With the expertness of men who knew their job the raiders got to work. A portion of the now uneasy herd was separated from the main bunch and driven in a north-easterly direction. It does not take much to turn a herd of contented cattle into a torrent of mad, unreasoning fear, a fact the rustlers were fully aware of. No sooner were the stolen beasts sufficiently far away than two of the riders returned, and with shouts and flapping saddle-blankets soon stampeded the already scared herd, sending it thundering olindly to the shout. They had barely accomplished this when madly pounding hoofs brought another horseman on the scene.
`Charlie, where in 'ell are yu?' he called. `I heard yore signal. What's up?'
Then he suddenly grasped that something was wrong, and with an oath, he jerked out his gun and fired. The spit of flame stabbed the darkness, and one of the raiders cursed. His companion, dropping his blanket, appeared to lift something from his saddle and raise his arm. Then came a peculiar twang, and the cowboy gasped and almost fell from his horse. But the instinct of a man who spends nearly all his waking hours in the saddle came to his aid, and gripping with weakening knees, he whirled the pony and headed for the ranch.
`He won't never make it,' said one of the raiders. `Did he git yu?'
'Creased my shoulder, blast him ! An' it's bleedin' like blazers, but it can wait; we gotta punch the breeze. C'mon.'
Spurring their mounts in the direction taken by the rest of the band, they vanished in the night.
Meanwhile the gallant little cow-pony, with its almost senseless burden, made unswervingly for home, and as though it understood the need for haste, never slackened speed until it slid to a stop in front of the bunkhouse door. One of those within, hearing the patter of hoof-beats, came out to see who was arriving. His shout brought the others. The senseless form, drooping over the saddlehorn, was lifted down, carried into the bunkhouse and laid on a bench. One of the men raced to fetch the boss.
`Why, it's Lucky, an' he's got an arrow through his shoulder,' cried one. `What in 'ell's doin'?'
Leeming, the owner of the Frying Pan, hurried in. Who is it, an' what's the trouble?' he asked.
`It's Lomas, an' it shore looks as if there's trouble a-plenty,' replied Dirk Iddon, his foreman, who was bending over the wounded man.
Cutting away the shirt and vest, he laid bare the wound, and disclosed the arrow buried to the feathered end in the white flesh, with the vicious barbed point protruding from the back.
`That's a 'Pache war-shaft,' he commented.
With deft tenderness, he snapped the shaft just below the feathers and turning the hurt man on his side, gripped the head of the arrow and drew it gently from the wound, which was then sponged and bandaged with care and thoroughness which would not have discredited a professional healer. Dirk had doctored many hurts, and some community lost a good physician when he ran wild and drifted to the West.
`He's shore livin' up to his name, Lucky is,' remarked he, regarding his handiwork with satisfaction. `Couple o' inches lower down an' it would've been through the lung. As it is, he'll be as good as new in two-three weeks. How the 'ell he stayed on that hoss beats me.'
The sick man's eyes fluttered and opened; he made an effort to sit up, only to sink back wearily. Dirk handed him a tot of whisky, holding it to his lips.
`Tell us what happened, Lucky, if yu can,' he said.
The strong, raw spirin, and the sound of the familiar voice of his foreman brought the cowboy back to consciousness, and gave him strength to speak.
`Injuns,' he said. `Stampeded the herd. They musta got old Charlie. I heard shootin' an' bumped right into 'em; think I nicked one.'
He sank back exhausted, oblivious to the tumult his information had aroused. Every man was furious, but the anger of Job Leeming exceeded them all. A shortish, choleric man, his violent outbursts of temper had made `the impatience of Job' a byword in the district. For the rest he was a square dealer and a good employer. At the moment he was almost beside himself.
`Jump to it, boys,' he cried. `Hosses an' guns for all o' yu. Cook--where's than blasted cook? Oh, here yu are. Why in 'ell don't yu come when I call yu? Rustle some grub, pronto, an' then look after Lomas. We'll get these murderin' dogs if we have to foller 'em to the Pit.'
`Shore we'll get 'em,' said Dirk. `We'll bring enough scalps to make Lucky a ha'r bridle.'
In less than fifteen minutes a dozen men were racing for the spot where the herd had been. They soon reached it, and scattered to search for the missing cowboy. It was Dirk who happened upon the huddled, prostrate form; at his call, Leeming and the others came scampering up. The foreman knelt and examined the injured man, his fingers encountering a sticky smear of blood across the forehead.
`Show a light, somebody,' he said.
The flame of several manches revealed the extent of the damage.
`Roped him an' knocked him cold with a gun,' stated Dirk. `He ain't hurt bad--his head must be made o' granite, I reckon. I'll do what I can.'
Under his ministrations the patient came to, and in a faltering voice confirmed the foreman's theory of what had taken place. `I thought the blamed sky had dropped on me,' he said. `I shore saw all the stars there is.'
Held in the saddle by another of the outfit, he was also despatched to the care of Cookie at the ranch-house, and having attended to the wants of his wounded, Leeming now felt that he was at liberty to take up his own affairs. Here a difficulty presented itself. Even in the faint light of the early dawn it was possible to see what had happened, and Dirk, who had been carefully scanning the tracks, summed up the situation.
`They've gone nor-east with a bunch o' cattle, headin' for Big Chief, an' they stampeded the rest o' the herd in the opposite direction. Chances is, they've left four times as many as they lifted. What yu aim to do about it?'
`We'll have to split,' Leeming said. `Yu take five o' the boys an' follow the 'Paches; the rest of us will round up the herd. I'd come with yu, but we can't both leave the ranch, an' yo're too darned good at readin' sign to leave behind. How many do yu figure they got?'
`Tidy bunch--near a hundred, I guess,' Dirk replied. `Means one thing--they'll travel all the slower with that lot; we oughtta come up with 'em, spite o' the start they got.'
`Shoot every one o' the durn copper-coloured thieves when yu do,' snorted the other, adding a string of lurid oaths as he turned away to commence the wearisome task of collecting the scattered herd. To describe him as an angry man would be putting it very mildly indeed. At least a week's work destroyed in a single night, and all to be done again, to say nothing of the probable loss of about five-score valuable beasts; for though he would not admit it even to himself, Job had little hope that his steers would be recovered. He knew but too well the wildness of the country, and the many hiding-places it afforded a cunning predator.
That this raid, like the one on his neighbour, was the work of Indians, he did not doubt for an instant, and with the white man's instinctive hatred for the redskin, his resentment was the greater.
Late on the afternoon of the following day the foreman of the Y Z strode into the bunkhouse with a look of malicious triumph on his face.
`Green, the Old Man wants to see yu, pronto,' he said. `The Injuns have got away with a big steal o' Frying Pan cows, an' "Old Impatience" is up there a-raisin' Cain.'
If he expected the cowpuncher to ask for any details he was disappointed; Green simply nodded and went out. At the ranch-house he found Simon and Leeming in the big living-room, the latter pacing up and down, and evidently in a state of eruption. Simon plunged at once into the business.