ABOUT SILK STOCKING
"Turn about is fair play, Springer," said George. "I fed you when you were hungry, put you on your horse and gave you a chance to escape to this side of the river, and you must help me in some way."
"I don't see how I can do it," replied the wounded cattle-thief, who seemed to be alarmed by the proposition. "If I do an' am ketched at it, I'm a goner. You didn't run no risk by helpin' me."
"I didn't!" exclaimed George. "I know a story worth two of that. What do you suppose the settlers would do to me, if they should find out that I had given aid and comfort to such a man as you are?"
"How are they goin' to find it out? It ain't likely that any one of us will tell 'em of it."
"And neither is it likely that I shall tell Fletcher if you assist me," answered George. "You see, Springer – "
"Easy! easy!" whispered the man, raising his hand warningly. "He's coming."
"Who is coming?"
"The boss."
George faced about and saw a tall fellow, dressed in Mexican costume, picking his way among the recumbent guerrillas who were stretched out on their ponchos in the court-yard, waiting for breakfast. As he came nearer, George turned away from Springer, and looked at him with a good deal of curiosity. He was not a Mexican – there was that much to be said in his favor – but there was nothing in his face that induced the captive to appeal to his sympathies. When the boy descended the steps leading down from the verandah, the robber chief stood at the foot waiting for him.
"So you're George Ackerman, are you?" said he, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and looking down at the boy. "Now, I want to know, who told you so much?"
The man spoke in an abrupt tone, but his face wore a good-natured smile, and George did not feel in the least afraid of him.
"The fellows who brought you in here last night, seem to think that Philip has been talking too much," continued Fletcher; "and if that is the case, I want to know it."
If the man had looked toward Springer, who at that moment appeared to be busily engaged in adjusting the bandages he wore about his wounded legs, he would have seen that his face had grown very white, and that he was listening intently for George's reply.
"You can ask Philip about that the next time you see him," was the answer, which was given in a tone that was calculated to strengthen Fletcher's suspicions against the cook. "I know why my uncle wants to get rid of me, and how he intends to accomplish his object; and whether or not he will succeed, depends entirely upon yourself. I am your prisoner, and you have the power to do with me as you please."
"Well, you are a cool one, that's a fact," exclaimed Fletcher, who seemed to be astonished at the boy's courage. "He will succeed, so far as getting rid of all his cattle is concerned, your uncle will; but – "
"They are not his cattle," interrupted George. "They belong to me individually."
"No odds. We don't care who belongs to 'em, so long as we get 'em," replied the guerrilla, cheerfully. "As I was going on to say, your uncle will get rid of all his cattle, but he won't get rid of you, by a long shot. We want the beef, and we don't care how we get it, if we don't have to fight for it; but I aint going to put an ugly hand on you, and I'll make it hot for anybody who does. I haint got nothing against you. You don't stand between me and a fortune. I reckon there are others in the settlement who know as much as you do?"
"There are some there who suspect as much as I know," replied George. "I had a long talk with one of my friends about it, night before last."
"Then Philip will have to come away from that ranche, for he won't be of no more use there," said Fletcher. "Now, I aint a going to be any harder on you than I can help. You can walk around the ranche as much as you please; but you can see for yourself, that it won't be of no use for you to try to get away. If we should catch you at that, we'd have to shut you up in one of those rooms and put a guard over you. Come on, and let's get some breakfast."
"What are you going to do with me, any how?" asked George, as he followed the guerrilla toward the other end of the court-yard.
"O, we'll let you visit with us, until we get all Ackerman's cattle; and then we'll set you back across the river, so that you can make it warm for the old rascal," replied Fletcher, with an encouraging wink.
"I don't want to stay here until my stock is all stolen," said George; and he added to himself: "I won't, either."
The boy breathed much easier after his interview with the robber chief. He had never expected to be so well treated by the man who always led the guerrillas on their plundering expeditions, and whose deeds of violence had much to do with the reputation those same guerrillas bore. He had the assurance that no harm was intended him, and consequently his mind was at rest on that score; but he did not want to stay there a passive prisoner, and, what was more, he was determined that he would not. If he saw a chance for escape he would improve it, and he would take some desperate risks, too.>
That day was a dreary one to George, who could find nothing to interest him. He could not smoke and doze away the long hours in his blanket, as the Mexicans did, and he had already seen every thing there was to be seen about the rancho. He was surprised at the manner in which the guerrillas performed garrison duty. There was no guard mount, such as he had seen at the fort on the other side of the river; there was no sentry at the gateway, no herdsmen to take care of the horses, the most of which were allowed to run loose in the valley; and if Springer had not told him that the regiment had been sent there to watch the rancho, he never would have known it from anything they did to indicate the fact. No one paid the least attention to him, not even Springer, who must have taken himself off to some safe hiding-place, for George could not find him again.
"He is afraid that I will ask him to assist me in making my escape," thought the boy, and he made a pretty shrewd guess as to the cause of the man's sudden disappearance. "Well, who cares? If they are going to allow me to run around as I please, I'll not ask help of any body. I wonder what they have done with my horse?"
George answered this question for himself by directing his course toward the room into which he had seen Ranger led the night before. The animal was still there. He greeted his master with a low whinny of recognition, and rubbed his head familiarly against his shoulders when the boy patted his glossy neck. He tried to follow George, too, when the latter went out, but he was tied to a ring in the wall, and his master dared not set him at liberty.
"I am afraid that our days of companionship are over, Ranger," said George, as he put his hands into his pockets and sauntered toward the gate. "Fletcher seems to think that I can't get away from here if he keeps you tied up. But there are other horses close at hand, some of them as good as you are, probably, and I must take one of them."
There was no one at the gate to stop him, and George went through it, and turning around an angle of the wall bent his steps towards the place where the horses belonging to the guerrillas were grazing, walking slowly and stopping now and then to look about him as if he had determined upon nothing in particular. He did not know how many pairs of eyes there might be watching him, and he was careful to do nothing to excite the suspicions of his guard, if he had any. He moved leisurely around the building and then went back through the gate and lay down upon his blanket, which he had spread in front of the room that had served him and his captors for a sleeping apartment. His short walk outside the walls had satisfied him that unless some restraint was put upon his actions his captivity would be of very short duration. If he could leave the rancho after dark, it would be no trouble at all for him to capture one of the horses that were feeding on the plain, and set out for the nearest ford. He resolved that he
