meyer
Three Young Ranchmen; or, Daring Adventures in the Great West
PREFACE
"Three Young Ranchmen" relates the adventures of three brothers, Allen, Chetwood and Paul Winthrop, who are left to shift for themselves upon a lonely ranch home situated in the mountainous region of the beautiful State of Idaho, near one of the numerous branches of the Salmon River.
The lads, although sturdy and brave, have no easy time making a living, and among other troubles, they are visited by horse thieves, and also by a crafty prospector who wishes to take their claim away from them. In the meantime an uncle of the lads has gone off to visit the city, and he disappears entirely, adding to the complexity of the situation. What the boys did to straighten out the trouble is told in the chapters which follow.
In writing this story I have tried to give my boy readers a fair idea of life on a ranch of to-day, as well as of life in the wild mountains of Idaho, with some idea of the ranch hands and miners to be met with in these localities. The tale has been drawn as true to nature as possible, and I trust its reading will prove both entertaining and useful.
Captain Ralph Bonehill.
CHAPTER I.
An Unpleasant Discovery
"When do you think Allen will be back, Paul?"
"He ought to be back by two or three o'clock, Chet. His horse was fresh, and the roads are very good just now."
"I hope he brings good news, don't you? I am tired of waiting here."
"We will have to content ourselves on the ranch another year, I am afraid. Father left matters in a very unsettled condition, and what has become of Uncle Barnaby the world only knows."
"I don't care so much about the dullness – I like to hunt and fish and round up the cattle just as well as any one – but what I'm complaining of is the uncertainty of the way things are going to turn. For all we know, we may be cast adrift, as the saying goes, any day."
"That is true, although I imagine our title to the ranch is O. K. If those title papers hadn't been burned up when one end of the house took fire I wouldn't worry a bit."
"Neither would I. But we all know what Captain Grady is – the meanest man that ever drew the breath of life – and if he once learns that we haven't the papers he'll be down on us quicker than a grizzly bear in the spring."
"Well, we won't let him know that the papers have been burned up. We will continue to bluff him off."
"We can't bluff him forever. To my mind – "
The boy broke off short, and coming to a halt, pointed with his disengaged hand toward the barn.
"Did you leave that door unlocked?" he went on.
"Certainly I didn't. Who opened it? Perhaps Allen is back."
"And perhaps there are horse thieves around!" was the quick reply. "Come on."
Without a word more the two boys dropped their burdens and started for the structure in which the horse belonging to each had been stabled.
The boys were Chetwood and Paul Winthrop, two brothers, tall, well-built, and handsome. The face of each was browned by exposure, and showed the perfect health that only a life in the open can give.
Chet and Paul lived with their elder brother Allen at a typical ranch home in Idaho, on one of the numerous branches of the winding Salmon River. The home was a rude but comfortable affair, with several outbuildings close at hand, the whole surrounded by a rude but substantial stockade, a relic of the time when troubles with the Indians were numerous.
It was a warm, sunshiny day in August, and the two boys had been down to the river fishing at a favorite deep hole near the roots of a clump of cottonwood trees. Each had a nice mess of fish strung on a brush branch, showing that their quest of game had not been a vain one.
For three years the three Winthrop boys had lived alone at the ranch home. Their former history was a peculiar one, the particulars of which will be given later. Just now we will follow Chet and Paul to the barn, the door to which stood half open.
"Gone!"
The single word burst from the lips of both simultaneously. It was enough, for it told the whole story. Their two animals, Jasper and Rush, had vanished.
"Thieves, as sure as fate!" ejaculated Paul, gazing rapidly on all sides. "See how the lock has been broken open."
"And they have taken all the extra harness as well," added Chet, his black eyes snapping angrily. "I wonder how long ago this happened."
"There's no telling, Chet. Let's see – we went off about eight o'clock, didn't we?"
"Yes."
"Then the rascals have had nearly four hours in which to do their dirty work. By this time they are probably miles away. This is the worst luck of all."
"You are not going to sit down and suck your thumb, are you, Paul?" questioned the younger brother, quickly.
"Not if we can do anything. But we are tied fast here, – we can't follow on foot, – they knew that when they came to rob us."
"Have you any idea who the thieves can be?"
"Most likely a remnant of that old gang from Jordan Creek. I knew they would spring up again, even after Sol Davids was lynched. Let us take a look around, and see if we can't find some clew to their identity."
"If only Allen would come – "
"Fire off your gun. If he is in hearing that will hasten his movements."
Thus directed, Chet hastened outside, and running to the house, quickly brought forth his double-barreled shotgun. Two reports rent the air a second later, and then the youth returned with the still smoking firearm to the barn.
"Have you found anything?" he asked.
"Here is a strap that doesn't belong to our outfit," replied Paul. "But it's only a common affair that might belong to any one."
"And here is a silver cross!" cried Chet, as he sprang forward to pick up the object.
The article which Chet had found embedded in the dirt flooring of the barn was really of silver, but so unpolished that it did not shine. It was not over an inch in length and height, with a round hole directly in the center. At the four corners of the cross were the letters D A F G.
"What do you make of it?" asked Paul, impatiently, as he bent over to examine the object as it lay in his younger brother's palm.
"Nothing. It's a silver cross with letters on it; that's all. I never saw one like it before."
"Is there no name on the back?"
Quickly the cross was turned over. There, dug into the metal, as if with a jackknife, were the letters S. M.
"S. M.," said Chet, slowly. "Who can they stand for?"
"Sam somebody, I suppose," replied Paul. "I reckon there are a good many folks in Idaho with the initials S. M."
"That is true, too, but it's
