Grace Harlowe's Overland Riders at Circle O Ranch — A Reader’s Guide

best ever. Perhaps you are about to discover a gold mine or a hole in the ground where one has been, or something like that,” bubbled Emma.

“Wrong up here again,” muttered Stacy Brown, significantly tapping his head with a finger.

“I should say that Emma has read one of those five-cent dream books,” suggested Miss Briggs.

“It is my opinion that she has been fitting herself for a lunatic seminary—cemeter—sanitarium,” corrected Stacy.

“Tell us about it,” urged Grace, smiling over at Miss Dean.

“I will if you folks won’t laugh at me. I am a student of Professor Freud’s new science of dreams,” announced Emma with dignity. “The professor has demonstrated beyond question that there is an imponderable quality within us—”

“You mean hot biscuit and gravy,” interjected Hippy Wingate. “Since I overate this evening I surely have an imponderable quality in my midst,” he added amid much laughter.

Emma elevated a disdainful chin.

“I see nothing funny in a scientific discussion,” she retorted. “As I was about to say when so rudely interrupted, Professor Freud has conclusively proved that every dream has its meaning—that the imponderable quality in the subconscious mind never ceases to work; that it even works when we sleep, and—”

“Old Subconscious ought to join a union,” suggested Stacy.

“And that, if we will but learn a few simple rules, we shall be able to interpret those dreams and be better able to avoid many perils as well as to take advantage of real opportunities. Always let the imponderable quality have its way,” urged Emma.

Jim-Sam’s whiskers drooped, and the Overlanders repressed their laughter.

“Perhaps you yourself might dream out the solution of a mystery for us,” suggested Grace. “I mean as to the identity and purpose of the horseman who has been riding a parallel course with us all day, evidently keeping us under observation.”

The guides gave her a quick, keen look.

“Miss, I reckon as ye ain’t no tenderfoot,” observed Sam dryly.

“A man following us?” cried Nora. “It has come already! I knew it would. I knew that trouble would follow this outfit, just as it has done from the moment we set out over the Old Apache Trail right on down until we ended our vacation in the Black Hills last summer.”

Others of the party had observed the solitary horseman, but had attached no particular significance to his traveling in the same direction that they were following.

“Watching us, do you think?” wondered Emma.

“What about him, Jim-Sam?” demanded Tom Gray.

“Wal, I reckons mebby he is the feller that was hangin’ ’round when ye folks was unloadin’ at Carrago. He was a-snoopin’, an’ I don’t reckon as he was doin’ it fer no good. I didn’t like the look of him nohow,” growled Jim.

“Ye ain’t dreamed nothin’ ’bout that, has ye, Miss Dean?” asked Sam.

“No. Not yet. However, in case it means trouble for us either I or one of the others will get a reaction in advance and—”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Hippy. “A reaction in advance! That surely is a new one. Were Freud to hear that he himself surely would have a bad attack of nightmare.”

“I mean that one of us will feel that imponderable quality stirring within us,” explained Emma, her color rising. “We shall know. No harm can come to us without our being warned in advance. I—”

A volley of revolver shots punctuated the silence of the desert night—shots close at hand, accompanied by yells, hoots and howls, and the thudding of many unshod hoofs.

ON THE ROAD TO TROUBLE

“Merciful heaven! What is that?” cried Nora Wingate, the color rushing to her cheeks, then instantly receding, leaving them blanched with fear.

The Overland Riders were, for the moment, too startled to move, and it was Jim and Sam who first sprang to their feet.

“Look out! They aire comin’!” warned Sam.

The girls ran for the protection of their tents, with the exception of Emma Dean, who appeared to be too frightened to stir. Tom and Hippy were on their feet a second or so behind Jim-Sam, each with a hand on his revolver holster, while Stacy had disappeared on the dark side of his tent. Stacy Brown always believed in safety first, and he seldom lost many seconds in applying that principle.

All this occurred within the space of a few seconds, during which the shooting and the shouting had ceased, but the hoof-beats of ponies sounded much nearer to the camp. Then the Overlanders saw them. Wild riders they were, shadowy figures in the night, keeping just beyond the flickering rays shed by the campfire, but circling the camp, racing their mustangs. Once more their shrill penetrating yells split the silence, followed by a rattling fire of revolver shots.

“They’re shootin’ into the air. They don’t mean no harm. Keep steady!” urged Jim.

“Shoo them off, Jim-Sam! Somebody will be shooting lower than that if this keeps on for many minutes,” warned Hippy Wingate.

“Git out o’ this, ye galoots!” yelled Sam as one rider, bolder than the others, drove his pony right through the camp. The animal hurdled the campfire and ran between two of the Overland tents. Yells from his companions greeted the achievement.

The night rider repeated the performance, but this time Jim-Sam fired at the same instant, one bullet snipping off the rider’s hat, the other fanning the hind hoofs of the pony.

“Now you’ve done it, you poor, crazy coyote!” roared Sam.

“I didn’t. You did it yourself. I fanned the critter’s feet,” retorted Jim. “Look out, they’re comin’ fer keeps this time!”

The wild night riders had circled out on the desert until joined by the man who had twice ridden through the Overland camp, then they drove their ponies straight at the camp, uttering thrilling yells and shooting into the air. They were upon the camp before the Overland Riders fully realized what their attackers were doing. The man in the lead rode down the little tent beside which Stacy Brown was in hiding, and Stacy, who had armed himself with a tent stake, hurled it at the fellow as he passed. The stake reached its mark—the neck of the rider—and the man sagged in his saddle as the pony rushed on into the darkness.

“I hit him!” yelled Stacy.

The rest of the riders went through with a rush.

“Do that agin’ an’ I’ll wing ye!” howled Sam.

The attackers did it again. The tents no longer being a safe refuge, the girls ran out and stood by the campfire so that the night riders might see and avoid them. Emma stood a few yards from them, where she had been standing since the excitement began. This time the riders rode down the rest of the tents, with weapons still shooting into the air.

Sam had returned his revolver to its holster, but a nervous hand trembled on the butt of the weapon—trembled not because of any fear of its owner, but because all the nervous tension of a trained gunman was centered in it. The riders were growing wilder with each passing second, and Sam was growing proportionately calmer, with shoulders slouched forward and whiskers standing out at a sharper angle. It was plain that nothing short of shooting with intent to wound or kill could stay the orgy of those wild night riders and their mustangs whose flashing heels were a peril to every member of the Overland party. Both Jim and Sam, knowing that aggressive action on their part would bring down the wrath of the riders, hesitated.

There came a moment, however, when restraint was no longer possible. The horsemen had cleared the camp and were turning for another sweep over it when a rider on a dust-covered pony came galloping into the light of the campfire.

“Whoo-pee!” he howled, his lariat in a great loop spinning over his head.

“Look out!” roared Jim warningly, for he saw where the rope was going to drop.

His warning failed of its purpose. The lariat came down in a flash, and the great loop, holding its form in a perfect circle, dropped neatly over the head of Emma Dean.

At first Emma did not realize what had happened, but as the coil suddenly tightened about her waist she uttered a scream. Her feet left their footing and Emma measured her length on the ground, the coil gripping her tighter and tighter, though the roper had checked the speed of his mustang and was letting the rope slip slowly through his hands.

Sam’s hand was trembling on the butt of his revolver more agitated than before. The trembling ceased suddenly, and there followed a twitch of the wrist, a flash, and a sharp report. The roper uttered a yell and let go of his lariat. Sam’s shot had shattered his wrist.

Hippy sprang to Emma and freed her of the lariat.

“Git down!” yelled Sam. “The varmits is goin’ to shoot!”

The “varmits” shot lower this time, but every member of the Overland party had taken to the shadows and thrown themselves down, as the rider who had roped Emma dashed out holding his wounded wrist, yelling to his companions to take it out of the man who had shot him.

By this time Tom and Hippy had gotten their rifles and were watching and waiting, fully expecting further and more serious trouble. It came in the shape of another charge of the night riders. This time their yells were savage. The new note in them told the Overlanders what was coming.

“Let ’em have it, fellers!” urged Jim.

“Girls, keep down!” called Grace Harlowe, as Emma Dean once more stood up. “Isn’t once enough for you?”

Emma permitted herself to sink to the ground, just in time to avoid a rattling fire of revolver shots from the raiders.

At this juncture, Jim and Sam let go with their heavy revolvers, followed a few seconds later by the crash of the two Overland rifles. That some of their bullets had taken effect the Overlanders knew by the angry yells of their attackers. A rider’s pony went down on its nose at the very edge of the camp and its rider plunged forward to the ground, whereupon the pony staggered to its feet and limped away, but the rider lay where he had fallen.

“Jim-Sam, don’t kill ’em!” begged Tom Gray. “Drive ’em off, that’s all.”

The fellow’s companions, leaning from saddles, dragged the wounded man away, whence he was flung on a mustang and carried off, but how badly the fellow was hurt the Overlanders had no means of knowing. They kept on shooting just the same, backed up now by the weapons of Jim-Sam, and it took but a few shots from the heavy weapons to drive the raiders away.

“Now, ye infernal idiot! Do ye reckon ye’ve done enough fer one night?” demanded Jim sarcastically.

“I reckon I done too much when I saved yer miserable hide from them raiders,” flung back Sam. “Anybody git hurt?”

“I believe that I am the only casualty, but it was only my feelings that were hurt by the fall that my pride got,” replied Emma. “This is indeed a peaceful valley, isn’t it, Sam? Nothing ever happens here. Oh, no!”

Suppressed chuckles greeted Emma’s retort, but Jim and Sam had already run out of camp to make certain that the raiders had really gone away. The guides found that they had departed, but fearing that the attackers might return, they decided to watch the camp for the rest of the night.

The Overland Riders, acting upon the suggestion of Sam, were putting out the fire and beginning to get the camp in condition for sleeping, when Stacy Brown strolled into the scene. He had not been seen since the attack began.

“My tent is all down and torn,” he complained.

“So are others,” reminded Nora. “What shall we do about it?”

“Nothing until daylight,” answered Tom briefly.

“I suppose I am responsible for driving those ruffians away,” boasted the fat boy. “I hit that fellow an awful wallop with a tent stake when he went past me, and that made the rest of the gang more careful. Think of it! I didn’t have to fire a shot to do it, either!”

“Yes. You did it all, little man. But if you love us, never again dream that you are the King of England or the Emperor of the Cannibal Islands. I read in that dream of yours that something terrible was going to happen. Oh, Sam! That was a wonderful shot of yours,” she complimented glowingly, turning to the guide as he stalked in, combing his whiskers with his hand. “It was perfectly adorable of you to shoot that fellow after he had roped me. And such a shot! Did you mean to hit him in the wrist or did you shoot at the pony’s feet?” questioned Emma innocently.

Sam’s whiskers bristled.

“I reckon I hit what I shot at,” he answered briefly.

“How wonderful! I wish I could shoot like that.” She tapped his holster, and smiled up into the weatherbeaten face.

“You kin. I’ll larn ye, Missie. You’ve got the feel of a gun in yer make-up. We’ll talk about it later on.”

“Yes,” agreed Tom Gray. “Other matters are of more importance at the moment. What have you to say about the attack on us? What does it mean?”

“I reckon they aire a lot of wild cowboys that wanted to have some fun with us,” drawled Sam.

“No. I don’t agree with you,” spoke up Grace. “They were too savage for men bent on having fun with a party of campers. I have been wondering if the mysterious horseman, that kept abreast of us all day, had anything to do with the raid?”

“Cowboys on a spree,” persisted Sam.

“Ain’t no such thing,” interjected Jim, coming in in time to hear his partner’s assertion. “Any galoot with a spoonful o’ brains under his hair would know better ’n that. Them’s wild horse hunters!”

“Huh! Know it all, don’t ye?” leered Sam.

“Have to, bein’ as I’m hitched up with you.”

The laughter of the Overlanders put an end to the argument of the two guides, following which preparations for the night were resumed. It was decided not to try to mend the tents until daylight, which meant that some of the party must sleep on the ground in the open. J. Elfreda Briggs objected loudly.

“There are rattlesnakes here! I saw one today. What if one should crawl into my blanket in the night? I know I should die of fright.”

“Silly!” rebuked Emma. “If such a thing should occur, I’ll tell you what to do. Don’t move a muscle nor make a sound, but call for Sam, and he will shoot the head off the reptile without so much as disturbing your rest.”

“Emma Dean, your logic is overwhelming. As a lawyer I fully appreciate it, and I thank you for the suggestions. Without moving and without speaking, I will yell for Sam and he will fan my cheek with a bullet, and during it all I shall slumber on as peacefully as a babe in its cradle. Lovely!”

“Never mind the snakes. Turn in!” ordered Hippy.

An hour later the camp was asleep and just outside of it prowled Jim and Sam, halting to growl at each other when they met on their rounds. Only once during the night was the quiet disturbed. About two o’clock in the morning Jim-Sam heard a body of horsemen moving. It was but a faint thudding that was borne to their ears, and after listening for some time they heard the hoof-beats die away in the distance.

“Glad we ain’t got to do no more shootin’,” observed Sam. “Might wake up the gals and that shore would be too bad. Say, Jim, that little Missie Dean, with the freckled face like a speckled trout, shore’s got spunk.”

“A-huh! Mebby she’ll lend ye some of it,” retorted Jim.

“Shet up!” growled Sam, and strode away for another round of the camp.

A pack of coyotes at this juncture barked in a yelping chorus, and the Overlanders heard them but only faintly, for it was now a familiar sound to them after their many nights in the wilder places of their native land.

Morning dawned bright and beautiful. The day promised to be warm, and, as Elfreda Briggs opened her eyes, her first thought was of snakes; and her next, the sweet, pungent, penetrating fragrance of sage which lay heavy on the morning air. A cautious investigation showed that no serpent had taken refuge in her blanket, whereat Elfreda Briggs heaved a deep sigh of relief.

Sam stood a short distance from her, whiskers standing out, shading his eyes with a hand as he gazed over the surrounding country. He stood straight like an Indian, and Elfreda found herself studying this strange old man of the hills and the desert—studying him with a new interest. He was rather above medium height with the small hips of a rider. His eyes were faintly gray, and his was the lean, strong face of the man of the open, a face that was lined with wrinkles, and as he gazed there was a look of nobility about it that held her fascinated.

The guide turned suddenly and saw her. He smiled and passed a hand over his whiskers.

“What is it, Sam?” questioned Elfreda.

“Mornin’! Nothin’ but a little cloud o’ dust. Might have been made by a hoss or a little wind pocket.”

The Overlanders now began to sit up and rub their eyes.

“Breakfast is nigh ready. That no ’count pard o’ mine is fryin’ the bacon an’ I reckon he’s boiled the coffee till it ain’t fit to feed to coyotes,” observed Sam.

“Do coyotes drink coffee?” questioned Emma, blinking in the strong morning light.

“I reckon they takes somethin’ like that to keep ’em awake nights,” answered Sam, whereat the Overlanders laughed and began throwing off their blankets, all now fully awake.

The camp looked to be a wreck, but a hurried examination revealed that it was not as bad as it looked. There were rents in the flattened tents that would call for the work of the women to repair, and some of the packs had been trampled on by the raiding ponies.

It was decided to put tents and equipment in condition before starting out, and this took nearly half of the forenoon, so the start was not made until after luncheon.

Not a human being had been seen all that morning, nothing of a disturbing nature had occurred except the dust cloud that Sam had discovered. A few hours after they set out, however, a horseman was discovered in the far distance, sitting motionless in his saddle. He did not move until the Overland party had proceeded some two miles, whereupon he started along on a parallel course.

“It is our mysterious horseman, I am positive,” announced Grace, after a long look through her binoculars.

At Hippy’s suggestion the party changed their course and headed directly for the course that the stranger was following. Shortly after that he too changed his course. Several similar experiments were made by the Overlanders, and always with the same result. It became plain to them that the mysterious horseman was keeping them under observation, but for what reason not even Jim-Sam seemed to be able to guess.

These deviations had carried the Overlanders some distance out of their way, and to reach their proposed camping place for that night would necessitate traveling after dark, so the guides decided to camp at the nearest water hole, which proved to be located in the foothills. There the foliage was greener and fresher, and bunches of grass made fine grazing for the ponies.

Supper was an enjoyable affair that evening, especially so because Jim and Sam enlivened the occasion by wrangling over the way that Jim had cooked the beans for their mess. Jim, finally becoming too enraged to eat, got up and stalked away, whereupon Sam gravely ate his own portion, and then finished all that Jim had left.

The party had barely finished supper when the familiar hoof-beats of a rapidly riding party of horsemen were heard. The Overlanders were on their feet in an instant, each member of the party hurriedly throwing on his holster, then looking to Jim-Sam for orders.