The Motor Rangers Through the Sierras Page 7

  CHAPTER VII.

  A PHOTOGRAPHER IN TROUBLE.

  The boys were not up as early the next morning as they had anticipated.In the first place, it was somewhat dull and overcast, and in thesecond they were naturally tired after their exciting adventures of thepreceding day and night. The first person to hail them as they leftthe dining room where they had partaken of a hearty breakfast was CalGifford. The stage driver drew them aside and informed them in an iratevoice that on account of the stage having been held up the day before,he had been notified by telegraph early that morning that his serviceswould be no longer required by the Lariat Stage Company.

  "What are you going to do?" asked Nat, after he had extended hissympathies to the indignant Cal.

  "Wall, I've got a little mine up north of here that I think I'll go andtake a look at," said Cal.

  "How far north?" asked Nat interestedly.

  "Oh, 'bout two hundred miles. I'm all packed ready ter go, but I cain'tgit a horse."

  He indicated a battered roll of blankets and a canteen lying on theporch. Surmounting this pile of his possessions was an old rifle--thatis, in pattern and design, but its woodwork gleamed, its barrel wasscrupulously polished, and its mechanism well oiled. Like most goodwoodsmen and mountaineers, Cal kept good care of his weapons, knowingthat sometimes a man's life may depend on his rifle or revolver.

  "Can't get a horse?" echoed Nat. "Why, I should think there would be notrouble about that."

  "Wall, thar wouldn't hev bin, but thet little Dutchman bought a nagthis mornin' and started off ter take picters on his lonesome."

  "I guess you mean he hired one, don't you?" asked Joe.

  "No siree. That Teutonic sport paid hard cash fer ther plug. He tolethe landlord that he means ter make a trip all through the Sierrashereabout, making a fine collection of pictures."

  "He must be crazy, starting off alone in an unknown country," exclaimedNat.

  "Thet's jes' what they all tole him, but there ain't no use arguin'with er mule or a Dutchman when their mind's set. He started off aboutan hour ago with a roll of blankets, a frying pan and his picture box."

  "He stands a chance of getting captured by Col. Morello's band,"exclaimed Joe.

  "It's likely," agreed Cal, "but what I was a goin' ter tell yer wuzthat ther plug he bought was ther last one they had here. An' so nowI'm stuck I guess, till they git some more up from ther valley."

  "Tell you what you do," said Nat after a brief consultation with hischums, "why not take a ride with us as far as your way lies, and thenproceed any way you like?"

  "What, ride with you kids in thet gasolene tug boat?"

  "Yes, we'd be glad to have you. You know the roads and the people upthrough here, and could help us a whole lot."

  "Say, that's mighty white of yer," said Cal, a broad smile spreadingover his face, "if I wouldn't be in ther way now----"

  "We'll be very glad to have you," Nat assured him, while Joe andDing-dong nodded their heads in affirmation, "are you ready to start?"

  Cal nodded sidewise at his pile of baggage.

  "Thar's my outfit," he said.

  "All right. Then I'll pay our bill and we'll start right away."

  And so it was arranged. Ten minutes later the Motor Rangers in theirbig touring car rolled majestically out of the town of Lariat, whileCal in the tonneau waved his sombrero to admiring friends.

  "This is ther first time I ever rode a benzine broncho," he declared asthe car gathered way and was soon lost to the view of the citizens ofLariat in a cloud of dust.

  The road lay through the same canyon in which they had so fortunatelyoverheard the conversation of Al. Jeffries and his cronies the nightbefore. It was a sparkling morning, with every object standing outclear and intense in the brilliant light of the high Sierras. A crispchill lay in the air which made the blood tingle and the eyes shine.As they rolled on with the engine singing its cheering song Cal, too,burst into music:

  "Riding along on my gasolene bronc; Instead of a whinny it goes 'Honk! Honk!' If we don't bust up we'll be in luck, You'd be blowed sky-high by a benzine buck!"

  About noon they emerged from the narrow canyon into a wide valley, thebroad, level floor of which was covered with green bunch grass. Throughits centre flowed a clear stream, fed by the snow summits they couldsee in the distance. Cattle could be seen feeding at the far end ofit and it was evidently used as a pasture by some mountain rancher.As they drew closer to a clump of large redwood trees at one end ofthe valley Nat gave a sudden exclamation of surprise, and stood up inthe tonneau. Joe, who was at the wheel, sighted the scene which hadattracted the others' attention at the same instant.

  A group of cattlemen could be seen under one of the larger trees, witha figure in their midst. They were clustered about the central object,and appeared to be handling him pretty roughly.

  Nat snatched up the glasses from their pocket in the tonneau andlevelled them on the scene. He put them down again with an exclamationof excitement.

  "They're going to lynch that fellow," he announced.

  "What!" roared Cal, "lend me them peep glass things, young chap."

  Joe stopped the car, while Cal took a long look. He confirmed Nat'sopinion.

  "They've got the rope over a limb of that tree already," he said.

  "How are we to help him?" cried Nat, whose first and natural thoughthad been to go to the unfortunate's assistance.

  "What do you want ter help him fer," grunted Cal, "like as not he'ssome sort of a horse thief or suthin'. You bet those fellers wouldn'tbe going ter string him up onless he had bin doin' suthin' he hadn'torter."

  Nat was not so sure about this. From what he knew of the West itsimpulsive citizens occasionally executed a man first and inquired intothe justice of it afterward.

  "Steer for those trees, Joe," he ordered sharply.

  Joe, without a word, obeyed, while Cal shrugged his shoulders.

  "May be runnin' inter trouble," he grunted.

  "If you're scared you can get out," said Nat more sharply than was hiswont.

  Cal looked angry for a moment, but then his expression changed.

  "Yer all right, boy," he said heartily, "and if ther's trouble I'm withyou every time."

  "Thanks," rejoined Nat simply, "that's the opinion I'd formed of you,Cal."

  The car had now left the road and was rolling over the pasture whichwas by no means as smooth as it had appeared from the mountain road.However, they made good progress and as their shouts and cries hadattracted the attention of the group of punchers under the trees, theyat least had achieved the delay of the execution. They could now seeevery detail of the scene, without the aid of the field glasses. Butthe visage of the intended victim was hidden from them by the circleof wild-looking figures about him. As the Motor Rangers drew closer abig, raw-boned cattle puncher, with a pair of hairy "chaps" on his legsand an immense revolver in his hand, rode toward them. As his figureseparated itself from the group Cal gave a low growl.

  "Here comes trouble," he grumbled, closing his hand over the well-wornbutt of his pistol.

  "Howdy, strangers," drawled the newcomer, as he drew within earshot.

  "Howdy," nodded the boys, not however, checking the auto.

  "Hold on thar," cried the cowpuncher raising a big, gauntleted hand,"don't come no further, strangers. Thar's ther road back yonder."

  He backed up his hint by exhibiting his revolver rather ostentatiously.But Nat's eyelids never quivered as he looked the other full in theface and asked in a tone that sounded like one of mild, tenderfootinquiry:--

  "What are you doing there, mister--branding calves?"

  "No we ain't, young feller," rejoined the cowpuncher, "Now ifyou're wise you'll take that fer an answer and get out of herepronto--quick--savee!"

  "I don't see any reason why we can't drive through here," said Nat,cunningly stringing out the talk so that the car could creep quiteclose to the group of would-be lynchers.

  "You don't see no reason?"
<
br />   "No."

  "Wall, stranger--thar's six reasons here and they all come out at once."

  As he spoke the cowpuncher tapped the shiny barrel of his revolver witha meaning gesture. Nat saw that he could not go much further withsafety.

  "Now you git!" snarled the cowboy. "You've had fair warning. Vamoose!"

  As he spoke the group about the tree parted for a minute as thecowpunchers composing it gazed curiously at the auto, which was nearingthem. As they separated, the figure of the victim became visible. Theboys greeted the sight with a shout of amazement which was echoed byCal.

  "Boys, it's Herr Muller!" shouted Nat.

  "Wall ther blamed Dutchman!" gasped Cal, "has he bin stealin' horses?"

  "Yep," rejoined the puncher briefly, "he hev. An' we're goin' terstring him up. Now you git out."

  "All right," spoke Nat suddenly, with a flashing light of excitementblazing in his eyes.

  "We'll get, but it will be--THIS WAY!"

  As he spoke he leaped into the driver's seat, pushing Joe to one side.

  The next instant the car was leaping forward with a roar and a bound,headed full at the band of amazed and thunderstruck cowpunchers.