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CHAPTER VIII
CYCLONE

Following the deputy into the house, Bud looked about. The place felt vacant. It had an atmosphere of emptiness. The furniture in the rooms had a tossed-about appearance, as though the occupants had made a hurried exit. A cheap vase lay on the floor by the mantel, broken. Rugs were kicked up.

"Well, what do you think of that?" Bud said slowly. "They're gone! Vamoosed! And quick, too. Must have done some tall hustlin' to get out in that short time. Wonder what the idea was? Do you think Delton might be around back, or somewhere outside?"

"Better look, anyway." Hawkins stepped to the doorway and suddenly let out a yell.

"Yo-o-o-o, Kid! Over here!"

"Yo-o!" came the answer. "Right there!" and Yellin' Kid, together with Billee Dobb, rode to the ranch house.

"What'll you have!" the Kid called as he came up.

"Take a ride around the place and see if you can locate someone; will you? The house is empty."

"Right! Billee, you ride to the left and I'll go this way. Back in two shakes."

"Mighty queer where everyone has disappeared to," Hawkins commented. "When you were here before, Bud, did they look as though they were getting ready to light out?"

"Nope – just the opposite. As I told you, Delton insisted that he was going to stay. I can't imagine what scared them off. Unless Delton decided discretion was the better part of valor. It certainly doesn't seem logical that they'd make tracks like this, after what Delton said."

"Here comes the Kid. Got someone with him; hasn't he?" asked Bud.

"He sure has – a Mex, I'd say."

"The lone survivor!" the Kid yelled as he rode toward them. "Bud, recognize him?" and he pushed the Mexican, whom he held by the collar, forward.

"Why, he's the fellow we saw in the restaurant! Remember, Mr. Hawkins? The one you pointed out; isn't he?"

"You mean Pete Alvido? Come 'ere, son – let's have a look at you." The deputy peered closely. "Nope! Sure looks like Pete, but it isn't. 'Nough like him to be his brother, though. Hey, Mex, what's your name? What are you doin' around here?"

The Mexican didn't answer. He simply shrugged his shoulders, and stood silent, his face expressionless.

"Speak up, boy! What's your name?"

Still no reply.

"Lost your tongue, Mex?" the Kid broke in. "Take my advice, and answer when you're spoken to." The Kid touched his gun suggestively. Not that he would have thought of enforcing his half-uttered threat, but he simply wanted to show the Mexican they meant business.

At this the man gesticulated toward his throat, and a guttural sound came from his lips.

"Why the pore cuss means he's dumb!" exclaimed Billee Dobb, who had ridden in. "Can't speak! Hey you! No spik? No habla?"

The Mexican shook his head forcibly.

"A dumb Greaser!" cried the Kid. "Well, he's not much of a find. He's the only one left of this outfit, though. Hey, Mex! Where's the boss? Gone?"

With a widespread gesture of his arms the man indicated his lack of knowledge of the subject. At least he seemed to understand a little English.

"Can't get much out of him," Hawkins commented. "Well, boys, seems like you'll have no more trouble takin' possession of the Shootin' Star. It's yours. Say – " and he turned to their captive. "What's your job? Vaquero? Herder? Cook?" At the last word the Mexican nodded vigorously. "You're in luck, boys. Here's a cook all ready for you. Got any food inside? Eats?" the deputy asked the Mexican. He was answered with another affirmative shake of the head.

"Now you're all fixed up for the night. Might as well call in the other two. What's their name again? Shannon, isn't it? Kid, you give 'em a yell. You seem to be able to do that particularly well."

Nort and Dick came riding over in response to the Kid's summons.

"Who's this you got, Kid?" asked Nort. "Some friend of yours? Why, he's the Mexican we saw in Herb's!"

"No he isn't – that's what I thought too," Bud said. "Mr. Hawkins says it's another – though it sure looks like him. This one's dumb."

"What do you mean – stupid?"

"No – can't talk. At least he says he can't – I mean he wants us to understand that he can't." Bud corrected himself.

"I've got to be getting back," interrupted the deputy. "I suppose you men will settle here, now that you've got a cook and food. That is, if he'll cook for you and you want to take a chance that he won't poison you. Hey, you – cook for hombres?"

Again that vigorous nod.

"Seems agreeable enough. Now if you want anything, you know where to reach me. If it's at night, you'll find me down the street 'bout half a mile from the office, on the same side. Anyone will tell you where Joe Hawkins's place is. So long, boys. Again, good luck."

"Good-bye, Mr. Hawkins. We're much obliged to you for riding over with us."

"Glad to do it, Bud. Any time at all. Git along there, bronc. Adios!"

"So-long!"

"'Bye!"

"At last we're here," Nort declared. "No trace of anyone around; hey Bud? Wonder what became of them. I wouldn't mind seeing our little friend with the sawed-off shot-gun again."

"Let's not look for trouble," Dick suggested. "I think what happened was that this fellow you call 'J. D.' decided to take the opportunity to get out without trouble. I don't believe we'll see him again."

"Maybe not. We've got enough to worry about without him. Kid, suppose you take charge of getting things ready for the night. Those sheep won't be here for a week or so, and in the meantime we can fix things up a bit. To-morrow I'll go scouting around for a good sheepman. There ought to be plenty in town. All right, Kid, we're under your orders."

"Check! Nort, you take the horses to the corral and see that they get fed. I guess you'll find some feed around somewhere – there's a barn down there a piece – look there. Dick, you go see what sort of sleepin' quarters they got here. It might be well for us to stay here in the house for the night. We can settle on a bunk house later. The rest of you can make yourselves generally useful. I'll go 'tend to the eats. Mex, we need food! Where's the kitchen?"

Apparently understanding, the Mexican led the way toward the rear, followed by the Kid. The lay-out of the place was a great deal like that of the ordinary cattle ranch. Indeed, if one were not wholly familiar with the types of dwellings which dot the Texas border, he would be hard put to show the difference between a cattle and a sheep ranch. The corral of the cattle ranch would be built of stronger boards, and on the sheep ranch, or "farm," there would be huge vats for "dipping" the sheep, to cure them of any disease they might have contracted.

But except for these minor differences the two ranches are much the same. Of course the personnel of the sheep ranch would not be as extensive as that of the cattle ranch – one herder being able to adequately care for two thousand head of sheep. In shearing time the ranch hands are increased, to take care of this added labor.

So it is not strange to find five hands prepared to take over the management of a whole sheep ranch. Naturally it would be necessary to hire some "sheep man" to handle the technical part of the venture, for sheep are delicate creatures, and a green manager could easily lose his whole herd in short order.

It was now five o'clock. With a fire roaring in the kitchen and the ranchers hurrying here and there about the place, it seemed home-like and cheerful.

"Be all set in half an hour," the Kid called to Bud as he stepped out in the yard for a moment. "Found plenty of bacon and beans, and enough other stuff to make a pretty fair meal. Reckon you-all can eat, if you're anything like me. What do you think of the place, Bud?"

"Pretty fair, Kid, pretty fair. Looks as though we may be able to make something of it. I've been thinking of buying a radio outfit to keep us company on long winter evenings. You know we bring in the sheep then, and we'll have to stick close to home to take care of them."

"A wireless! A sparkin' outfit! What are you goin' to do, Bud, put them woolies to sleep with music?"

"Hardly that," Bud laughed. "You'll be glad we got it when you hear some of the big fights being reported, just as though you were at the ringside. But apart from that, what do you make of this situation, Kid?"

"You mean comin' back here an' not findin' anybody? Gee, I don't know, Bud! Might be any one of several reasons why this 'J. D.' bird skipped out. 'Course I didn't actually see him, but something tells me he couldn't stand a close look-in to his ways and means of business.

"'Course I shouldn't run down a guy that I never saw. But there's been a lot of funny work goin' on in these parts, and if anyone wanted to be crooked, this is the best place in the world for it. You know this ranch property is right on the border line between Mexico and U. S."

"Say, Kid, look how dark it's getting all of a sudden," Bud interrupted as he looked up into the sky and tested with his hand the direction of the slight breeze blowing. "Wind's in the east. Rain, I guess. Getting hotter, too. Why yes, Kid, I guess you're right about this ranch being a good place to pull shady work. But I don't believe we'll have any trouble."

The Kid whirled around. The next moment he was on his way inside.

"Get the others together!" he yelled. "There's a cyclone comin'!"

Bud scarcely heard him. He stood still, fascinated by the tremendous spectacle.

CHAPTER IX
DELTON RETURNS

Cyclones are somewhat rare visitors on the prairies, but when they do come they make up for lost time. Bud, though he had lived the greater part of his life on the range, had never seen one. Now he stood with his face to the east, drinking in the awesome sight.

The eastern sky was covered with a blanket of black, ominous-looking clouds, which quickly expanded and filled the whole heavens with their darkness. The breeze had died away and a deathlike stillness hung in the air. Nature seemed to be hesitating, gathering up her forces for a tremendous onslaught. Suddenly the black clouds in the east were tinted to a coppery color, which slowly turned to a dark green. And still Bud stood, oblivious to all else save the grandeur of the scene before him.

Within the ranch house the men were scurrying about, shutting windows, glancing out now and then to see the progress of the approaching storm.

Billee Dobb ran to where the Kid was struggling with one of the sashes.

"How about the horses!" he yelled. Though there wasn't a sound without, by a curious phenomena the men talked in shouts, as though they were trying to make themselves heard above a roaring.

"Isn't Nort out there?" the Kid answered, also loudly. "Better make certain, Billee! They'll be killed sure if the funnel takes them sideways!"

"If the funnel hits us we won't care whether we ever saw a bronc or not!" answered the veteran rancher. "We'll all be usin' wings then, not ponies. I'll take a look outside."

"Take Dick with you! I'm finished here. We've only got about six minutes before she hits. What a fine welcome this is! We no sooner get settled, after havin' a time doin' that, when we're all set to get blown away."

The Kid was hurrying to the back of the house. He hesitated as he reached the kitchen, and looked in.

"By the ghost of my aunt Lizzie's cat!" he cried as he saw through the doorway. "If that crazy Mex ain't still fryin' bacon just as calm as if he was on Fifth Avenoo! Hey, you locoed Greaser, big wind comin'!" He gesticulated vigorously. "Whosh-whosh! Whee! Zip-zip-bang! All over! Savvy?" He stopped his dramatic explanation of the oncoming cyclone to see if the Mexican understood. To his surprise the cook nodded several times and pointed toward the sky, turning his other arm windmill fashion. His lips gave forth a whistling sound. After this demonstration he motioned to his bacon, rubbed his stomach, shrugged his shoulders, and went on with his cooking. No words could have said plainer:

"Sure! I know. Cyclone coming. What of it? Can't stop it now. Must eat. Might as well stay here and cook. Hey?"

"Well, if you're not a cool customer!" the Kid cried, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and tilting back on his heels. "Cook! Go ahead an' cook! You might just as well say hello to St. Peter with a fryin' pan in your hand as not. How does she look, Nort?" he asked as the boy rancher came in the door.

"Not so good! Where's Bud?"

"Bud? I thought he was with you. Maybe he's helping with the broncoes. I'll take a squint here in back – " as the Kid stepped into the yard he saw Bud – standing silent, widened eyes staring at the sky. The Kid started back in surprise.

"Another guy that's gone locoed! First the cook, and then you! Hey, Nort, take a look at Bud. He's in a trance or something! Wake up, time to get up!"

"Wonderful!" murmured Bud, without turning his head. "Isn't that wonderful, Kid? See those colors! The most marvelous thing I ever saw. If I could only paint that! It would be a sensation!"

"Sensation ain't all you'll be if you don't start movin' quick!" the Kid declared. "Nort, take Bud with you and see if everything is all O. K. We've got about three minutes before the show starts. I think we'll be able to tell if the funnel is goin' to hit us, and if it does, we've got to let things ride and head for the cellar."

He stopped suddenly. The five leaned forward, tense, still.

A low moaning filled the air. First like the drone of a huge bumble-bee, it gradually increased in intensity. The ranchers strained their eyes toward the east, where the copper tint had merged to a sickly green. A light breeze sprang up, hot, suffocating.

"Here she comes, boys! Heads up! Get ready to make a dive for the cellar!"

All looked around to make sure that the door of the cyclone cellar – a dugout ten feet from the house – was within easy reach. They moved a bit closer.

Then it happened. From out of the greenish clouds tore a huge black funnel, tip down, capped with a wreath of lightning. With a roar it beat its way across the prairie. As it rushed along it took with it all movable things. Lined with brushes, trees and dust, it seemed to head straight for the ranch.

The five waited no longer. With a leap they reached the cyclone cellar. The Kid was the last in, and just before he disappeared below ground he looked again at the roaring funnel of wind. It was almost upon them. In another moment, unless a near-miracle occurred, there would be nothing left of the Shooting Star but a few timbers. The ranch lay directly in the path.

Cyclones are freaks of nature. Even as the Kid watched, hoping that the terrible funnel might be diverted, nature gave a demonstration of one of its most startling feats. The funnel lifted.

Within three hundred yards of the ranch the tip raised above the ground. As though a giant hand had pulled it up into the heavens, the whirling, twisting cyclone merged into the blackness overhead. A tremendous pressure beat against the Kid's body. The air about was tingling with electricity. And there, directly above the Kid's head, sailed the terrible funnel, Its tip held harmlessly aloft from contact with the ground, thundering and screaming in disappointed rage. For several seconds the "twister" remained suspended. Then two hundred yards past the ranch it dipped to earth again, and went smashing along on its mission of destruction and death.

The ranch was saved.

The Kid silently led the way out of the cellar. As the five stood once more above ground, they looked about at the surroundings. Off in the distance the cyclone could be seen whirling along, gradually growing smaller and smaller as it departed. As they watched the terror disappear, a prayer of thankfulness was in the heart of each. It was indeed a near-miracle that had saved the ranch from complete annihilation.

Bud was the first to speak. His utterance was not exactly fraught with elegancy, but it expressed the feelings of all.

"Whew!" he said with a long, drawn-out sigh.

"And then some!" cried Dick. "What a show that was!"

"Boy!" Billee Dobb breathed. "I'm sure glad we got missed! When I saw that ole baby comin', I says 'raise yore sights, buster, raise yore sights! You got the wrong range!' An' blamed if she didn't raise, too!"

A laugh started – the kind that relieves the soul after a tense and dangerous moment. Bud broke out in a loud guffaw. Then the Kid let loose – and for two minutes the air re-echoed with the shouts of glee of the five ranchers. Nothing really to laugh at; this laughter was not exactly in appreciation of Billee's remark. It was more in the nature of a celebration.

"Whusch!" cried Bud weakly, when he could get his breath. "You crazy coot! So you're the one that lifted the cyclone, hey? Well, you sure did a good job of it!"

The ranchers made their way over to where the horses had been tied.

"O. K.!" Dick yelled as he came up. "They're all there. Not a hair on 'em touched. Bet they thought it was the end of the world, though!"

"Sure!" assented Nort.

"Now, now, old hoss!" Dick said soothingly as he stroked the nose of his pony. "Scared, eh? Well, I don't blame you a bit. Look at this one shake! Take it easy, boy – it's all over. Easy, there! Feel better now? That's the stuff – walk around a bit. Do you good. Steady! Steady!"

The horses were quickly calmed. Assured by the presence of their masters that they were safe, they soon stopped quivering, and breathed easier. A good horse trusts implicitly in his rider.

"I'll take 'em over nearer the house," declared the Kid. "They'll feel better when they get movin'. By the way – wonder what happened to our cook? Last time I saw him he was fryin' bacon. Take a run to the kitchen, Dick, and look, will you?"

"Sure. Say, there's one shack down," Dick said as he pointed to the wreck of a small building.

"Probably was a bunk house. We won't need one of those for a while, anyway. Well, will you look at that roof!" The Kid indicated another out-house. Its roof was turned directly around, so that the back was where the front should be. Not a board on it was broken.

"Looks like a crazy-house down at Coney Island!" laughed Nort. "Dick, I thought you were going to see about eats? I'm starved."

Dick walked toward the kitchen. Before he got there the aroma of cooking bacon told the waiting cowboys that the Mexican was still on the job.

"Must have the whole place full of food by this time," Bud commented. "Think I'll take another look around, Kid. Billee, you want to come along? I just want to make sure we haven't missed anything."

The two set off on a tour of inspection. It was growing dark now, and it would soon be too late to repair that night anything that was damaged.

"Guess we haven't lost much," Bud said to the veteran rancher. "We're pretty lucky, eh, Billee?"

"Sure are! We'll just look around the corner of this building, however, and then go back. I'm sort of hungry myself."

"Me too. Hope that Mex has – " Bud broke off suddenly. He peered hard at the earth in the shadow of the shack. Then he walked swiftly over.

On the ground lay the body of a man, face down. Bud grasped him gently by the arm and turned him over. On his forehead was a long cut, from which blood was flowing. Bud looked sharply at his face, then started back in surprise.

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" he said slowly. "It's Delton!"

CHAPTER X
BUD FINDS A NOTE

Billee Dobb approached deliberately and gazed long and earnestly into the face of the recumbent man.

"So that's Delton, is it?" he said. "He sure took a funny way to come back. Wonder if he's – " the rancher stooped swiftly and laid his hand on the breast of the man. "Nope! Still living. We'd better get him to the house soon as possible. Grab hold there, Bud."

Lifting him as gently as they could, so they might not cause the blood to flow more strongly, they carried the injured man toward the ranch house. They laid him on the couch in the living-room, which was known as the "parlor," and generally reserved for funerals.

"I'll get some water and bandages – if I can find any," said Bud when he had disposed of his burden.

"That white shirt of the Kid's will do," Billee suggested as Bud made for the door. "He's got it rolled up in his saddle pack."

The man on the couch seemed to be breathing more strongly now. The blood from the cut had partly clotted, and the flow was greatly diminished. But a glance at his face showed that he was in a very weak condition.

"Must have been lyin' out there quite a spell," Billee commented, as Bud returned with the shirt and a basin of water. The news of the unconscious visitor had traveled fast, for Dick, Nort and the Kid followed Bud into the room.

"Who is he?" asked the Kid as he bent over. "Little feller, ain't he?"

"Recognize him, Dick?" Bud said, kneeling down by the man's side and dipping one end of the shirt in his basin.

"No, can't say that I – yes I do, too! It's the fellow that was here when we came – the one who offered us the thousand! It's 'J. D.'!"

"Right. We found him lying over by a shack, dead to the world. Billee and I carried him in here. Seems to have a nasty cut, but I don't believe it's dangerous. Way he talked to me here awhile ago, he's too ornery to die."

"Must have been caught in the big wind," Nort said. "Hit by a board, probably."

"So that's Delton, hey?" Yellin' Kid drawled. "Well, mister, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. You don't look pertikerly dangerous to me. But you can't tell about these quiet ones. Liable to fly up any minute. Don't wash that blood off, Bud! Leave it lay. Have him bleedin' again if you don't watch out. Nort, mosey out an' see if that dumb Mex has got the coffee ready. Bring in some, will you? Leave the 'Canned cow' out of it. When this boy wakes up he wants something strong."

The man's eyes opened for a minute, then closed again. The dusk outside was settling rapidly now, and the room was growing darker. Dick ran to the kitchen and returned with a lighted candle, which he held close to the head of the recumbent figure. By this time their visitor had regained consciousness, and was staring wide-eyed at the group surrounding the couch – three men leaning expectantly over his body, while a fourth held a lighted candle aloft like a weird statue. Little wonder that a man awaking to such surroundings would be somewhat bewildered.

"How do you feel, mister?" Yellin' Kid asked solicitously when he saw that Delton was conscious.

"Not so – good," was the jerky answer. "Stomach – sick – head feels – "

"Swally this," urged Billee holding to his lips the steaming coffee Nort had brought from the kitchen. "Sure it's hot! Don't want cold sody, do ya? 'At's-a-boy – drink 'er down! Better now?"

"Yea," the man answered in a weak voice. "What happened? Woolworth tower fall on me? Wow! What a head! Seems to me I remember takin' a subway train at Times Square – or was that last year? Can't just think straight now – "

"New York," whispered Bud to Dick. "Thought he didn't look like a westerner!"

"Just you lay quiet," advised Yellin' Kid. "Won't do you a bit of good to talk now. Got lots of time to do that. You stay here to-night, an' – "

"I remember now! That storm! I was riding over toward the Shootin' Star ranch, when the sky got black, and that dumb-bell horse of mine started to act up. The next minute I got hit by a ton of bricks."

He was silent a moment, thinking.

"Say – " he suddenly propped himself up on one elbow and glanced around. "I know where I am! Yes. And I know you – and you!" pointing at Bud and Dick. "You're the two galoots that – oh!" he finished weakly, and sank back. He closed his eyes again. It was not evident to the watchers whether he had really fainted, or whether he realized he was talking too much.

At all events it was useless to expect him to say more. At Bud's suggestion he was carried upstairs, and after his heavier clothing had been removed he was laid in one of the beds. He seemed to be resting easily, and if his sleepy attitude was simulated at first, it certainly was not now, as his regular breathing and relaxed condition indicated.

"Better let him sleep," Dick said in a low voice. "He'll be all right when he wakes up. The bleeding from his head has stopped, and if he had anything else the matter he would have told us. I think we'd all better eat. Let's get out of here, anyway – we'll disturb him if we talk much."

"Eat!" exclaimed the Kid when they had all left the room wherein Delton lay. "Let's see now – have I heard that word before, or did I dream it? Believe me, when I sit down to this chow nothin' is goin' to drag me away – fire, wind or flood! Seems like that Mex cook of ours is a hoodoo. Every time we start to eat something happens."

"Guess we'll go through with it all right this time," Dick remarked with a laugh. "Here we are, boys. Set! And go to it! Enough bacon here for an army. Kid, go easy on that bread! You want to choke?"

The five were seated around a table in the rear of the house. In the middle of the table was a huge plate of bacon, and next to this was a mess of beans, steaming hot. Bread, butter, coffee and condensed milk or "Canned cow" completed the repast.

"Wonder where the Mex got all this food?" Nort asked as he reached for the bread. "Real good, anyhow. Guess we'd better keep the Greaser, if he'll stay."

"Keep him 'til we get settled," added Dick. "I don't exactly like his looks. He's too much like the Mex that Joe Hawkins pointed out – the one he said to watch out for – remember? – to suit me."

"Don't be tryin' to find trouble, Dick," advised Bud. "That Mex is just as good as the next one. But it is funny why he should be lingering around here when all the rest lit out. And to have this food all ready for us. Well – "

"Got a few suspicions up your own sleeve, eh?" laughed Dick.

"Boys," Billee said slowly, "I want to tell you something. You remember what your Dad said about smugglin', Bud?"

At the word the men at the table gave a slight start.

"Yes, smugglin'. You'd forgot all about it, hadn't ye? Well, I ain't. While we were in Hawkins's office I noticed a bill-head on his desk. I took it. Here it is."

He passed over the paper to the Kid. The others got up and leaned over the Kid's shoulder, reading it.

"Two thousand dollars' reward," said the Kid haltingly, "for the a-rest and con-viction of – the person whose picture is below, and who is known in New York as Dapper Dan Craven. He is wanted for smuggling Chinese. Escaped custody at – "

He stopped. His eyes sought the picture.

"By the ghost of my aunt Lizzy's cat!" he exclaimed. "If it ain't our friend Delton!"

Bud reached over and slowly took the paper from the Kid's nerveless hand.

"Delton!" he cried, as he saw the picture. "Just as sure as I'm living, that's who it is!"

"But why didn't Hawkins arrest him, then?" Nort asked in a puzzled tone of voice. "He knew where he was. He could have come out any time and put the bracelets on him and he'd have his man."

"Now, boys, if you'll give me a little time, I'll – " started Billee Dobb in a calm voice.

"Go ahead!"

"We're listenin'!"

"Well, in the first place, I don't think Joe Hawkins ever saw this Delton. You know what a hard job we had gettin' to the ranch – I bet if we had had Hawkins with us we would have had to fight our way in. That's what that guard was out for – the one that tried to stop us. He knew we weren't deputies, so he let us go through.

"Also, that bill was just printed and sent to Hawkins. Perhaps he didn't have time to look at it. And say – that accounts for Delton's quick get-away, too. One of his men rode in an' told him that there was a price on him, and he got, fast. He must have made this ranch his headquarters. No wonder he didn't have no sheep around! Boys, we can expect some right excitin' things to happen, in the next few weeks!"

Silence followed Billee's long speech. The veteran rancher had thrown a veritable bombshell into camp. Delton – the man lying asleep upstairs – the head of the smugglers! Two thousand dollars' reward! Why, all they had to do was to tie him up and carry him to town – over to the deputy's house. Capturing the smuggling king the first night at the Shooting Star! It seemed too good to be true.

"There's a catch in it somewhere," commented Dick. "No man with a reward like that on his head is going to dump himself into our hands."

"Why not? It wasn't his fault. He came sneakin' around the place to spy on us and got caught by the cyclone. Then a board or something hit him on the head and he fell where we found him. Nothing strange about that! We got him and got him good! Wow, what can't we do with two thousand dollars!"

"There's one thing we forgot, boys," the Kid broke in.

"And what's that?"

"We're downstairs, an' Delton is upstairs."

"That's soon fixed!" Bud cried, as he sprang for the steps. "Let's go, boys!"

"Take it easy!" cautioned the Kid quickly. "What's the use of scarin' him? We'll just go up there and truss him up while he's asleep. Won't hurt him. That cut on the head was all that ailed him. Now, take your time!"

The ranchers moved quietly toward the room in which they had left Delton. As he reached the door, Bud opened it slowly and peered in. Not a sound. Then he stuck his head in a bit further. Still no action. In the darkness he could see the outline of the bed but faintly.

Softly he turned the covers down. Farther – farther! Then he let out a yell.

"Hey, come here! Quick!"

"What's the trouble?" The Kid called as he entered the room.

"He's gone! He beat it! Look!"

In the bed, molded into the shape of a man, were two pillows. Delton had escaped, leaving the pillows in such a way as to make it appear that he was still in the bed.

"Here's a note!" Bud cried. "He left it on one of the pillows. Let's have that candle, Dick."

By the flickering spluttering light of the candle Bud read aloud:

"Sorry I got to go so sudden, but this bed is too hard. I wouldn't sleep well. If you guys want a little advice, you'll move along out of this section. It ain't healthy. A word to the wise. J. D."