cleanliness, you know. Do we look as though a swim would improve our good looks? The fact that, after a ride like the one we were near finishing, every man of us was saturated with fine alkaline dust made the latter question ludicrous. For this final ride we changed horses for the last time on the trip, and after a three hours ride under a midday torrid sun the shade of conchose timber and the companionship of running water were ours. We rode with a whoop into the camp which Dad had had in his mind all morning and found it a paradise. We fell out of our saddles and tired horses were rolling and groaning all around us in a few minutes. The packs were unlashed with the same alacrity, while horses, mules, and men hurried to the water. With the exception of two horses on picket it was a loose camp in a few moments' time. There was no thought of eating now, with such inviting swimming pools as the spring freshets had made. Dad soon located the big pool for he had been there before, and shortly a dozen men floundered and thrashed around in it like a school of dolphins. On one side of the pool was a large sloping rock from which splendid diving could be had. On this rock we gathered like kid goats on a stump or sunned ourselves like lizards. To get the benefit of the deepest water only one could dive at a time. We were so bronzed from the sun that when undressed the protected parts afforded a striking contrast to the brown bands about our necks. Dad was sitting on the rock waiting for his turn to dive when Long John, patting his naked shoulder, said admiringly, Orchard if I had as pretty a plump shoulders you have I'd have my picture taken kinda half careless like, like the girls do sometimes.  Then while in that attitude act as if you didn't notice and let all your clothing fall entirely off your shoulder. If you'll have your picture taken that way and give me one I promise you to set a heap of store by it old man. Orchard looked over the edge of the rock at his reflection in the water and ventured. Wouldn't I need a shave? An ought and I to have a string of beads around my swan-like neck with a few spangles on it to glitter and sparkle. I'd have to hold my right hand over this old gun-scar in my left shoulder so as not to mar the beauty of the picture. Give me of it John and I'll have some taken and you shall have one. A few minutes later Happy Jack took his place on the rim of the rock to make a dive, his magnificent physique of six feet and two hundred pounds looming up like a Numidian cavalryman when dad observed.  Just because they come that way I reckon, was the answer, vouch saved. You may think I'm funny lads, but I never felt so supremely happy in all my life as when I got well of the small pox. I had one hundred and ninety dollars in my pocket when I took down with them, and only had eight left when I got up and was able to go to work. Here as he poised on tiptoe with his hands gracefully arched over his head for a dive, he was arrested in the movement by a comment of one of the boys to the effect that he couldn't see anything in that to make a man so supremely happy. Eternia's head halfway round its speaker and never losing his poise remarked, well, but you must recollect that there was five of us taking down at the same time and the other four died. And he made a graceful spring, boring a hole in the water which seetheed around him arising a moment later throwing water like a poor poise as though he couldn't exchange his position in life humble as it was with any one of a thousand dead heroes. After an hour in the water and a critical examination of all the old gunshot wounds of our whole squad and the consequent verdict that it was simply impossible to kill a man, we returned to camp and began getting supper. There was no stomach so sensitive amongst us that it couldn't assimilate bacon, beans, and black coffee. When we had done justice to the supper the twilight hours of the evening were spent in making camp snow for the night. Every horse or mule was either picketed or hobbled. Every man washed his saddle-blankets as a long continuous ride had made them rancid with sweat. The night air was so dry and warm that they would even dry at night. There was a usual target practice in the never-ending cleaning of firearms. As night settled over the camp everything was in order. The blankets were spread and smoky and yarning occupied the time until sleep claimed us. Talking about the tight places, said Orchard, in which a man often finds himself in this service, reminds me of a funny experience which I once had out on the headwaters of the brazos. I've smelled powder at short range and I'm willing to admit there's nothing fascinating in it, but this time I got buffaloed by a bear. There are great many breaks on the head of the brazos and in them grow cedar thickets. I forget now what the duty was that we were there on, but there were about twenty of us in the detachment at the time. One morning shortly after daybreak another lad in myself walked out to unhobble some extra horses which we had with us. The horses had strayed nearly a mile from camp, and when we found them they were cutting up as if they had been eating loco weed for a month. When we came up to them we saw that they were scared. These horses couldn't talk, but they told us that just over the hill was something they were afraid of. We crept up the little hill and there over in a draw was the cause of their fear. A big old lank cinnamon. He was feeding along, heading for a thicket of about ten acres. The lad who was with me stayed and watched him while I hurried back, unhobbled the horses and rushed them into camp. I hustled out every man and they cinched their hulls on those horses rapidly. By the time we had reached the lad who had stayed to watch him, the bear had entered the thicket but unalarmed. Some fool suggested the idea that we could drive him out in the open and rope him. The lay of the land would suggest such an idea for beyond this moat of cedar lay an impenetrable thicket of over a hundred acres which we thought he would head for if alarmed. There was a ridge of a divide between these cedar breaks and if the bear should attempt to cross over he would make a fine mark for a rope. Well I always was handy with a rope and the boys knew it, so I and three others who could twirl a rope were sent around on this divide to rope him in case he came out. The others left their horses and made a half-circle drive through the grove, beating the brush and burning padders though it didn't cost anything. We ropers up from the divide, scattered out, hiding ourselves as much as we could in the broken places. We wanted to get him out in the clear in case he played nice. He must have been a sullen old fellow for we were beginning to think that missed him or he had holed when he suddenly lumbered out, directly opposite to me and ambled away towards a big thicket. I was riding a cream-colored horse and he was as good a one as ever was built on four pegs except that he was nervous. He'd never seen a bear and when I gave him that roll he went after that bear like a cat after a mouse. The first sniff he caught of the bear he whirled quicker than lightning, but I had made my cast and the loop settled over Mr. Bear's shoulders with one of his forefeet through it. I'd tied the rope in a hard knot to the pommel and the way my horse checked that bear was a caution. It must have been brewing mad. My horse snorted and spun around like a top and in less time than it takes to tell it there was a bear, a cream-colored horse and a man sandwiched into a pile in the ground and securely tied with a three-eighths inch rope. The horse had lashed me into the saddle by winding the rope and at the same time wind lasted the bear in on top of us. The horse cried with fear so he was being burned to death while the bear grinned and blew his breath in my face. The running news in the rope had cut his wind so badly he could hardly offer much resistance. It was a good thing he had his wind cut or he would have made me sorry I enlisted. I didn't know it at the time but my six-shooter had fallen out of the holster while the horse was lying on my carbine. The other three rode up and looked at me and they all needed killing. This bear and man were so badly mixed up they dared not shoot. One laughed till he cried another one was so near limp he looked like a ghost while one finally found his senses and dismounting cut the rope in half a dozen places and untied the bundle. My horse floundered to his feet and ran off but before the bear could free the news the boys got enough lead into him at close quarters to hold him down. The entire detachment came out of the thicket and their hilarity knew no bounds. I was the only man in the crowd who didn't enjoy the bear chase. Right then I made a resolve that hereafter when volunteers are called forward to rope a bear my accomplishments in that line will remain unmentioned by me. I'll eat my breakfast first anyhow and think it over carefully. Dogs and horses are very much alike about a bear, said one of the boys. Take a dog that never saw a bear in his life and let him get a sniff of one and he'll get up his bristles like a javelin and tuck his tail and look about for good backing or a clear field to run. Long John showed symptoms that he had some yarn to relate so we naturally remained silent to give him a chance in case a spirit moved in him. Throwing a brand into the fire after lighting his cigarette he stretched himself on the ground and they expected it happened. A few years ago while rangering down the country, said he, four of us had trailed some horse thieves down on the Rio Grande when they gave us a slip by crossing over into Mexico. We knew the thieves were just across the river so we hung around a few days in the hope of catching them, for if they should recross into Texas they were our meat. Our plans were completely upset the next morning by the arrival of twenty United States cavalrymen on the cold trail of four deserters. The fact that these deserters were five days ahead and had crossed into Mexico promptly on reaching the river did not prevent this squad of soldiers from notifying both villages on each side of the river as to their fruitless errand. They couldn't follow their own any further and they managed to scare our core into hiding in the interior. We waited until the soldiers returned to the post when we concluded we would take a little passier over into Mexico on our own account. We called ourselves horse buyers. The government was paying like thirty dollars for deserters and in case we run across them we figured it would pay expenses to bring them out. These deserters were distinguishable wherever they went by the size of their horses. Besides, they had two fine big American mules for packs. They were marked right for that country. Everything about them was muy grande. We were five days overtaking them and then at a town one hundred and forty miles in the interior. They had celebrated their desertion the day previous to our arrival by getting drunk, and when the horse buyers arrived they were in jail. This last condition rather frustrated our plans for their capture as we expected to kidnap them out, but now we had red tape authorities to deal with. We found the horses, mules, and accoutrements in a corral. There would be no trouble to get as the bill for their keep was the only concern of the coral keeper. Two of the boys who were in the party could palaver Spanish, so they concluded to visit the alcalde of the town inquiring after horses in general and incidentally finding out when our deserters would be released. The alcalde received the boys with great politeness, for Americans were rare visitors in his town, and after giving them all the information available regarding horses, the subject innocently changed to the American prisoners in jail. The alcalde informed them that he was satisfied they were deserters and not knowing just what to do with them. He had sent a courier that very morning to the government for instructions in the matter. Estimated it would require at least ten days to receive the governor's reply. In the meantime much as he regretted it they would remain prisoners. Before parting those two innocents permitted their host to open a bottle of wine as an evidence of the friendly feeling and that the final leave taking they wasted enough politeness on each other to win a woman. When the boys returned to us, other two, we were at our wits end. We were getting disappointed too often. The result was that we made up our minds that rather than throw up we would take those deserters out of jail and run the risk of getting away with them. We had everything in readiness an hour before nightfall. We explained to the satisfaction of the Mehidkin hostler, who had the stock in charge, that the owners of these animals were liable to be detained in jail, possibly a month, and to avoid the expense of their keeping. We would settle the bill for our friends and take the stock with us. When the time came every horse was settled and the mules packed and in redness. We had even moved our own stock into the same corral which was only a short distance from the jail. As night set in we approached the Carcel. The turnkey answered our questions very politely through a graded iron door, and to our request to speak with the prisoners he regretted that they were being fed at the moment, and we would have to wait a few minutes. He unbolted the door, however, and offered to show us into a side room an invitation we declined. Instead we relieved him of his keys and made known our errand. When he discovered that we were armed and he was our prisoner, he was speechless with terror. It was short work to find the men we wanted and march them out, locking the gates behind us and taking jailer and keys with us. Once in a saddle we bade the poor turnkey goodbye and returned him his keys. We rode fast, but unless in a quarter of an hour there was a clanging of bells which convinced us that the alarm had been given. Our prisoners took kindly to the rescue and rode willingly, but we were careful to conceal our identity or motive. We felt certain there would be pursuit, if for no other purpose, to justify official authority. We felt easy, for we were well-mounted, and if it came to a pinch we would burn powder with them, one round at least. Before half an hour had passed we were aware that we were pursued. We threw off the road at right angles and rode for an hour. Then with a north star for a guide we put over fifty miles behind us before sunrise. It was impossible to secrete ourselves the next day, for we were compelled to have water for ourselves in stock. To conceal the fact that our friends were prisoners we returned them their arms after throwing away their ammunition. We had to enter several ranches during the day to secure food and water, but made no particular effort to travel. About four o'clock we set out, and to our surprise too a number of horsemen followed us until nearly dark. Passing through a slight shelter in which we were out of sight, some little time two of us dropped back and awaited our pursuers. As they came up with inhaling distance we ordered them to halt, which they declined by whirling their horses and burning their earth, getting away. We threw a few rounds of lead after them, but they cut all desire for our acquaintance right there. We reached the river at a nearer point than the one at which we had entered, and crossed to the Texas side early the next morning. We missed a good ford by two miles and swam the river. At this ford was stationed a squad of regulars, and we turned our prizes over within an hour after crossing. We took a receipt for them, stock and equipments, and when we turned it over to our captain a week afterwards we got the riot act read to us right. I noticed, however, the first time there was a division of prize money. One item was for the capture of four deserters. I don't reckon that Captain had any scruples about taking his share of the prize money, did he? Inquired gotch. No. I never knew anything like that to happen since I've been in the service. There used to be a captain in one of the upper country companies that held religious services in his company and the boys claimed that he was equally good on a prayer, a fighter holding aces in a poker game, said gotch, as he filled his pipe. Amongst Dad's other accomplishments was his unfailing readiness to tell of his experiences in the service. So after he had looked over the camp in general, he joined the group of lounging smokers and told us of an Indian fight in which he had participated. I can't imagine how this comes to be called Comangie Ford, said Dad. Now the Comangies crossed over into the panhandle country annually for the purpose of killing Buffalo. For diversion and pastime they were always willing to add horse stealing and the murdering of settlers as a variation. They used to come over in big bands to hunt and when ready to go back to their reservation in the Indian territory they would send the squaws on ahead while the bucks would split into small bands and steal all the good horses in sight. Our old company was ordered out on the border once when the Comangies were known to be south of Red River killing Buffalo. This meant that on their return it would be advisable to look out for your horses or they would be missing. In order to cover as much territory as possible the company was cut in three detachments. Our squad had twenty men in it under a lieutenant. We were patrolling a country known as the Talo-Cache Heels. Glaze and blackjack cross timber is alternating. All kinds of rumors of Indian depredations were reaching us almost daily yet so far we had failed to locate or see an Indian. One day at noon we packed up when we were going to move our camp farther west when a scout who had gone on ahead rushed back with the news that he had sighted a band of Indians with quite a herd of horses pushing north. We led our packmules and keeping the shelter of the timber started to cut them off in their course. When we first sighted them they were just crossing a glade and the last buck had just left the timber. He had in his mouth an arrow shaft which he was turning between his teeth to remove his sap. All had guns. The first warning the Indians received of our presence was a shot made by one of the men at this rear Indian. He rolled off his horse like a stone and the next morning when we came back over their trail he had that unfinished arrow in a death-grip between his teeth. That first shot let the cat out and we went after them. We had two big pie-balled calico mules and when we charged to those Indians those packmules outran every saddle horse which we had and dashing into their horse herds scattered them like partridges. Nearly every buck was riding a stolen horse and for some cause they couldn't get any speed out of them. We just rode all around them. They were proved to be twenty-two Indians in the band and one of them was a squaw. She was killed by accident. The chase had covered about two miles when the horse she was riding fell from a shot by some of our crowd. The squaw recovered herself and came to her feet in time to see several carbines in the act of being leveled at her by our men. She instantly threw open the slight covering about her shoulders and revealed her sex. Someone called out not to shoot that it was a squaw and the carbines were lowered. As this squaw passed on she turned and ran for the protection of the nearest timber and a second squaw coming up and seeing the fleeing Indian fired on her, killing her instantly. She had done the very thing she should not have done. It was a running fight from start to finish. We got the last one in the band about seven miles from the first one. The last one to fall was mounted on a fine horse and if he had only ridden intelligently he ought to have escaped. The funny thing about it was he was overtaken by the dullest, sleepiest horse in our command. The shooting and smell of powder must have put iron into him for he died a hero. When this last Indian saw that he was going to be overtaken, his own horse being recently wounded, he hung on one side of the animal and returned the fire. At a range of ten yards he planted a bullet squarely in the leader's forehead, his own horse falling at the same instant. These two horses fell dead so near that she could have tied their tails together. Our man was thrown so suddenly that he came to his feet dazed, his eyes filled with dirt. The Indians stood not twenty steps away and fired several shots at him. Our man and his blindness stood there and beat the air with his gun, expecting the Indian to rush on him every moment. Had the buck used his gun for a club it might have been different, but as long as he kept shooting his enemy was safe.  We went into camp after the fight was over with two wounded men and half a dozen dead or disabled horses. Most of us who had mounts and good fix scoured back and gathered in our packs and all the Indian and stolen horses that were unwounded. It looked like a butchery, but our minds were greatly relieved on that point the next day when we found, among their effects over a dozen fresh, bloody scalps, mostly women and children. There's times and circumstances in this service that make the toughest of us gloomy. How long ago was that? inquired Orchard. Quite a while ago, replied Dad, I ought to be able to tell exactly. I was a youngster then. Well, I'll tell you, it was during the reconstruction days when Davis was Governor. Figure it out yourself. Speaking of the disagreeable side of this service, said Happy Jack, reminds me of an incident that took all the nerve out of every one connected with it. When I first went into the service there was a well-known horse-thief and smuggler down on the river known as El Lobo. He operated on both sides of the Rio Grande, but generally stole his horses from the Texas side. He was a night owl. It was nothing for him to be seen at some ranch in the evening and the next morning be met seventy-five or eighty miles distant. He was a good judge of horse flesh and never stole any but the best. His market was well in the interior of Mexico, and he supplied it liberally. He was a typical dandy, and like a sailor had a wife in every port, that was his weak point, and there's where we attacked him. He had made all kinds of fun of this service, and we concluded to have him at any cost. Accordingly, we located his women and worked on them. Mexican beauty is always overrated, but one of his conquests in that line came as near being the ideal for a rustic beauty as that nationality produces. This girl was about twenty and lived with a questionable mother at a ranchito, back from the river about thirty miles. In form and future there was nothing lacking, while the smoldering fire of her black eyes would win saint or thief alike. Born in poverty and ignorance, she was a child of circumstance and fell an easy victim to El Lobo, who lavished every attention upon her. There was no present too costly for him, and on his periodical visits he dazzled her with gifts. But infatuations of that class generally have an end. Often a sad one. We had a half-blood in our company who was used as a rival to El Lobo in gathering any information that might be afloat, and at the same time an opportunity offered in sowing the wormwood of jealousy. This was easy, for we collected every item in the form of presence he ever made her rival, Señoritas. When these forces were working our half-blood pushed his claims for recognition. Our wages and prize money were at his disposal, and in time they won. The neglect shown her by El Lobo finally turned her against him, apparently and she agreed to betray his whereabouts the first opportunity on one condition. And that was, that if we succeeded in capturing him, we were to bring him before her that she might in his helplessness taunt him for his perfidy towards her. We were willing to make any concession to get him, so this request was readily granted. The deserted condition of the Ranjito where the girl lived was to our advantage as well as his. The few families that dwelt there had their flocks to look after and the coming or going of a passer-by was scarcely noticed. Our men on his visits carefully concealed the fact that he was connected with the service, for El Lobo's lavish use of money made him friends wherever he went and afforded him all the seclusion he needed. It was over a month before the wolf made his appearance and we were informed of the fact. He stayed at an outside pastor's camp visiting the ranch only after dark. A corral was mentioned where within a few days' time at the farthest he would pen a bunch of saddle horses. There had once been wells at this branding but on their failing to furnish water continuously they had been abandoned. El Lobo had friends at his command to assist him in securing the best horses in the country. So accordingly we planned to pay our respects to him at these deserted wells. The second night of our watch we were rewarded by having three men drive into these corrals about twenty saddle horses. They had barely time to tie their mounts outside and enter the pen when four of us slipped in behind them and changed to the programmer trifle. El Lobo was one of the men. He was very polite and nice but that didn't prevent us from ironing him securely as we did his companions also. It was almost midnight when we reached the ranchita where the girl lived. We asked him if he had any friends at this ranch whom he wished to see. This he denied. When we informed him that by special request a lady wished to bid him farewell he lost some of his bluster and bravado. We all dismounted leaving one man outside with the other two prisoners and entered a small yard where the girl lived. Our half blood aroused her and called her out to meet her friend El Lobo. The girl delayed us some minutes and we apologized to him for the necessity of irons and our presence in meeting his dulce corazon. When the girl came out we were some distance from the hackal. There was just moonlight enough to make her look beautiful. As she advanced she called him by some pet name in their language when he answered her gruffly accusing her of treachery and turned his back upon her. She approached within a few feet when it was noticeable that she was racked with emotion and asked him if he had no kind word for her. Turning on him he repeated the accusation of treachery and applied a vile expression to her. That moment the girl flashed into a fiend and throwing a shawl from her shoulders revealed a pistol firing it twice before a man could stop her. El Lobo sank in his tracks and she begged us to let her trample his lifeless body. Later when composed she told us that we had not used her any more than she had used us in bringing him helpless to her. As things turned out it looked that way. We lashed the dead thief on his horse and rode until daybreak when we buried him.  El Lobo was missed but the manner of his going was a secret of four men and a Mexican girl. The other two prisoners went over the road and we even reported to them that he had attempted to strangle her and we shot him to save her. Something had to be said. The smoking and yarning had ended. Darkness had settled over the camp but a short while when every one was sound asleep. It must have been near midnight when a number of us were aroused by the same disturbance. The boys sat bolt upright and listened eagerly. We were used to being awakened by shots and the cause of our sudden awakening was believed to be the same—a shot. While the exchange of opinion was going the round all anxiety on that point was dispelled by a second shot, the flash of which could be distinctly seen across the river below the fort. As Dad stood up and answered it with a shrill whistle every man reached for his carbine and flattened himself out on the ground. The whistle was answered and shortly the splash of quiet a cavalcade could be heard forting the river.  When they came within fifty yards of camp and their outlines could be distinguished against the skyline in the darkness they were ordered to halt and a dozen carbines clicked an accompaniment to the order. Who are you? demanded root. A detachment from Company M, Texas Rangers, was the reply. If you are Rangers give us a maxim of the service, said Dad. Don't wait for the other men to shoot first, came the response. Right in that passage here was Dad's greeting and welcome. They were a detachment of fifteen men and had ridden from the pecos on the south nearly the same distance which we had come. They had similar orders to ours but were advised that they would meet our detachment at this fort. In less than an hour every man was asleep again and quiet reigned in the Ranger camp at Comanche Fort on the concho. End of Story 8 Story 9 Around the Spade Wagon of Cattle Brands a collection of western campfire stories. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Cattle Brands, a collection of western campfire stories, by Andy Adams. Story 9 Around the Spade Wagon It was an early spring. The roundup was set for the 10th of June. The grass was well forward, while the cattle had changed their shaggy winter coats to glossy suits of summer silk. The brands were as readable as an alphabet. It was one day yet before the roundup of the Cherokee Strip. This strip of leased Indian lands was to be worked in three divisions. We were on our way to represent the cold water pool in the western division on the annual roundup. Our outfit was four men and thirty horses. We were to represent a range that had 12,000 cattle on it, a total of forty-seven brands. We had been in the saddle since early morning, and as we came out on a narrow divide we caught our first glimpse of the cottonwoods at Antelope Springs, the rendezvous for this division. The setting sun was scarcely half an hour high, and the camp was yet five miles distant. We had covered sixty miles that day, traveling light. Our bedding lashed on gentle saddle horses. We rode up the mesa, quite a little distance, to avoid some rough, broken country, then turned southward toward the springs. Before turning off we could see with the naked eye signs of life at the meeting point. The wagon sheets of half a dozen chuck wagons shone white in the dim distance, while small bands of saddle horses could be distinctly seen grazing about. When we halted at noon that day to change our mounts, we sighted to the northward some seven miles distant an outfit similar to our own. We were on the lookout for this cavalcade. They were supposed to be the spade outfit, on their way to attend the roundup in the middle division, where our pasture lay. This year, as in years past, we had exchanged the courtesies of the range with them. Their men on our division were made welcome at our wagon, and we on theirs were extended the same courtesy. For this reason we had hoped to meet them and exchange the chronicle of the day concerning the condition of cattle on their range the winter drift and who would be kept in this year on the western division, but had travelled the entire day without meeting a man. Night had almost set in when we reached the camp, and to our satisfaction and delight found the spade wagon already there, though their men and horses would not arrive until the next day. To hungry men like ourselves the welcome of their cook was hospitality in the fullest sense of the word. We stretched ropes from the wagon-wheels, and in a few moments time were busy hobbling our mounts. Darkness had settled over the camp as we were at this work, while an occasional horseman rode by with a common inquiry. Whose outfit is this? And the cook, with one end of the rope in his hand, would feel the host in him sufficiently to reply in tones supercilious. The cold water pool men are with us this year. Our arrival was heralded through the camp with the same rapidity with which gossip circulates, equally in a tenement alley or the upper crust of society. The cook had informed us that we had been inquired for by some panhandle man, so before we had finished hobbling a stranger sang out across the ropes in the darkness. Is Billy Edwards here? Receiving an affirmative answer from among the horse's feet he added, come out then and shake hands with a friend. Edwards arose from his work and looking across the backs of the circle of horses about him at the undistinguishable figure at the rope replied, Whoever you are I reckon the acquaintance will hold good until I get these horses hobbled. Who is it? inquired a mouse from over near the hind wheel of the wagon, where he was applying the hemp to the horse's ankles. I don't know, said Billy as he knelt among the horses and resumed his work. Some geranium out there wants me to come out and shake hands, pow wow and make some medicine with him, that's all. Say, we'll leave Chino for picket and that Chihuahua cutting a horse of coons. You have to put a rope on when you come to him. He's too touchy to sabay hobbles if you don't. When we had finished hobbling and the horses were turned loose, the stranger proved to be Babe Bradshaw, an old chum of Edwards. The spade cook added an earthly laurel to his temporal crown with a supper to which he shortly invited us. Bradshaw had eaten with a general wagon, but he sat around while we ate. There was little conversation during the supper, for our appetites were such and the spread so inviting that it simply absorbed us. Don't bother me, said Edwards to his old chum in reply to some inquiry. Can't you see that I'm occupied at present? We did justice to the supper, having had no dinner that day. The cook even urged, with an earnestness worthy of a motherly landlady, several dishes, but his browned potatoes and roast beef claimed our attention. Well, what are you doing in this country anyhow? In court Edwards of Bradshaw, when the inner man had been thoroughly satisfied. Well, sir, I have a document in my pocket, with silly wax but no ribbons on it, which says that I am the duly authorized representative of the Panhandle Cattle Association. I also have a book in my pocket, showing every brand and the names of its owners, and there is a whole raft of them. I may go to St. Louis to act as inspector for my people when the round up ends.  Strange, I didn't recognize you when you first spoke. You're getting natural now, though. I suppose you're borrowing horses like all these special inspectors do. It's all right with me, but good men must be scarce in your section, or you've improved rapidly since you left us. By the way, there is a man or four lying around here that also represents about forty-seven brands. Possibly you'd better not cut any of their cattle, or you might get them cut back on you. Do you remember, said Babe, when I dissolved with the Ohio outfit and bought in with the LX people? When you what? Reputed Edwards. Well then, when I was discharged by the Ohio's and got a job plowing fire guards with the LX's, is that plain enough for your conception? I learned a lesson then that has served me since to good advantage. Don't hesitate to ask for the best job on the works, for if you don't, you'll see someone get it that isn't as well qualified to fill it as you are. So, if you happen to be in St. Louis, call around and see me at the Panhandle headquarters.  Walk right in. I might give you some other pointers, but you couldn't appreciate them. You'll more than likely be driving a chuck wagon in a few years. These old cronies from Boyhood sparred along in give-and-take repartee for some time, finally drifting back to Boyhood days while the harshness that pervaded their conversation before became mild and genial. Have you ever been back in old St. Sabah since we left? Inquired Edwards after a long meditative silence. Oh yes, I spent a winter back there two years ago, though it was hard lines to enjoy yourself. I managed to romance about for two or three months, sowing turnip seeds and teaching dancing school. The girls that you and I knew are nearly all married. Whatever it became of the Ocea girls, asked Edwards, you know that I was high-card once with the eldest. You'd better comfort yourself with a thought, answered Babe, for you couldn't play third fill in her string now.  Well, in the land and cattle boom a few years ago he was picked up and set on a pedestal. It's wonderful what money can do. The old man was just come and bog Irish all his life until a cattle syndicate bought his lands and cattle for twice what they were worth. Then he blossomed into a capitalist. He always was a trifle hide-bound.  Took precedence and became the first love with your papa-in-law. The old man used to say that the prettiest sight he ever saw was a smoke arising from a snake branding iron. They moved to town and have been to Europe since they left the ranch. Jed Lynch, you know, was smitten on the youngest girl. Well, he had the nerve to call on them after their return from Europe.  It must make a man feel awkward to live around a wagon all these days and then suddenly change to style and put on a heap of dog. Jed says the red-headed girl, the middle one, married some fellow and they live with the old folks. He says the other girls treated him nicely, but the old lady, she has got it bad. He says that she just languishes on a sofa, cuts into the conversation now and then and simply swells up. She don't let the old men come into the parlor at all. Jed says that when the girls were describing their trip through Europe, one of them happened to mention Rome when the old lady interrupted. Rome? Rome? Let me see. I've forgotten girls. Where is Rome? Don't you remember when we were in Italy? Said one of the girls, trying to refresh her memory. Oh yes, now I remember. That's where I bought you girls such nice long red stockings. The girl suddenly remembered some duty about the house that required their immediate attention, and Jed says that he looked out of the window. So you think I've lost my number, do you? Commended Edwards, as he lay on his back and fondly patted a comfortable stomach. Well, possibly I have, but it's some consolation to remember that that very good woman that you're slandering used to give me the glad hand and cut the pie large when I called. I may be out of the game, but I'd take a chance yet if I were present, that's what. They were singing over at one of the wagons across the draw, and after the song ended, Bradshaw asked, Whatever became of Rannica, Bill Hunter? Oh, he's drifting about, said Edwards. Mouse here can tell you about him. They're old college chums. Rannica was working for the BQ people last summer, said Mouse, but was it his charge for hanging a horse, or rather, he discharged himself? It seems that someone took a fancy toy horse in his mount. The last man to buy into an outfit that way always gets all the bad horses for his string. As Rannica was a new man there, the result was that some excuse was given him to change, and they rung in a spoiled horse on him in changing. Being new that way, he wasn't on to the horses. The first time he tried to saddle this new horse he showed up bad. The horse trotted up to him when the rope fell on his neck, reared up nicely and playfully and threw out his forefeet, stripping the three upper buttons of Bill's vast pattern. Bill never said a word about his intentions, but tied him to the coral fence and saddled up his own private horse. There were several men around camp, but they said nothing, being a party to the deal, though they noticed Bill riding away with a spoiled horse. He took him down on the creek about a mile from camp and hung him. How did he do it? Why, there was a big cotton wood grew on a bluff, a bank of the creek. One limb hung out over the bluff, over the bed of the creek. He left the running news on the horse's neck, climbed out on this overhanging limb, taking the rope through a fork directly over the water. He then climbed down and snubbed the free end of the rope to a small tree, and began taking in his slack. When the rope began to choke the horse, he reared and plunged, throwing himself over the bluff. That settled his ever-herding anyone. He was on higher than Heyman. Bill never went back to the camp, but struck out for other quarters. There was a month's wages coming to him, but he would get that later, or they might keep it. Life had charms for an old-timer like Bill, and he didn't hanker for any reputation as a bronco-buster. It generally takes a verdant to pine for such honours. Last winter, when Bill was riding the chuck-line, he ran up against a new experience. It seems that some newcomer bought a range over on Black Bear. This new man sought to set out defiance the customs of the range. It was currently reported that he had refused to invite people to stay for dinner, and preferred that no one would ask for a night's lodging even in winter. This was the gossip of the camps for miles around, so Bill and some juniper of a partner thought they would make a call on him and see how it was. They made it a point to reach his camp shortly after noon. They met the owner just coming out of the dugout as they rode up. They exchanged the compliments of the hour when the new man turned and locked the door of the dugout with a padlock. Bill sparred around the main question, but finally asked if it was too late to get dinner, and was very politely informed that dinner was over. This latter information was, however, qualified with a profusion of regrets. After a confession of a hard ride made that mourning from a camp many miles distant, Bill asked a chance to remain overnight. Again the travellers were met with serious regrets as no one would be at camp that night, business calling the owner away, he was just starting then. The cowmen let out his horse, and after mounting and expressing for the last time his sincere regrets that he could not extend to them the hospitalities of his camp rode away. Bill and his partner moseyed in an opposite direction a short distance and held a parley. Bill was so nonplussed at the reception that it took him some little time to collect his thoughts. When it thoroughly dawned on him that the courtesies of the range had been trampled underfoot by a rank newcomer and himself snubbed, he was aroused to action. Let's go back, said Bill to his partner, and at least leave our card. He might not like it if we didn't. They went back and dismounted about ten steps from the door. They shot every cartridge they both had, over a hundred between them through the door, fastened a card with their correct names on it, and rode away. One of the boys that was working there but was absent at the time says there was a number of canned tomato and corn crates ranked up at the rear of the dugout, in range with the door. This lad says that it looked as if they had a special grievance against those canned goods, for they were riddled with lead. That fellow lost enough by that act to have fed all the chuckle-line men that would bother him in a year. Raneca made it a rule, continued mouse, to go down and visit the Chienes every winter, sometimes staying a month. He could make a good staggerate speaking their tongue so that together with his knowledge of the Spanish and the sign language he could converse with them readily. He was perfectly at home with them, and they all liked him. When he used to let his hair grow long he looked like an Indian. Once when he was wrangling horses for us during the beef shipping season we passed him off for an Indian on some dining-room girls. George Wall was working with us that year and had gone in ahead to see about the cars and find out when we could pen in the like. We had to drive to the state line then, to ship. George took dinner at the best hotel in the town and asked one of the dining-room girls if he might bring in an Indian to supper the next evening. They didn't know, so they referred him to the landlord. George explained to that augur who, not wishing to offend us, consented. There were about ten girls in the dining-room, and they were on the lookout for the Indian. The next night we penned a little before dark. Not a man would eat at the wagon, every one rowed for the hotel. We fixed Bill up in fine shape, but feathers in his hair strict his face with red and yellow, had him all talked out in buckskin even to moccasins. As we entered the dining-room, George let him by the hand, assuring all the girls that he was perfectly harmless. One long table accommodated our soul. George was sat at the head with our Indian on his right, begged the girls not to act as though they were afraid, he might notice it. Wall fed him pickles and lump sugar until the supper was brought on.  When George ordered him to eat, he stood up at the table. When he wouldn't let him stand, he took the plate on his knee and ate one side dish at a time. Finally, when he had eaten everything that suited his taste, he stood up and signed with his hands to the group of girls muttering. He wants some more beef, said Wall. Bring him some more beef. After a while he stood up and signed again, George interpreting his wants to the dining-room girls. Bring him some coffee. He's awful fun to coffee.  As we left the dining-room, he tried to carry away sugar-bowl, but Wall took it away from him. As we passed out, George turned back and apologized to the girls, saying, He's a good engine. I promise to him he might eat with us. He'll talk about this for months now. When he goes back to his drive, he'll tell his squalls all about you girls feeding him. Seems like I remember that fellow Wall, said Bradshaw, meditating. Why, of course you do. Weren't you with us when we voted the bonds to the railroad company? Asked Edwards. No, never heard of it. Must have been after I left. What business did you have voting bonds? Tell him, Coon, I'm too full for utterance, said Edwards. If you'd been in this country, you'd heard of it, said Coon fluid. For a few years everything was dated from that event. It was like when the stars fell in the surrender with the old-time darkies at home. It seems that some new line of railroad wanted to build in, and wanted bonds voted to them as bonus. Some foxy agent for this new line got among the longhorns who owned the cattle on this trip, and showed them that it was to their interest to get a competing line in the cattle traffic. The result was these old longhorns got hourly, laid their heads together, and made a little medicine. Every mother's son of us in the strip was entitled to claim a home somewhere, so they put it up that we should come in and vote for the bonds. It was believed it would be a close race if they carried, for it was by counties that the bonds were voted. Towns that the road would run through would vote unanimously for them, but outlying towns would vote solidly against the bonds. There was a big lot of money used, wherever it came from, for we were royally entertained. Two or three days before the date set for the election, they began to head for this cow-town every man on his top horse. Everything was as free as air, and we all understood that a new railroad was a good thing for the cattle interests. We gave it not only our votes, but moral support likewise. It was a great gathering. The hotels fed us, and the liveries cared for our horses. The liquid refreshments were provided by the prohibition, drugists of the town, and were as free as a sunlight. There was an underestimate made on the amount of liquids required, for the town was dry about thirty minutes, but a regular train was run through from Wichita ahead of time, and the embarrassment overcome. There was an opposition line of railroad working against the bonds, but they didn't have any better sense than to send a man down to our town to counteract our exertions. Public sentiment was a delicate matter with us, and while this man had no influence with any of us, we didn't feel the same toward him as we might. He was distributing his tickets around and putting up a good argument, possibly from his point of view, when some of these old longhorns hinted to the boys to show the fellow that he wasn't wanted. Don't hurt him, said one old cow-man to this same wall, but give him a scare, so he will know that we don't endorse him a little bit. Let him know that this town knows how to vote without being told. I'll send a man to rescue him when things have gone far enough. You'll know when to let up. That was sufficient. George went into a store and cut off about fifty feet of new rope. Some fellows at New Howe tied a hangman's knot. As we came up to the stranger, we heard him say to a man, I tell you, sir, these bonds will popularize unborn But the noose dropped over his neck and cut short his argument. We'll let him a block and a half through the little town, during which there was a pointed argument between wall and a z-man, whether the city scales or the stockyards, Archgate would be the best place to hang him. There were a hundred men around him and hanging on to the rope, when a drugist, who most of them knew, burst through the crowd, and whipping out a knife, cut the rope within a few feet off his neck.  This man is a cousin of mine. Going to hang him, are you? Well, you'll have to hang me with him when you do. Just as soon make it two is one, snarled George. When did you get the chips in this game? I'd like to know. Oppose the progress of the town, too, do you? No, I don't, said the drugist, and I'll see that my cousin here doesn't. That's all we ask, then, said Wall. Turn him loose, boys, we don't want to hang no man. We hold you responsible if he opens his mouth again against the bonds. Hold me responsible, gentlemen, said the drugist, with a profound bow. Come with me, cousin, he said to the anti. The drugist took him through his store and up some back stairs, and once he had him alone, this was his advice, as reported to us later. You're a stranger to me. I lied to those men, but I saved your life. Now I'll take you to the four o'clock train and get you out of this town.  So you let the idea go out that you are my cousin, Sabay?  But for heaven's sake, don't give me away. Is-is-is the four o'clock train the first out? Inquired the new cousin. It is the first. I'll see you through this. I'll come up and see you every hour. Take things cool and easy now. I'm your friend, remember. Was the comfort they parted on. There were over seven hundred votes cast and only one against the bonds. How that one vote got in is yet a mystery. There were no hard drinkers among the boys, all easy drinkers, men that never refused to drink. Yet voting was a little new to them, and possibly that was how this mistake occurred. We got the returns early in the evening. The county had gone by a handsome majority for the bonds. The committee on entertainment had provided a ball for us in the basement of the opera house, it being the largest room in town. When the good news began to circulate the merchants began building bond fires. Fellows who didn't have extra togs on for the ball got out their horses, and in squads of twenty to fifty rode through the town painting her red. If there was one shot fire that night there were ten thousand. I bought a white shirt and went to the ball, to show you how general the good feeling amongst everybody was. I squeezed the hand of an alfalfa widow during a waltz, who instantly reported the affront offered her a gallant. In her presence he took me to task for the offence. Young man, said the doctor, with a quiet wink, this lady is under my protection. The fourteenth amendment don't apply to you, not me. Six shooters, however, make a sequel. Are you armed? I am, sir. Unfortunately I am not. Will you kindly excuse me, say ten minutes. Certainly, sir, with pleasure. There are ladies present, he observed. Let us retire. On my consenting he turned to the offended dame, and in spite of her protests and appeals to drop matters, we left the ballroom glaring daggers at each other. Once outside he slapped me on the back and said, Say, we'll just have time to run up to my office, where I have some choice old copper distilled, sent me by a very dear friend in Kentucky. The goods were all he claimed for them, and on our return he asked me as a personal favor to apologize to the lady, admitting that he was not too solid with her himself.  The doctor was a rattling good fellow, and I'd even taken off my new shirt for him, if he'd said the word. When I made the apology I did it on the grounds that I could not afford to have any difference, especially with a gentle man who would willingly risk his life for a lady who claimed his protection. No, if you never heard of voting the bonds you certainly haven't kept for a closed tab on affairs in this strip. Two or three men whom I know refuse to go in and vote. They ain't working in this country now. It took some of the boys ten days to go and come, but there wasn't a word said. We just went on just the same.  Oh, no! said Edwards with a yawn.  Bradshaw made several attempts to go, but each time some thought would enter his mind, and he would return with questions about former acquaintances.  Edwards meditated until mouse said, He's thinking about little St. John, the fiddler. Oh, yes, Patsy St. John, the little glass blower, said Edwards as he sat upon a roll of bedding. He's dead long ago, died at our camp. I did something for him that I've often wondered who would do the same for me. I closed his eyes when he died. You know, he came to us with that mark on his brow. There was no escape. He had consumption. He wanted to live and struggled hard to avoid going. Until three days before his death he was hopeful. Always would tell us how much better he was getting, and everyone could see that he was gradually going. We always gave him gentle horses to ride, and he would go with us on trips that we were afraid would be his last. There wasn't a man on the range who ever said no to him. He was one of those little men you can't help but like. Small physically, but with a heart as big as an ox's. He lived about three years on the range, was welcome wherever he went, and never made an enemy or lost a friend. He couldn't. It wasn't in him. I don't remember now how he came to the range, but think he was advised by doctors to lead an outdoor life for a change. He was born in the south, and was a glass-blower by occupation. He would have died sooner but for his pluck and confidence that he would get well. He changed his mind one morning, lost hope that he would ever get well, and died in three days. It was in the spring. We were going out one morning to put in a flood-gate on the river, which had washed away in a freshet. He was ready to go along. He hadn't been on a horse in two weeks. No one ever pretended to notice that he was sick. He was sensitive if he offered any sympathy, so no one offered to assist except to saddle his horse. The old horse stood like a kitten. Not a man pretended to notice, but we all saw him put his foot in the stirrup three different times and attempt to lift himself into the saddle. He simply lacked the strength. He asked one of the boys to unsettle the horse, saying he wouldn't go with us. Some of the boys suggested that it was a long ride, and it was best he didn't go, that we would hardly get back until after dark. But we had no idea that he was so near his end. After we left, he went back to the shack and told the cook he had changed his mind, that he was going to die. That night, when we came back, he was lying on his cot. We all tried to jolly him, but he got the same answer from him, I'm going to die. The outfit to a man was broke up about it, but all kept up a good front. We tried to make him believe it was only one of his bad days, but he knew otherwise. He asked Joe Boxx and Hamrods, the two biggest men in the outfit, six fooders and an inch each, to sit one on each side of his cot until he went to sleep. He knew better than any of us how near he was to crossing, but it seemed he felt safe between these two giants. We kept up a running conversation in jest with one another, though it was empty mockery, but he never pretended to notice. It was plain to us all that the fear was on him. We kept near the shack the next day, some of the boys always with him. The third evening he seemed to rally, talked with us all, and asked if some of the boys would not play the fiddle. He was a good player himself. Several of the boys played old favorites of his, interspersed with stories and songs, until the evening was passing pleasantly. We were recovering from our despondency, with this noticeable recovery on his part, when he whispered to his two big nurses to prop him up. They did so with pillows and parkers, and he actually smiled on us all. He whispered to Joe, who in turn asked the lad standing on the foot of the cot to play, Farewell, my sunny southern home. Strange we had forgotten that old air, for it was a general favorite with us, and stranger now that he should ask for it. As that old familiar air was wafted out from the instrument, he raised his eyes and seemed to wander in his mind as if trying to follow the refrain. Then something came over him, for he set up rigid, pointing out his hand at the empty space and muttered, There stands mother, now under the oleanders. Who is that with her? Yes, I had a sister open the windows. It is getting dark, dark. Large hands laid him down tenderly, but a fit of coughing came on. He struggled in a hemorrhage for a moment, and then crossed over to the waiting figures among the oleanders. Of all the broke up outfits we were the most. Dead tough men bawled like babies. I had a good one myself. When we came around to our senses we all admitted it was for the best, since he could not get well he was better off. We took him next day about ten miles and buried him with those freighters who were killed when the Pawnees raided this country. Some men will plant corn over their graves some day. As Edwards finished his story, his voice trembled and there were tears in his eyes. A strange silence had come over those gathered about the campfire. Mouse, to conceal his emotion, pretended to be asleep, while Bradshaw made an effort to clear his throat of something that would neither go up nor down, and failing in this turned and walked away without a word. Silently we unrolled the beds, and with saddles for pillows, and the dome of heaven for a roof, we fell asleep. Story 10 The ransom of Don Ramon Mora of Cattle Brands, a collection of western campfire stories. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Cattle Brands, a collection of western campfire stories, by Andy Adams. Story 10 The ransom of Don Ramon Mora On the southern slope of the main table-land, which divides the waters of the Nueces and Rio Grande rivers in Texas, lies the old Spanish land-grant of Agua Dulce and de Rancho by that name. Twice within the space of fifteen years was an appeal to the sword taken over the ownership of the territory between these rivers. Sparsely settled by the descendants of the original grantees with an occasional American ranchmen, it is today much the same as when the Treaty of Peace gave it to the stronger Republic. This frontier on the south has undergone few changes in the last half century and no improvements have been made. Here the smuggler against both governments finds an inviting field. The bandit and the robber feel equally at home under either flag. Revolutionists hatch their plots against the powers that be. Sedition takes on life and finds an adherence eager to bear arms and apply the torch. Within a dozen years of the close of the century just passed, this territory was invested by a band of robbers whose boldness has had few equals in the history of American brigandage. The Bedouins of the Orient justify their free-booting by accounting it a religious duty, looking upon every one against their faith as an infidel and therefore common property. These bandits could offer no such excuse for the plundered people of their own faith and blood. They were Mexicans, a hybrid mixture of Spanish atrocity and Indian cruelty. They numbered from ten to twenty and for several months terrorized the Mexican inhabitants on both sides of the river. On the American side they were particular never to molest anyone except those of their own nationality. These they robbed with impunity, nor did their victims dare to complain to the authorities so thoroughly were they terrified and coerced. The last and most daring act of these marauders was the kidnapping of Don Ramon Mora, owner of the princely grant of Agua Dulce. Thousands of cattle and horses ranged over the vast acres of his ranch and he was reputed to be a wealthy man. No one ever enjoyed the hospitality of Agua Dulce but went his way with an increased regard for its owner and his estimable Castilian family. The rancho lay back from the river probably sixty miles and was on the border of the Chaparral which was the rendezvous of the robbers. Don Ramon had a pleasant home in one of the river towns. One June he and his family had gone to the ranch intending to spend a few weeks there. He had notified cattle buyers of this vacation and had invited them to visit him there either on business or pleasure. One evening an unknown Vaquero rode up to the rancho and asked for Don Ramon. That gentleman presenting himself the stranger made knownies errand. A certain firm of well-known drovers, friends of the ranchero, were encamped for the night at a ranchita some ten miles distant. They regretted that they could not visit him but they would be pleased to see him. They gave us an excuse for not calling that they were driving quite a herd of cattle and the corrals at this little ranch were unsafe for the number they had so that they were compelled to hold outside or night herd. This very plausible story was accepted without question by Don Ramon who well understood the handling of herds. Inviting the messenger to some refreshment he ordered his horse saddled and made a preparation to return with his pseudo Vaquero, telling his family that he would be gone for the night he rode away with a stranger. There were several thickety groves extending from the main chaperone out for considerable distance on the prairie but not of as rank a growth as on the aluvial river bottoms. These thickets were composed of thorny underbrush frequently as large as fruit trees and of a density which made them impenetrable except by those thoroughly familiar with the few established trails. The road from Aguadulce to Drancita was plain and well known yet passing through several arms of the main body of the chaperone. Don Ramon and his guide reached one of these thickets after nightfall. Suddenly they were surrounded by a dozen horsemen who with oaths and jests told him that he was their prisoner. Relieving Don Ramon of his firearms and other valuables one of the bandits took the bridle of his horse and putting a rope around the animal's neck the band turned towards the river with their captive. Near morning they went into one of their many retreats in the chaperone fettering their prisoner. What the feelings of Don Ramon Mora were that night is not for pen to picture for they must have been indescribable. The following day the leader of these bandits held several conversations with him asking in regard to his family, his children in particular, their names, number and ages. When evening came they set out once more southward crossing the Rio Grande during the night at an unused fort. The next morning found them well inland on the Mexican side and encamped in one of their many chaperone rendezvous. Here they spent several days, sometimes however, only a few of the band being present. The density of the thickets on the first and second bottoms of this river, extending back inland often fifty miles, made this camp and refuge almost inaccessible. The country furnished their main subsistence. Fresh meat was always at hand while their comrades scouting the river towns supplied such comforts as were lacking. Don Ramon's appeals to his captors to know his offence and what his punishment was to be were laughed at until he had been their prisoner a week. One night several of the party returned awoke him out of a friendly sleep, and he was notified that their chief would join them by daybreak and then he would know what his offence had been. When this personage made his appearance he ordered Don Ramon released from his fetters. Every one in camp showed obeisance to him. After holding a general conversation with his followers he approached Don Ramon, the band forming a circle about the prisoner and their chief. Don Ramon Mora. He began, with more courtesy. Doubtless you consider yourself an innocent and abused person. In that you are wrong. Your offence is a political one. Your family for three generations have opposed the freedom of Mexico. When our people were conquered and control was given to the French, it was through the treachery of such men as you. Treason is unpardonable, Senor Mora. It is useless to enumerate your crimes against human liberty. Living as you do under a friendly government you have incited the ignorant to revolution and revolt against the native rulers. Secret agents of our common country have shadowed you for years. It is useless to deny your guilt. Your execution therefore will be secret in order that your co-workers in infamy shall not take alarm but may meet a similar fate. Turning to one of the party who had acted as leader at the time of his capture he gave these instructions. Being no hurry to execute these orders, death is far too light a sentence to fit his crime. He is beyond a full measure of justice. There was a chorus of bravos when the banded chief finished this trumped-up charge. As he turned from the prisoner, Don Ramon pleadingly begged, only take me before an established court that I may prove my innocence. No, sentence has been passed upon you if you hope for mercy it must come from there. And the chief pointed heavenward. One of the band led out the arch chief's horse and with a parting instruction to conceal his grave carefully he rode away with but a single attendant. As they led Don Ramon back to his blanket and replaced the fetters, his cup of sorrow was full to overflowing. Oddly enough the leader, since sentence of death had been pronounced upon his victim, was the only one of the band who showed any kindness. The others were brutal in their jeers and taunts. Some remarks burned into his sensitive nature as vitriol burns into metal. The banded leader alone offered little kindnesses. Two days later the acting chief ordered the irons taken from the captive's feet, and the two men with but a single attendant who kept a respectful distance started out for a stroll. The banded chief expressed his regret at the sad duty which had been allotted him and assured Don Ramon that he would gladly make his time as long as was permissible. I thank you for your kindness, said Don Ramon, but is there no chance to be given me to prove the falsity of these charges? Am I condemned to die without a hearing? There is no hope from that source. Is there any hope from any source? Scarcely replied the leader, and still if we could satisfy those in authority over us that you had been executed as ordered and if my men could be bribed to certify the fact if necessary, and if you pledge us to quit the country forever, who would know to the contrary? True our lives would be in jeopardy and it would mean death to you if you betrayed us. Is this possible? asked Don Ramon excitedly. The colour of gold makes a good many things possible. I would gladly give all I possess in the world for one hour's peace in the presence of my family, even if in the next my soul was summoned to the bar of God. True, in lands and cattle I am wealthy, but the money at my command is limited, though I wish it were otherwise. It is a fortunate thing that you are a man of means. Say nothing to your guards, and I will have a talk this very night with two men whom I can trust, and we will see what can be done for you. Come, senor, don't despair, for I feel there is some hope. Concluded the bandit. The family of Don Ramon run easy, but not alarmed by his failure to return to them the day following his departure. After two days had passed, during which no word had come from him, his wife sent an old servant to see if he was still at Tarancitta. There the men learned that his master had not been seen, nor had there been any drovers there recently. Under the promise of secrecy the servant was further informed that, on the very day that Don Ramon had left his home, a band of robbers had driven into a corral at a ranch in the Monte, Eremudo, of ranch horses, and asking no one's consent had proceeded to change their mounts, leaving their own tired horses. This they did at noonday without so much as a hand raised in protest, so terrified were the people of the ranch. On the servant's return to Agua Dulce, the alarm and grief of the family were pitiful, as was their helplessness. When darkness set in, Senora Mora sent a letter by a peon to an old family friend at his home on the river. The next night three men for mutual protection brought back a reply. From it these plausible deductions were made. That Don Ramon had been kidnapped for a ransom, that these bandits no doubt were desperate men who would let nothing interfere with their plans, that to notify the authorities and ask for help might end in his murder, and that if kidnapped for a ransom overtures for his redemption would be made in due time. As he was entirely at the mercy of his captors they must look for hope only from that source. If reward was their motive he was worth more living than dead. This was the only consolation deduced. The letter concluded by advising them to meet any overturing strict confidence. As only money would be acceptable in such a case, the friend pledged all his means in behalf of Don Ramon should it be needed. These were anxious days and weary nights for this innocent family. The father no doubt would welcome death itself in preference to the rack on which he was kept by his captors. Time is not considered valuable in warm climates, and two weary days were allowed to pass before any conversation was renewed with Don Ramon. Then once more the chief had the fetters removed from his victim's ankles with a customary guard within call. He explained that many of the men were away and it would be several days yet before he could know if the outlook for his release was favourable. From what he had been able to learn so far at least fifty thousand dollars would be necessary to satisfy the band which numbered twenty, five of whom were spies. They were poor men, he further explained. Many of them had families and if they accepted money in a case like this self-banishment was the only safe course as a political society to which they belonged would place a price on their heads if they were detected. The sum mentioned is a large one. Commented Don Ramon, but it is nothing to the mental anguish that I suffer daily. If I had time and freedom the money might be raised, but as it is it is doubtful if I could command one-fifth of it. You have a son, said the chief, a young man of twenty. Could he not as well as yourself raise this amount? A letter could be placed in his hand stating that a political society had sentenced you to death and that your life was only spared from day to day by the sufferance of your captors. Ask him to raise this sum, tell him it would mean freedom and restoration to your family. Could he not do this as well as you? If time were given him possibly, can I send him such a letter? pleaded Don Ramon, brightening with the hope of this new opportunity. It would be impossible at present. The consent of all interested must first be gained. Our responsibility then becomes greater than yours. No false step must be taken. Tomorrow is as soon as that we can get a hearing with all. There must be no dissenters to the plan or it fails, and then, well, the execution has been delayed long enough. Thus the days wore on. The absence of the band, except for the few who guarded the prisoner, was policy on their part. They were receiving the news from the river villages daily, where the friends of Don Ramon discussed his absence in whispers. Their system of espionage was as careful as their methods were cruel and heartless. They even got reports from the ranch that not a member of the family had ventured away since its master's capture. The local authorities were inactive. The bandits would play their cards for a high ransom. Early one morning, after a troubled night's rest, Don Ramon was awakened by the arrival of the robbers, several of whom were boisterously drunk. It was only with curses and drawn arms that the chief prevented these men from committing outrages on their helpless captive. After coffee was served, the chief unfolded his plot to them with Don Ramon as a listener to the proceedings. Addressing them he said that the prisoner's offense was not one against them or theirs, that at best they were but the hirelings of others, that they were poorly paid and that it had become sickening to him to do the bloody work for others. Don Ramon, Mora, had gold at his command, enough to give each more in a day than they could hope to receive for years of this inhuman servitude. He could possibly pay to each two thousand dollars for his freedom, guaranteeing them his gratitude and pledging to refrain from any prosecution. Would they accept this offer or refuse it? As many as were in favor of granting his life would deposit in his hat a leaf from the Mesquite, those opposed a leaf from the wild cane which surrounded their camp. The vote asked for was watched by the prisoner as only a man could watch whose life hung in the balance. There were eight cane leaves, two seven of the Mesquite. The chief flew into a rage, cursed his followers for murderers, for refusing to let the life-blood run in this man who had never done one of them an injury. He called them cowards for attacking the helpless, even accusing them of lack of respect for their chiefs' wishes. The majority hung their heads like whipped currs. When he had finished his harangue, one of their number held up his hand to beg the privilege of speaking.  Captain, said the man, making obeisance and tapping his breast, there is an oath recorded here in memory of a father who was hanged by the French for no other crime save that he was a patriot to the land of his birth, and you ask me to violate my vow, to the wind with your sympathy, to the gallows with our enemies. There was a chorus of bravos and shouts of Viva el México, as the majority congratulated the speaker. When the chief led the prisoner back to his blanket, he spoke hopefully to Don Ramón, explaining that it was the mezcal the men had drunk, which made them so unreasonable and defiant, promising to reason with them when they were more sober he left Don Ramón with his solitary guard. The chief then returned to the band where he received the congratulations of his partners in crime on his mock sympathy. It was agreed that the majority should be won over at the next council, which they would hold that evening. The chief returned to his prisoner during the day and expressed a hope that by evening when his followers would be perfectly sober they would listen to reason. He doubted, however, if the sum first named would satisfy them and insisted that he be authorized to offer more. To this latter proposition Don Ramón made answer, I am helpless to promise you anything, but if you will only place me in correspondence with my son, all I possess, everything that can be hypothecated shall go to satisfy your demands, only let it be soon for this suspense is killing me. An hour before dark the band was once more summoned together with Don Ramón in their midst. The chief asked the majority if they had any compromise to offer to his proposition of the morning and receive a negative answer. Then, said he, remember that a trusting wife and eight children, the eldest a lad of twenty, the youngest a toddling tot of a girl, claim a husband and a father's love at the hands of the prisoner here. Are you such base ingrates that you can show no mercy not even to the innocent? The majority were abashed, and one by one fell back in the distance. Finally a middle-aged man came forward and said, Give us five thousand dollars in gold apiece, the money to be in hand, and the prisoner may have his liberty, all other conditions made in the morning to be binding. Your answer to that, Don Ramón? asked the chief. I have promised my all. I ask nothing but life. I may have friends who will assist. Give me an opportunity to see what can be done. You shall have it, replied the chief, and on its success depends your liberty or the consequences. Going amongst the band he ordered them to meet again in three days at one of their rendez-vous near Agua Dulce to go by twos visit the river towns on the way to pick up all items of interest and particularly to watch for any movement of the authorities. Retaining two of his companions to act as guards, the others saddled their horses and dispersed by various routes. The chief waited until the moon was well up, then abandoned their camp of the last ten days and set out towards Agua Dulce. To show his friendship for his victim he removed all irons but did not give freedom to Don Ramón's horse which was led as before. It was after midnight when they recrossed the river to the American side using a ford known to but a few smugglers. When day broke they were well inland and securing the Chaparral. Another nights travel and they were encamped in the place agreed upon. Reports which the members of the band brought to the chief showed that the authorities had made no movement as yet so evidently this outreach had never been properly reported. Don Ramón was now furnished paper and pencil and he addressed a letter to his son and family. The contents can easily be imagined. It concluded with an appeal to secrecy and an order to observe it confidence and honor any compact made as his life and liberty depended on it. When this messif had passed the scrutiny of the bandits it was dispatched by one of their number to Senora Mora. It was just two weeks since Don Ramón's disappearance, a fortnight of untold anguish and uncertainty to his family. The messenger reached Agua Dulce an hour before midnight and seeing a light in the house warned the inmates of his presence by the usual Ave Maria, a friendly salutation invoking the blessings of the saints on all within hearing. Supposing that some friend had a word for them the son went outside meeting the messenger. Are you the son of Don Ramón Mora? asked the bandit. I am, replied the young man. Won't you dismount? No. I bear a letter to you from your father. One moment, Senor. I have within call half a dozen men. Give no alarm. Read his instructions to you. I shall expect an answer in half an hour. The letter, Senor. The son hastened into the house to read his father's communication. The bandit kept a strict watch over the premises to see that no demonstration was made against him. When the half hour was nearly up the son came forward and tendered the answer. Passing the compliments of the moment the man rode away as early as though the question were of hearts instead of life. The reply was first read by Don Ramón, then turned over to the chief. It would require a second letter which was to be called for in four days. Things were now nearing the danger point. They must be doubly vigilant. So all but the chief and two guards scattered out and watched every movement. Two or three towns on the river were to have special care. Friends of the family lived in these towns. They must be watched. The officers of the law were the most to be feared. Every bit of conversation overheard was carefully noted, with its effects and bearing. At the appointed time another messenger was sent to the ranch, but only a part of the band returned to know the result. The sum which the son reported at his command was very disappointing. It would not satisfy the leaders, and there would be nothing for the others. It was out of the question to consider it. The chief cursed himself for letting his sympathy get the better of him. Why had he not listened to the majority and been true to an accepted duty? He called himself a woman for having acted as he had—a man unfit to be trusted. Don Ramon heard these self-reproaches of the chief with a heavy heart, and when opportunity occurred he pleaded for one more chance. He had many friends. There had not been time enough to see them all. His lands and cattle had not been hypothesized. Give him one more chance. Have mercy. I was a fool, said the chief, to listen to a condemned man's hopes, but having gone so far I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Turning to Don Ramon, he said, write your son that if twice the sum named in his letter is not forthcoming within a week, it will be too late. The chief now became very surly, often declaring that the case was hopeless, that the money could never be raised. He taunted his captive with the fact that he had always considered himself above his neighbors, and that now he could not command means enough to purchase the silence and friendship of a score of beggars. His former kindness changed to cruelty at every opportunity, and he took delight in hurling his venom on his helpless victim. Dispatching the letter he ordered the band to scatter as before, appointing a meeting place, a number of days hence. After the return of the messenger he broke camp in the middle of the night, not forgetting to add other indignities to the heavy irons already on his victim. During the ensuing time they travelled the greater portion of each night. To the prisoner's questions as to where they were he received only insulting replies. His inquiries served only to suggest other gruelties. One night they set out unusually early, the chief saying that they would recross the river before morning, so that if the ransom was not satisfactory, the execution might take place at once. On this night the victim was blindfolded. After many hours of riding it was nearly morning when they halted, the bandage was removed from his eyes, and he was asked if he knew the place. Yes, it is agua dulce. The moon shone over its white stone buildings quietly sleeping in the still hours of the night, as over the white silent slabs of a country churchyard. Not a sound could be heard from any living thing. They dismounted and gagged their prisoner. Tying their horses at a respectable distance they led their victim toward his home. Don Ramon was a small man and could offer no resistance to his captors. They cautioned him that the slightest resistance would mean death, while compliance to their wishes carried a hope of life. Cautiously and with a stealthy step they advanced like the thieves they were, their victim in the iron grasp of two strong guards, while a rope with a running noose around his neck in the hands of the chief made their gag doubly effective. A garden wall ran within a few feet of the rear of the house, and behind it they crouched. The only sound was the laboured breathing of their prisoner. Hark! The cry of a child is heard within the house. Oh God! It is his child, his baby girl. Listen! The ear of the mother has heard it, and her soothing voice has reached his anxious ear. His wife, the mother of his children, is now bending over their baby's crib. The muscles of Don Ramon's arms turn to iron. His eyes flash defiance at the grinning friends who exalt at his misery. The running noose tightens on his neck, and he gasps for breath.  He questions his own sanity, even the mercy of heaven. When the sun arose that morning, they were far away in one of the impenetrable thickets in which the country abounded. Since his capture, Don Ramon had suffered, but never as now. Death would have been preferable, not that life had no claims upon him, but that he no longer had hopes of liberty. The uncertainty was unbearable. The bandits exercised caution enough to keep all means of self-destruction out of his reach. Hardened as they were, they noticed that their last racking of the prisoner had benumbed even hope. Sleep alone was kind to him, though he usually awoke to find his dreams a mockery. That night the answer to the second demand would arrive. A number of the band came in during the day and brought the rumour that the governor of the state had been notified of their high-handed actions. It was thought that a company of Texas Rangers would be ordered to the Rio Grande. This meant action and soon, when the reply came from the son of Don Ramon, he was notified to have the money ready at a certain abandoned ranchita, though the amount now increased was not as large as was expected. It required two days longer for the delivery, which was to be made at midnight, and to be accompanied by not over two messengers. At this juncture, a squad of ten Texas Rangers disembarked at the nearest point on the railroad to this river village. The emergency appeal which had finally reached the governor's ear was acted upon promptly, and though the men seemed very few in number, they were tried, experienced, fearless rangers from the crack company of the state. There was no waste of time after leaving the train. The little command set out apparently for the river, home of Don Ramon, distant nearly a hundred miles. After darkness had set in, the captain of the squad cut his already small command in two, sending a lieutenant with four men to proceed by way of Agua Dulce Ranch, the remainder continuing on to the river. The captain refused them even pack horse or blanket, allowing them only their arms. He instructed them to call themselves cowboys, and in case they met any Mexicans to make inquiries for a well-known American ranch, which was located in the Chaparral. With a few simple instructions from his superior, the lieutenant and squad rode away into the darkness of a June night. It was in reality the dark hour before dawn when they reached Agua Dulce. As secretly as possible, the lieutenant aroused Don Ramon's wife and sought an interview with her. Speaking Spanish fluently, he explained his errand and her duty to put him in possession of all the facts in the case. Bewildered as any gentle woman would be under the circumstances, she reluctantly told the main facts. This officer treated Senora Mora with every courtesy, and was eventually rewarded when she requested him and his men to remain her guests, until her son should return, which would be before noon.  This information was food and raiment to the ranger. The Senora of Agua Dulce sent a servant to secrete the ranger's horses in a nearby pasture, and with saddles hidden inside the house, before the people of the ranch or the sun arose, five rangers were sleeping under the roof of the Casa Primero. It was late in the day when the lieutenant awoke to find Don Ramon, Jr., ready to welcome him and join in furnishing any details unknown to his mother. The commercial instincts of the young man sided with the rangers, but the mother, thank God, knew no such impulses and thought of nothing save the return of her husband, the father of her brood. The officer considered only duty, being an unknown quantity to him. He assured his hostess that if she would confide in them, her husband would be returned to her with all dispatch. Concealing such things as he considered advisable from both mother and son, he outlined his plans. At the appointed time and place the money should be paid over and the compact adhered to to the letter. He reserved to himself and company, however, to furnish any red light necessary. An hour after dark a messenger, Don Ramon, Jr., and five rangers set out to fulfill all contracts pending and understood. The abandoned ranchita in the monte, the meeting point, had been, at one time, a stone house of some pretensions, where had formerly lived its builder, a wealthy eccentric recluse. It had, in previous years, however, been burned so that now on the crumbling walls remained, a gloomy, isolated, though picturesque ruin, standing in an opening several acres in extent, while trails, once in use, led to and from it. When the party arrived, within two miles of the meeting point, an hour in advance of the appointed time a halt was called. Under the direction of the lieutenant, the son and his companion were to proceed by an old trail, forsaking the regular pathway leading from Agua Dulce to the old ranch. The ranger squad tied their horses and followed a respectful distance behind, near enough, however, to hear in case any guards might halt them. They were carefully cautioned, not even to let Don Ramon, if he were present, know that rescue from another quarter was at hand. When the two sided the ruin, they noticed a dim light within the walls. Then, without a single challenge, they dashed up to the old house amid a clatter of hooves and shouts of welcome from the bandits. The messengers were unarmed, and once inside the house were made prisoners, ironed and ordered into a corner were crouched Don Ramon Mora, now enfeebled by mental racking and physical abuse. The meeting of father and son will be spared the reader, yet in the young man's heart was a hope that he dared not communicate. The night was warm, a fire flickered in the old fireplace, and around its circle gathered nine bandits to count and gloat over the blood money of their victim, as a miser might over his bags of gold. The bottle passed freely round the circle, and with toast and taunt and jeer the counting of the money was progressing. Suddenly, and with as little warning as if they had dropped down from among the stars, five Texas Rangers sprang through windows and doors, and without a word a flood of fire frothed from the mouths of ten six shooters hurling death into the circle about the fire. There was no cessation of the rain of lead until every gun was emptied, when the men sprang back each to his window or door, where a carbine carefully left awaited his hand to complete the work of death. In the few moments that elapsed, the smoke arose and the fire burned afresh, revealing the accuracy of their aim. As they re-entered to review their work, two of the bandits were found alive and untouched, having thrown themselves in a corner amid the confusion of smoke in the onslaught. Thus they were spared the fate of the others, though the ghastly sight of seven of their number translated from life into death met their terrorized gaze. Human blood streamed across the once peaceful hearth, while brains bespattered life-sized figures in bas-relief of the Virgin Mary and Christ child which adorned the broad columns on either side of the ample fireplace. In the throes of death, one bandit had floundered about until his hand rested in the fire, producing a sickening smell from the burning flash. As Don Ramon was released, he stood for a few moments half-dazed, looking in bewilderment at the awful spectacle before him. Then, as the truth gradually dawned upon him that this sacrifice of blood meant liberty to himself, he fell upon his knees among the still warm bodies of his tormentors, his face raised to the Virgin in exaltation of joy and thanksgiving.