Читать книгу The Indian Horse Mystery - Mary Adrian - Страница 5

An old pick-up truck turned into the bumpy road leading to Hanging Rock Ranch. On the seat of the cab an American Indian boy swayed from side to side. He was tall for his eleven years—thin and wiry, with brown eyes that lit up his face.

Sitting next to him behind the steering wheel was his grandfather. His face was wrinkled, and his hands were bony. Grandpa Hawk had just turned seventy, but he expected to reach the hundred mark, and his grandson Jim Hawk felt that he would.

Jim lived with his grandfather on the Yakima Indian Reservation in Washington. His parents had died when he was young, but he could remember what a good horseman his father had been. To Jim there would never be a cowboy on the reservation who could handle a horse the way his father had. And plenty of cowboys were there, since a good part of the land was rented to cattlemen for grazing their stock.

Every month the Yakima Indian Tribal Council paid Grandpa Hawk his share from the rental property. This money helped to feed and clothe the old man and his grandson, but they also did odd jobs for Mr. Miller, who had a ranch on the reservation. Some of the work was caring for the horses and repairing the corrals and fences.

Jim liked being an extra cowhand on the ranch. His high-heeled boots did not have spurs on them, and he did not own a wide-brimmed hat. Yet Jim felt he was a full-fledged cowboy, and he was happy about earning money. He wanted to help his tribe when he was a grown man. His grandfather had told him it was necessary to see that the reservation was always kept for the Yakima Indian Nation so that they could preserve the old race. Jim had made up his mind to do this. Whenever Mr. Miller paid him, he put the money in the bank for his college education, even though he longed to save it to buy a horse.

Jim’s greatest wish was to have a horse all his own. He had seen wild horses on the reservation. There were not many, because so much of the land was leased for cattle raising. But perhaps he could make friends with one of those wild horses. And then maybe, just maybe, he could ride it bareback.

Jim was thinking this as he jolted along in the old pick-up. Soon he leaned out the window and looked at the sagebrush in bloom.

“Spring has come early this year,” he said to his grandfather in their native Indian tongue. Whenever they were alone, they spoke in the language of their tribe.

Grandpa Hawk nodded and put the truck in second gear. It coughed and sputtered but managed to crawl along the narrow, deep-rutted road. Straight ahead in the canyon lay a long white house, other buildings, and corrals. The truck bounced along over a cattle guard and passed a large hanging rock that was the result of years of erosion. It resembled the head of a prehistoric animal, and on one side of it HANGING ROCK RANCH was scrawled in big white letters.

The writing was the work of Harold Miller, who lived at the ranch with his parents. He and Jim were the same age, and they went to the same public school. The boys were good friends.

Harold’s nickname was Hap because he was usually good-natured and happy. He liked to sing and whistle, too. Right now he was sitting on a corral fence humming a cowboy song. He was dressed like a cowboy—wide-brimmed hat, bright shirt, jeans, and high-heeled boots with silver spurs. Hap was glad it was the beginning of spring vacation because he and Jim Hawk planned to work on the ranch. There would be plenty of excitement—Hap felt sure of that, and he was anxious to tell his friend the reason why. When the pick-up stopped near the corral, he jumped down from the fence like a rabbit on the run.

“Boy, something strange is going on around here,” he said to Jim. “One of our calves is missing.”

Jim raised an eyebrow in concern and climbed out of the cab. “That’s bad. A calf doesn’t wander off. It follows its mother.”

“That’s what I think,” replied Hap. “I’ll bet cattle thieves are operating on this reservation.”

“I’m all for tracking them down.” Jim rubbed his hands together in anticipation of catching the rustlers. “When do we start?”

“Right now,” answered Hap. “Dad said we should ride the range this morning and hunt for critters bogged in the mud and pull them out. I thought we’d look for rustlers at the same time.”

“You mean we’re going to ride bog, just you and me?” asked Jim.

“Yeah” answered Hap, pulling up his jeans, which were too large for him.

“Great guns!” exclaimed Jim. He jumped up in the air and clicked his heels together. “I can’t believe it. Why, we’ll be doing important cowboy work.”

“I know it.” Hap was just as thrilled. In other years he had wanted to rescue old cows that had been knocked down by stronger ones at a water hole. Those animals would not be able to get up unless a cowboy came to their aid. Now he and Jim Hawk were to be given their first opportunity to go and help them. Hap joined in with his friend’s excitement. Whistling, he turned a somersault in the dirt. Then he stood on his hands, and after righting himself said, “We’ve got to get Tom’s permission first. So let’s ask him.”

“Okay,” said Jim.

He raced Hap over to another corral where Tom was halterbreaking a colt. He was the foreman of the ranch, an experienced cowboy, and the boys thought the world of him. They had often seen Tom break in a horse, but always the event was an interesting one. So they perched on the corral fence to watch the procedure.

The colt was a two-year-old filly and had already learned the lesson of the rope. She stood still while Tom stepped up and quickly thrust the halter over her head. He snapped the buckle just as swiftly.

The filly yanked back. The halter was something new to her, and she did not like it. She squatted in the dirt like a stubborn donkey.

The boys laughed and then became serious when they saw Tom wind the rope around the snubbing post.

The filly got up and pulled on the rope for all she was worth.

Tom just stood there, holding the rope end.

The filly snorted and kept on tugging. The rope fastened tighter around her neck. Still she would not give in. She kept on pulling until she was exhausted.

Then Tom put his hand on the halter and said to her in a soothing voice, “After a while you’ll get used to this.” He gently rubbed her nose.

The filly blinked and whinnied.

With a satisfied grin Tom pulled off the halter. “You’ve had your lesson today. Tomorrow I’ll halter-break you some more. I’ll keep on doing it, too, until you stop putting up such a fight. After that I’ll teach you a lot of other things so that when you’re big enough, you’ll let me put on a saddle. How about it?”

The filly stamped one of her front feet as if to say she would have no part of the saddle.

Tom chuckled and turned to the boys. Before he could ask them what was on their minds, Hap began explaining about his father’s orders. “But Dad said it’s up to you, Tom,” he finished. “We must get your okay.”

“So you want to ride bog, eh? Now what do you know about pulling old critters out of the mud?” Tom pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head and stared long and hard at the boys.

Hap and Jim were used to the foreman’s stern looks, but they felt if they coaxed enough, he would give in.

“We’ve watched you pull critters out of old water holes,” said Hap. “And you taught us how to rope a calf. Why, there’s no cowboy on this reservation who can rope better than you.”

“That’s right, Mr. Tom,” added Jim. “You’re the best roper on the Yakima Indian Reservation. Joe Wilson at Elkhorn Ranch told my grandpa that the other day in the post office.”

“He did!” Tom’s weather-beaten face broke into a pleased smile. “Well, what do you know. I thought that old cowpoke hated the sight of me. Now you boys had better get on your horses and start moving. There’s plenty to do on this ranch. So go ahead and ride bog.”

“We sure will!” cried the boys together.

“Well round up the rustlers too,” added Hap.

“What put that into your heads?” asked Tom. “I didn’t say anything about cattle thieves.”

“I’ll bet you were thinking it,” said Hap with a mischievous twinkle.

Tom’s bushy eyebrows came together in a straight line. “I’m not accusing anyone until I have evidence. Something could have happened to that calf. Anyway, get along with you. I’ve got work to do. You ride White Sock, Hap. That young stallion needs some exercise.”

Hap was delighted, for White Sock was a good cow pony, one of the best on the ranch.

“And Jim Hawk, you take Maud,” continued the foreman. “She’s still good on her feet even though she is an old horse.”

Jim’s face fell with disappointment. He had hoped to ride Sandy, a handsome tan-colored stallion.

“Couldn’t I . . . er . . .” He stopped. Tom had turned on his heel and was walking away.

“Don’t feel bad, Jim,” said Hap. “We’ll swap horses after we’ve rescued our first critter.”

The Indian boy perked up. He pommeled Hap in the ribs and raced him to another corral. Then they walked up to their horses slowly so as not to alarm them. After talking to them in a friendly way, they put on their bridles, led them to the saddling block, and tied them there.

It was time for a good brushing now. So Jim said to Maud, “Hold still, old girl, and let me make sure there are no sticks or burrs on you. I don’t want you to give me a bad time when I put on your saddle.”

Hap was going to skip brushing White Sock, but when he saw Jim staring at him with a reproachful eye, he went to work. As soon as he had White Sock’s coat shiny and clean, he put on the saddle blanket, but he left it hanging way over to one side.

“Mr. Tom won’t like it if he sees your blanket hanging like that,” Jim warned him. “No, sir. He won’t.”

Hap groaned. “For Pete’s sakes, Jim. You spy on me like an old hawk. Why don’t you let me alone.”

The Indian boy shrugged. “It’s nothing to me. I don’t care what you do.”

Hap waited until his friend wasn’t looking. Then he made sure the saddle blanket hung even on both sides of White Sock.

After the horses were saddled and untied, the boys mounted them and picked up the reins. They were ready to go now, so they gently pressed their heels against their horses’ sides. White Sock and Maud walked out of the corral, and soon the boys were riding the range at a slow pace. In the far distance a ridge of mountains went up and down like a hump on a camel’s back. Close up were hills—some barren, others covered with new grass. Small groups of cattle were grazing here and there.

Finally Hap said to Jim, “We’d better get a move on. Poking along like this is hard on a horse.”

“You’re right,” agreed Jim. “We might have to ride a long way before we find a critter in the mud, because this is a big ranch.”

“I’ll say it is,” answered Hap. “Dad said it’s too big for Tom, Bill, and him to handle.” (Bill was the other cowboy working on the ranch.) “Of course we’re giving them a hand right now.”

“We sure are,” replied Jim. “Riding bog is important work.”

After that the boys rode on in silence. A breeze came up. It felt good on their faces warmed by the sun.

Presently they crossed a ridge and then dropped down on a slope to Crystal Creek.

With a loud whistle a ground squirrel darted out of their path and disappeared into a nearby burrow.

Hap laughed and whistled back. He watched a garter snake slither away in some brush. Then he looked around for rattlesnakes, since they were common in this country and he did not want to meet one. But he saw nothing to alarm him, so he began examining the banks of the stream.

“You know something?” he said to Jim. “This creek would be a perfect place for rustlers to stop and let their horses drink. I wonder if there are any clues around here?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if there were,” answered Jim.

Immediately he started searching along the banks for some evidence, but all he could see was a frog staring at him from a rock. Jim did not disturb the tiny creature. Instead, he said, “Come on, Hap. Let’s go. If we don’t ride bog, it will be lunch time before we know it.”

Hap was reluctant to leave. “Shucks. I wish we could find one clue. Do you suppose our calf could have wandered over to Elkhorn Ranch without its mother?”

The Indian boy appeared doubtful.

“Well, maybe it did,” continued Hap, “because most of the ranges on this reservation are open. Dad said he’ll have to fence in ours soon. Of course, it costs a lot of money to do that. If he does it, though, our cattle won’t go over to other ranches. Besides, I heard Tom say it’s a good thing there are not many open ranges left in America because rustlers like to operate on land that is not fenced in. So if Tom feels that way, he must think that rustlers took our calf.”

“And our job is to find a clue to convince Mr. Tom,” added Jim, looking as serious as Hap. Then he frowned. “We’ve got work to do. Remember?”

Hap sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

It was not long, however, before Hap was riding with his friend. They jogged along on their horses for about a mile and then turned into an old dirt road that was seldom used. It wound through some flat, rough country.

“Look!” exclaimed Hap. “Here are tire tracks! Maybe we’ve found some evidence.”

Jim was just as excited. He jumped down from Maud and tied her to a tree. Hap did the same with White Sock. Then the boys began examining the tire marks in the road. On hands and knees they peered at the tracks in the dust.

After a while Hap leaned back and said thoughtfully, “These tire marks show that they came from a truck with dual wheels—you know, two tires on each rear wheel. But they’re not from our cattle truck.”

“How do you know?” asked the Indian boy in surprise.

“This truck has a tire with a broken block, and ours doesn’t. See, you can tell from the marks. A rock or something sharp must have cut the front tire.”

Jim looked at the tread marks again and then back at his friend in amazement. “You’re keen to catch that.”

Hap was pleased. He loved to be praised by his friend. “Let’s hunt for some more evidence,” he suggested.

The boys searched around, but all they could find was the tire marks continuing down the dirt road. So they untied their horses, hopped on them, and followed the tracks until they came to the main highway.

“I’ll bet the rustlers went off with our calf in a truck with a cut front tire,” said Hap. “Now what we must do is track down that truck.”

Jim blinked hard. “That’s not going to be easy, because there’re lots of cattle trucks in this country.”

“I know there are,” admitted Hap, “but there’s nothing like trying.”

“You’re right,” agreed Jim. “I’m with you. We’ll hunt for that truck until we find it.”