intending anything of the sort, she felt herself flushing.
Meanwhile, Green was pushing Blue at a good pace through the Maze. Several hours' hard riding brought him to the spot he was aiming for, the blind canyon where the trail of the stolen cattle had melted away. Here he rode into the water and turned upstream, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the cottonwoods fringing the banks. On either side the ground sloped steeply to the frowning cliffs above. It was a peaceful scene, with the sun dappling the foliage, the piping of the birds, and the chattering of the shallow river as it raced over the stones which sought to impede its course.
The cowpuncher progressed slowly, his keen gaze searching every yard of the ground. He had covered less than a mile when the canyon narrowed and he came to a blank wall of rock which appeared to be the end of it. The foot of this was masked by a thick clump of trees into which the stream disappeared. Pushing aside the branches, which at this point almost met across the water, he forced his way through and then pulled up in astonishment.
He had come to the end of the canyon, and as he had expected, the cliff was before him. At the base of it, however, was a small natural tunnel through which the river flowed. It was a curious formation, suggesting that, in some bygone paroxysm of Nature, the rocky walls of the canyon had been flung together, welding at the top and leaving a passage for the stream at the oottom. Approaching the opening, Green saw that the tunnel was too low for a rider to pass through and that the stream appeared to occupy the whole width. A faint gleam of light appraised him that it did not extend very far.
Leading the roan, he stepped forward, cautiously sounding the depth of the water; it remained shallow, however, and the bed was firm rock, lightly covered by sand brought down by the stream. In a few moments they were emerging into daylight again, only to find the path barred by a rude pole fence. This removed, the puncher Ied his horse behind a clump of bushes and carefully scanned the scene before him; he had no wish to fall into another trap.
He saw an open valley, oval in shape, and sloping gently at first and then steeply to the rim-rock on either side. The floor was covered with good grass, and winding through the middle was the stream which had led him to the place! The valley was something over a mile in length and about half that distance in width, and was devoid of trees save on the enclosing slopes, where groups of pine and birch could be seen among the thick undergrowth. A herd of about a hundred head of cattle was feeding leisurely, and appeared to be unattended.
Green advanced, still keeping under cover along one of the slopes and leading his horse. Presently he descried a small log shack, half-hidden by trees, on the opposite side of the valley; it seemed to be untenanted.
`It shore is a dandy place for rustlin',' soliloquised the puncher. `First they got a desert to lose the trail on, an' if that don't work the trick, there's a stream to drive the cattle along that'll wash out every track soon as it's made, with a tunnel nobody'd ever suspicion 'less they come straight on it, an' here's a natural feedin'-ground where stock can stay hid till yu want it. Why, it's as easy as takin' money from a sleepin' kid.'
He had now worked his way along the side of the valley until he was level with the grazing animals, but they were still too far away for him to distinguish the brand, and this was imperative.
`Gotta take a chance, Blue,' he said. `Them cows may be wear-in' honest monograms, an' we don't want to make a mistake.' Riding slowly and rather away from the herd in order not to startle it, he gradually got sufficiently near to decipher the brand. `Crossed Dumb-bell,' he muttered. `Huh, we gotta have a closer peep at that.' The loop of his whirled rope settled over the horns of the nearest steer and the roan braced back for the jolt as the frightened beast dashed off and rolled headlong. Green sprang to the ground, and having hog-tied the steer, examined the brand at his leisure. The story was plain enough.
`Frying Pan brand with another 'pan' an' a bar through the handle,' commented the puncher. `Pretty slick work though; in a month or so them scars will be healed over, an' as cows don't talk none, nobody'll be any the wiser. I guess that settles it an' I'd better be driftin'.'
He released the limbs of the victim and lost no time in regaining his saddle, for a steer which had been thrown is not a proposition to be enjoyably dealt with on foot. A twitch of the rope set the brute entirely free, whereupon it bellowed furiously and charged. At the same moment came the sharp report of a rifle and the venomous hum of a bullet past the puncher's ear. He looked round and saw a couple of riders spurring down upon him from the upper end of the valley.
Green did not stay to argue. Swinging the roan so as to dodge the infuriated steer, he rode for the tunnel, another bullet which drilled a hole in his hat leaving no doubt as to the intentions of the newcomers. He did not fear that they would overtake him, but they might cripple either his mount or himself, and so prevent the information he had gained being turned to account. The pursuers did not shoot again, being apparently under the impression that they could run him down; they may even have imagined that he was ignorant of the exit at the lower end of the valley.
Halfway to the tunnel the fugitive narrowly escaped a calamity. He had to pass a scattered part of the herd, and several of the animals, with usual bovine stupidity, suddenly decided to run right across his path. Blue was going at too great a pace for a sudden swerve, and there was but one way out of the difficulty. With a supreme effort, Green lifted the roan as they reached the running steers and the horse rose and cleared the obstacle with a magnificent leap. A shout from behind, either of rage or admiration, greeted the performance.
Two minutes later the puncher reached the end of the valley, flung himself from his horse and dragged his rifle from its scabbard under the left fender of the saddle. The pursuers were still coming on but with slackening speed, as though in doubt. From their appearance and gesticulations, the puncher opined that they were Mexicans. He and his horse were hidden in a thicket of bushes. Presently, as he expected, they pulled up and he could see them arguing. He levelled his Winchester and fired; the horse of the nearer rider sank to its knees and rolled over, sending the man in the saddle sprawling. Instantly his companion wheeled to ride away, but ere he could do so the gun spoke again and the second horse went down.
`That sets yu afoot anyways, yu coyotes,' muttered the marksman, and without waiting further he led the roan through the tunnel again, mounted, and headed for home at the best speed the country would allow.
Some hours later he reached the ranch and found the owner in his favourite spot on the verandah, talking to Tarman and his companion. The girl was there, listening, but taking little part in the conversation. The cowboy slid from the saddle and trailed the reins--he had now taught Blue to stay `tied to the ground.'
'Lo, Green; yu want me?' asked Petter.
`Got some news for yu,' said the puncher, with a half-glance towards the room which served the ranch- owner as an office. But the Old Man did not take the hint.
`Well, let's hear it--our friends won't mind me 'tendin' to business for a minute,' he said, and added with a twinkle of amusement, `You met Mr. Tarman before, I think.'
Green turned his gaze upon the visitor lounging easily in his chair, and with a perfectly grave expression on his face, said quietly, `Shore, I lent him my hoss.'
For a brief instant Tarman's eyes flashed murder, and then he joined in the laugh which, started by Noreen, spread to the others.
`Yu gotta admit I didn't keep him long,' the big man said, and his laugh boomed out again. It was well done, but to the girl it did not ring true. She had caught that fleeting look and knew that the man's vanity had been rubbed on a sore spot, and that he would have cheerfully slain the offender.
`Well, well, what yu got to tell us, Green?' asked Simon.
The cowboy gave a bald account of the day's discoveries, and watched the faces of the visitors as he did so, but could see nothing more than a polite interest on either of them. His employer was plainly pleased.
`Yu didn't recognise them two fellers?'
`No, but they looked like Greasers, an' they could shoot.' `Well, if yu set 'em afoot they won't get them cows shifted without help. 'Course, mebbe they got other hosses, or there's more than just the pair of 'em.'
`If there'd been more they'd 'a' come pilin' at the first shot,' Green pointed out.
`That's so,' agreed the cattleman. `Reckon yo're tired?' `Not so as yu'd notice it,' smiled the cowboy.
`Good for yu,' said the Old Man. `Blaynes is out on the range somewheres. Get another hoss, pick up any o' the boys yu can find an' hump it to the Frying Pan. It's Job's business this time, but it's ourn too an' we got to help him. Yu didn't see any o' our cows, I s'pose?'
Green shook his head. `Hadn't time to look over the herd, but I fancy they were all Frying Pan.'
As he swung into the saddle, Seth Laban rose from his chair. 'I reckon I must be goin' too,' he said.
