Some nights later, down the rough, steep sides of the Arroyo Hondo, through which trickled a ribbon of water from a recent rain, four Indians rode carefully, leading two pack animals. They were two Arapahoes, a Blackfoot, and a Delaware, and they followed the ravine and soon came in sight of the little mountain pasture, dotted with cedar bushes and spa.r.s.ely covered with gra.s.s, which sloped gently down the mountain side. In the fading twilight the so-called ranch stood vaguely outlined, the nature of its log and adobe walls indiscernible, its mill and the still house looming vaguely over the main building against the darker background of the slope. The faint smell of sour mash almost hid the mealy odor of the grist mill; hogs grunted in the little corral by the fenced-in garden, while an occasional bleating of sheep came from the same enclosure. Dark shapes moved over the cedar-brush pasture and the frequent stamping of hoofs told they were either horses or mules.

High up near the roof of the composite building were narrow oblongs of faint radiance, where feeble candle light shone through the little squares of gypsum, so much used in that country in place of window gla.s.s. As the four newcomers smilingly looked at the comfortable building the foot-compelling strains of a cheap violin squeaked and rasped resinously from the living quarters and a French-Canadian, far from home, burst ecstatically into song. Dreaming chickens cackled briefly and a sleepy rooster complained in restrained indignation, while the rocky mountain side relayed the distant howl of a prowling coyote.

The leader drew the flap over the ultra-modern rifle in its sheath at his leg and glanced back at his companions.

"Wall," he growled, "hyar we air; we're plumb inter it, now."

"Up ter our scalp-locks," came a grunted reply.

"h.e.l.l! 'Tain't th' fust time they've been in danger. They'll stand a lot o' takin'," chuckled another voice. He softly imitated a coyote and the sleepy inmates of the hen house burst into a frightened chorus.

"Hain't ye got no sense?" asked Hank, reprovingly.

"Wouldn't be hyar if I had. I smell sour mash. Let's go on."

Hank kneed his mount, no longer the one which had become so well known to many eyes on the long wagon trail, and led the way down to the door.

At the soft confusion of guttural tongues outside the house the door opened and Turley, the proprietor, stood framed in the dim light behind him.

"'Spress from Senor Bent's," said the nearest Indian, walking forward.

"It's Hank Marshall," he whispered. "Want ter palaver with ye, Turley."

"Want's more whiskey, I reckon," growled Turley. "Hobble yer hosses on th' pasture. Ye kin roll up 'most anywhar ye like. Fed yit?"

"_Si, senor; muchos gracias_," answered the Indian. "_Senor! cary mucho aguardiente grano!_"

"Oh, ye do?" sarcastically replied Turley. "Whiskey, huh? Wall, ye'll do better without it. What's Bent want o' me?"

"_Aguardiente de grano, senor!_"

Turley chuckled. "He does, hey? I say he picks d.a.m.ned poor messengers to send fer whiskey! We'll talk about that tomorrow. Roll up some'rs in yer blankets an' don't pester me." He stepped back and the door slammed in the eager, pleading face of the Blackfoot, to a chorus of disappointed grunts. The rebuffed savage timidly knocked on the door and it was flung open, Turley glaring down at him. "Ye heard what I said, an' ye savvied it! Reckon I want four drunk Injuns 'round hyar all night? We ain't a-goin' ter have no d.a.m.ned nonsense. Take yer animals off ter th'

pasture an' camp down by th' crick! _Vamoose!_"

The picture of pugnacity, he stood in the door and watched them slowly, sullenly obey him, and then he slammed it again, swearing under his breath. "Quickest way ter git murdered is ter give them Injuns likker!"

he growled.

"_Mais, oui_," said the French-Canadian, placing his fiddle back under his chin, and the stirring air went on again.

Three hours before dawn Hank awoke and without moving his body let his eyes rove over the dark pasture. Then like a flash of light his heavy pistol jammed into the dark blotch almost at his side, and he growled a throaty inquiry.

"It's me, Hank," came the soft reply. "Take that d.a.m.ned thing away!

What's up?"

Three other pairs of eyes were turned on them and then their owners stirred a little and grunted salutations, and made slight rustlings as their hands replaced what they had held.

"Nothin', only a courtin' party," chuckled Hank.

"Wall, I've heard tell o' courtin' parties," ruminated Turley; "but never one made up like Injuns and armed to th' teeth. Might know some d.a.m.ned fool thing war afoot when yer mixed up in it. Who ye courtin', at yer time o' life? Somebody's wife?"

"We're aimin' fer Santer Fe," said Hank. "Got ter have help ter git thar th' way we wants. Them Texans has made it hard fer us, a-stirrin' up everythin' like they has."

"Whar'd ye git yer hosses?" anxiously demanded Turley.

"Inderpendence, Missoury," innocently answered Hank, his grin lost in the darkness.

"Then ye come over th' wagon trail, an' up th' Arkansas?"

"Over th' wagon trail an' up th' Cimarron, with th' second caravan o'

traders. Come nigh straight acrost from Cold Spring."

"Wall, I'll be d.a.m.ned!" muttered Turley. Then he snorted. "Ain't ye got no sense, ye Root Digger? Everybody in th' train'll know them hosses!"

"We swapped 'em at Bent's rancho on th' Vermajo--good gosh! Two o' 'em come from them Texans!"

"They didn't have no brands," said Tom. "I heard 'em say somethin' about gettin' some at Bent's. We got ter risk it, anyhow. It'll be like addin'

a spoonful o' freight ter a wagon load."

Hank's mind was running in a groove that he had been gouging deeper and longer hour after hour and he refused to be sidetracked by any question concerning the horses they had changed. "We want ter swap hosses ag'in an' borry some rags fer clothes; an' before daylight, too."

Tom arose on one elbow. "That's all right, fur's it goes; only it don't go no-whar," he declared. "We want ter git rid o' these hosses, an' we want th' clothes; but that ain't all. We want a job, Turley. Need any mule wranglers ter take some freight inter Santer Fe?"

"Day after tomorrow," answered Turley. "We got ter git rid o' these animals afore then, ye got ter git shet o' 'em afore mornin'. I'll send Jacques out ter take 'em away as soon as I go back ter th' house. Arter he leaves with 'em I'll bring ye some ol' clothes so ye'll look a little different from them four fools that swapped hosses at Bent's rancho. Th'

peon up thar won't git away, nor mebby see n.o.body fer weeks; but we better take th' pelt afore th' meat spiles under it. I got some hosses th' Utes stole from th' 'Rapahoes. We stole 'em from th' Utes. They ain't marked, an' they ain't knowed down in th' valley."

"But we'll still be four," commented Tom, thoughtfully.

"That's sh.o.r.e a plain trail," said Jim Ogden. "Here: You an' Hank take a mule apiece an' go back th' way we come, fur a spell. Me an' Zeb kin freight whiskey with Turley's _atejo_, an' meet ye along th' trail some'rs, or in Santer Fe, at th' warehouse. Ye kin load yer mules with f.a.ggots ter be sold in town, an' tag onter our mule train fer society an' pertection. Yer rifles kin be hid under th' f.a.ggots."

"We'll be unpackin' th' mules noon an' night," replied Tom. "How 'bout our rifles then?"

"Can't be did," grunted Hank.

"We got ter risk that peon seein' anybody ter talk to," said Tom.

"Anyhow, 'tain't nothin' unusual fer him ter see fellers from th' fort.

We'll go on with th' _atejo_, after we make a few changes in our clothes, an' ride Turley's hosses 'stead o' Bent's. But we can't jine that mule train as no party o' four. We got ter lose that danged number, that's flat."

"You an' Hank," offered Zeb, "bein' Blackfoot an' Delaware, kin be hunters from Bent's; me an' Jim, bein' 'Rapahoes turned friendly, kin come from St. Vrain's post. Th' South Platte, up thar, is th' 'Rapahoe stampin' ground an' we both know it from one end to t'other. That'll count fer all o' us havin' first-cla.s.s weapons. Somebody's sh.o.r.e goin'

ter notice them."

Turley nodded. "Yes; hyar's whar ye lose that cussed four. You two 'Rapahoes git scarce afore daylight, goin' on foot an' leavin' no trail.

Come back from th' way o' th' old Ute trail from th' Bayou Salade. I'm runnin' a little herdin' up o' my hosses on th' side o' th' mounting; they're scatterin' in th' brush too much. Fer that I'll be needin' all my men that ain't goin' as muleteers. I'll hire you boys, two at a time, ter go 'long with th' _atejo_ as guards. Thar's thieves atween hyar an'

Santer Fe that likes Turley's whiskey an' ground meal. I'll give ye a writin' ter my agent in town to pay ye off, an' ye'll git through, all right. Do ye reckon ye'll have ter git outer Santer Fe on th' jump?

Seein' as how yer so danged careful how ye git inter th' town, it may be that ye ain't welcome a hull lot. Knowin' Hank like I do, makes me suspicious."

"We'll mebby git out quicker'n scat," answered Tom, chuckling. "They'll mebby be touchy about strangers, with them Texans prowlin' 'round. If we git ter goin' strong as a Texan raid an' they find out that it's only four no-'count Injuns full o' Taos lightnin', they'll mebby move fast.

We may make quite a ruckus afore we git through, if they find out who we air."

"What th' h.e.l.l ye aimin' ter do? Capture th' town?" demanded Turley, unable to longer hold down his curiosity.

"Aimin' ter git our trade goods money, see a young lady, hang 'round till th' return caravan start back fer th' States, an' mebby squar up fer a few o' them Texans that _didn't_ git ter Mexico City," answered Tom.