The Rambler Club on the Texas border — Key Ideas to Explore

ky figures of the horsemen who had drawn rein before the windows produced a decidedly picturesque effect. Long greenish shadows straggled over the grass, details merged themselves together, though glinting lights on spurs and horses’ trappings occasionally shot forth from the half obscurity with singular clearness.

“Hello there; inside the house!” yelled Tom.

Almost instantly the broad, yellow spaces of light behind the windows were broken. Two figures flashed against it. Then the highly expectant crowd heard the creaking of the heavy window-frame as it was slowly raised.

“Hello! Who are you?” demanded a loud clear voice. The speaker leaning far out of the window gazed upon them earnestly.

“The question is--who are you?” called back Tom. “That’s our house.”

“Ah, indeed! Then, in that case, you may come in.”

Don Stratton’s visions of cattle rustlers and desperados immediately vanished. Surely the tones of that voice, a hearty, musical one, had nothing in them suggestive of the characters he had so vividly pictured in his mind.

Joining in the ripple of laughter which the man’s response had caused, he, like the others, tied his pony to a hitching-post, and right behind them bounded up the steps.

At the entrance the mysterious visitors looming up in the doorway faced the crowd.

“Thunderation! What a big bunch it is!” cried one, evidently the younger. “I say---- Great Cæsar, Professor! Am I right--nothing but a lot of boys?”

“Boys!” echoed Tom, stiffly. “We’re----”

“All explanations inside, if you please,” interrupted the man who had spoken to them from the window. “Parry,” he slapped his companion good-naturedly on the shoulder, “in spite of all my traveling, I’m not over the faculty of being surprised. Well, well--I am again!”

“And so were we,” remarked Tom, rather grimly.

They followed the men into the dining-room, where the rays from a couple of lanterns resting on the table revealed their faces clearly.

The taller and elder of the two appeared to be a man of about forty-five. And though his face was bronzed by exposure to the elements, a dark, pointed beard and eye-glasses served to give him an air quite in accord with the title of “professor.”

The most conspicuous features about the other, evidently but a few years older than the lads, at whom he stared with a mingled look of wonder and amusement, were a pair of clear blue eyes, and dark, chestnut hair.

“Now, fire away, fellows!” he began easily.

“Yes, do! Really this is a most welcome surprise,” interjected the other. Then, dropping his bantering tone for one of seriousness, he added, “But do kindly assuage my feeling of overwhelming curiosity. How does it happen that a crowd of boys----”

“Oh, yes; we know just what you’re going to ask,” Tom’s voice had a weary note in it--“that kind of question has been often tossed to us before. But I think, sir----”

“Quite right,” replied the man, smilingly. “Our explanations should come first. Besides, we owe you an apology for so unceremoniously entering your house.”

All this, spoken in a jovial tone, had the effect of prepossessing the crowd in the visitors’ favor.

“My name is Horatio Kent,” he explained. “And I am a lecturer. Every year I deliver a series of travelogues in the large Eastern cities, which are illustrated by motion-pictures.”

“What a great job!” cried Cranny.

“It has its advantages. This is my assistant--an expert motion-picture photographer.”

“Glad to meet you, I’m sure,” grinned Parry. “At present we are traveling rather unconventionally on horseback, with a little burro to help us carry our stuff. Passing this old ranch, about sundown, en route to the town yonder,” he waved his hand toward the south, “and, being rather weary, after a long day in the saddle, the idea struck us that we might stop here for the night. The door wasn’t fastened, you know. Our horses are back there in the stable.”

“You’re most welcome, I’m sure,” declared Bob, heartily.

“And say, maybe we weren’t surprised when all these evidences of civilization struck our eyes,” laughed Parry. “Both the professor and I thought somebody would be moseying along pretty soon, but we never expected----”

“Of course you didn’t,” broke in Tom, a bit scornfully. “Nobody ever does. The idea--a pack of kids out on the plains at this time of night; why---- Sir”--he swung around to face the older man who had addressed him--“shall I tell you who we are, and where we come from?”

“Sit down, fellows,” grinned Dave; “here’s where the history of the Rambler Club is wound off once more.”

Dave was quite right. Tom’s lips lost their sarcastic droop as he plunged ahead, and, for fully half an hour, his deep-toned voice held almost undisputed sway. At the last, pleased with the exclamation of surprise, and the brief comments which occasionally punctuated his words, he drew from his breast pocket a well-bethumbed copy of “The Kingswood High School Reflector.” “That’s published in our home town,” he explained loftily. “There’s an account in it, too, of some of the adventures of the club written by Dave Brandon, our historian.”

“Parry, how dreadful it would have been if we had missed all this!” laughed the lecturer, glancing over the sheet, which Tom placed in his hand. “Dear me, I’m glad I never lost the faculty of being surprised.”

“I’ll never get over this,” chuckled Parry. “You’ll have to put this crowd into your next lecture, Professor. Now you chaps will get some fame!”

“We’re pretty well known already,” remarked Tom, modestly.

Now the boys began to ask a few questions themselves, and the lecturer, in the clear, resonant tones of one long accustomed to speak on the public platform, obliged. Rapidly he told them something about the various countries they had visited in quest of material for his work, ending up with the explanation that this year he had decided to make an exploration of Mexico, and on his way to that country study conditions along the Texas border.

“I think some of our people in the East would like to have visualized scenes and incidents connected with the work of the United States soldiers who are patrolling this section,” he said. “I expect also to get some pictures of a more stirring nature on the other side of the Rio.”

“What!” cried Cranny, his eyes opening wide with astonishment, “the scrappin’, you mean?”

“To be sure; why not? The lecturer and motion-picture photographer are attended by risks of many sorts. Our comfortably-seated audiences, while viewing pictures of lands taken in various quarters of the globe, and of wild and ferocious animals prowling about their native haunts, probably seldom realize the dangers and hardships which are encountered by the men who have traveled thousands of miles to get them.”

“They don’t indeed!” agreed George Parry.

“I shouldn’t care to tackle that job in Mexico,” commented Sam Randall, reflectively.

“Nor I, either,” confirmed Don.

“Count me out of such adventurous proceedings, too,” said Dave.

“And I’m right in for ’em!” exclaimed Cranny, so emphatically that the two men looked at him with a smile. “I say--are you goin’ across the Rio pretty soon?”

“Very shortly,” replied the lecturer. He shifted his position on the rough, wooden bench, and the glow from the lanterns falling across his bronzed features with picturesque effect revealed a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Judging from what has been told to us on the way,” he continued slowly, “that little Mexican town over yonder and its surroundings will be the theater of some exciting events before many days have passed.”

“And if it does turn out that way, we ought to get some bully films,” remarked the photographer.

There was no room in Cranny Beaumont’s mind just now for troublesome thoughts of the future.

“I’m mighty glad these chaps happened along,” he reflected. “It’ll make it easier for me to skip across into old Mexico; and, by Jove, maybe I’ll go with ’em.”

The unusual meeting of the two parties at the old ranch-house proved to be a most pleasant one for all concerned. They talked so many hours, too, that by the time it was decided to turn in, the stout historian sat dozing in a corner.

He complained energetically at being disturbed, but Tom and Dick cruelly hustled him, sleepy-eyed and yawning, to his feet.

“We have to stable our ponies, you know,” Dick reminded him.

“And get up mighty early in the morning,” chimed in Tom. “We don’t want to miss that trip with the Texas Rangers.”

“The Texas Rangers?” queried Professor Kent.

“Yes, sir,” answered Cranny. Then in a few words he explained about their plans for the following day.

“I wonder if they’d object to our accompanying the expedition?” mused the lecturer. “I declare, Parry”--he turned to his assistant--“it would suit me capitally.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Parry.

“The Rangers will be glad to have you, I’m sure,” declared Bob, confidently.

“Good. Anyway, a word in our favor from the Ramblers ought to have great weight with them,” laughed the other.

Within another half hour the crowd had attended to their mustangs, besides examining those of the visitors, which, together with a sturdy little burro, they found very interesting. Then each took a hasty look at the motion-picture cameras and other paraphernalia necessary to the travelers’ profession.

“Oh, my! Don’t I wish I could lecture,” sighed Cranny. Disturbing thoughts concerning that bothersome subject--his future--flashed into his mind once more, but Tom’s loud, gruff remark: “Step along lively, fellows! We ought to be hitting those balsam boughs--the Rangers, you know!” drove them away on the instant.

“Don’t worry, Tom, we won’t miss ’em,” he gurgled.

On their way to the house the group stopped for a few moments to study the calm and poetic aspect of nature. The far-off hills on the Mexican shores rose faintly against a bluish-green sky unflecked with clouds, while the tall grasses of the prairie, still waving and tossing under the influence of a gusty breeze, were edged with delicate touches of silvery light.

“Glorious!” pronounced Dave.

“And yet only a few miles away, perhaps amid just such another peaceful scene, rival armies are encamped ready to hurl themselves upon each other at the first opportunity,” remarked the professor, with a thoughtful look.

Presently inside the ranch-house the crowd set to work, and taking a portion of the fragrant balsam boughs from each bed made up two for the travelers. This being accomplished, they promptly lay down and before long were sound asleep, heedless alike to the beauty of the night or the sound of rifle shots which for some time sounded faintly from afar.

Next morning after breakfast the entire crowd was on the roof.

Tom Clifton, with Bob Somers’ field-glass pressed to his eyes, at last uttered an exclamation which attracted general attention.

“See anythin’?” demanded Cranny.

“Yes. Hooray, fellows! There come the Rangers!” he answered.

“Maybe it’s only a bunch o’ cattle rustlers!” chirped Cranny. “Quick, Tom; let me have a squint.”

Though the sun had risen some distance above the horizon, streamers of grayish mist still hung low over the landscape, completely blotting from view the hills beyond the Rio. But by the aid of the powerful binoculars which penetrated this fast dissolving curtain, Cranny saw the specks assume the definite form of horsemen.

“Correct, Tom, old chap,” he affirmed. “Hustle! We don’t want to keep ’em waitin’.”

“I scarcely think you will,” said the lecturer with a smile.

Nimbly the crowd piled through the trap-door. Down-stairs they buckled on cartridge belts, adjusted revolvers, holsters, and lastly slung glistening rifles over their shoulders, while Professor Kent and George Parry looked on with twinkling eyes.

“Never in all my life did I see a peaceable bunch look more warlike!” chuckled the latter. “Boys, if you ever cut across the river in that rig, you’ll have the Mexicans surely thinking that the United States is tired of ‘watchful waiting’ at last.”

“That’s all right,” laughed Cranny.

A few minutes later the party was in the stable. Then followed a lively scene. The mustangs whirled and danced about, but all the activity on their part failed to impress the little burro, which had to be prodded and coaxed vigorously before he would consent to leave the mellow shadows of the interior.

Quickly the boys sprang into the saddles, fastened their rifles across the pommels, and in a due westerly direction galloped off, occasionally uttering yells which no doubt easily carried against the slight breeze to the ears of the approaching Rangers. In the crest of a gentle rise they drew rein, to gaze long and earnestly over the prairie. But the only other human beings in sight besides themselves were the lecturer and his assistant, who, hampered by the obstinate burro, had been left far to the rear.

“Give another whoop, fellows!” commanded Tom.

The others obeyed, and immediately following their lusty chorus came a faint, answering hail.

“Ha, ha!” laughed Cranny. “We’ll soon be on the way.”

Before the other travelers had time to reach them, the four Rangers, with Jack Stovall in the lead, came into view over a ridge.

“I was mighty certain ye’d never let us git by ye!” shouted the young Ranger, the moment he had come within speaking distance. Then, glancing toward the two men, urging the burro to a faster gait, he added with a quizzical smile, “Say, pards! I reckon that’s some more o’ your gang, eh?”

“You’ll know in a minute,” Cranny shouted back.

With the sunlight playing over them and horses’ trappings and spurs catching and holding myriad gleams of light, the policemen of the plains presented quite an impressive appearance.

Carl Alvin in charge of the detail warmly saluted the boys, and looked inquiringly toward Professor Kent and the photographer, who were now rapidly approaching.

Bob Somers quickly introduced the Easterners, and the Rangers, with the exception of Jim Raulings, greeted them in hearty fashion.

“Sure, you can go along with us,” declared Alvin, after a moment’s conversation. “We’ll be glad to have you.”

“Big Jim,” a zealous, conscientious officer, feared that the advent of so many strangers among them might in some way interfere with their duties. And at present they had a very important assignment, for complaints of the activities of cattle rustlers as well as smugglers were steadily coming in to headquarters.

“I wish them fellers would hike off somewheres else,” he confided in a low tone to Chaney. The other, however, merely shrugged his broad shoulders and grinned.

“Come ahead, men,” came in Carl Alvin’s clear voice.

The restive, mettlesome mustangs, glad to be on the move once more, shot forward at the word of command, and breaking into a loping trot presently carried the riders over another rise which shut from their view the gray, adobe walls of the ancient ranch-house.

The weather was warmer than on the day before and lacked the fresh, keen breeze to temper the heat. The sun shone from a cloudless sky and as it climbed higher and higher all nature became enveloped in a yellowish glare, which, with the clouds of dust kicked up by the ponies’ heels, made the travelers long for a bit of woods and shade.

And this longing was soon gratified. Clumps of cottonwood began to be encountered and beyond the horsemen could see a line of timber stretching off in a northeasterly direction. This they knew marked the course of one of the tributaries of the Rio Grande.

Even Cranny Beaumont uttered a sigh of satisfaction when the mustangs, their shaggy brown-patched coats flecked with foam, finally threaded a passageway leading into this thick brake, where grateful shade at last shielded them from the sun’s hot rays.

“Ah, this is a jolly nice change!” he remarked, wiping his perspiring face.

“I should say so,” murmured Don Stratton, still too much of a tenderfoot to be enjoying the situation with as keen a relish as his companions.

“We’ll give our nags a chance to rest at the first likely place, boys,” announced Alvin.

To the lads it didn’t look as though any “likely place” could be found. The cottonwoods, willows, prickly pears and mesquite were so densely matted together that progress became slow and difficult. Occasionally a streak of light trailed over the ground, touching up with a golden luster vegetation which lay in its path.

Had the boys been alone it is doubtful if they could have found their way through the depths of the lonely haunts at this particular point. The Rangers, however, thoroughly familiar with the locality, led the way in single file, following winding paths which only an experienced eye could have detected. It was difficult work, for treacherous roots trailed over the ground, and often low-hanging boughs, pushed aside by riders in advance, snapping back into place smartly lashed those following close behind.

“Well, this is some job, sure enough!” declared Cranny, after a particularly violent impact.

“Never mind, lad,” Alvin called back. “We’ll have it easier in another minute.”

“Thank goodness!” murmured Don.

Not many yards farther on the long file of horsemen entered a little glade, pleasantly shaded.

“Hooray!” cried Cranny. “Isn’t this fine?”

“Great!” responded Dave. “I could stay here all day!”

The steady crashing of horses’ hoofs in the underbrush suddenly ceased, and men and boys dismounted. After securing their mounts to convenient saplings they sought the cool, greenish shadows, where each, with expressions of satisfaction, immediately stretched himself out on the ground.

The party quickly found, however, that they were not destined to remain there long in peace. Hordes of mosquitoes swarmed down upon them; and though a vigorous defense was offered to the vicious attacks, the immense numbers of the little buzzing insects made such efforts almost futile.

“Mercy, help!” murmured Don.

“Kill ’em and they come right back,” grumbled Dick; “eh, Tom?”

Tom, however, merely nodded. He expected discomforts out in the open and when they came generally bore them with heroic fortitude.

“I say, Carl,” he exclaimed, “where is the ranch of this Colonel Brookes Sylvester, who has been having trouble with the rustlers?”

“About fifty miles from the town,” replied the Ranger. “And it’s one of the finest in southwestern Texas. The colonel, besides being a cattleman, is a farmer, and has some of the best artesian wells in this section.”

“He’s sure a fine man too,” put in Raulings, “an’ the last time I seen him, he was all broke up. ‘I’m bankin’ on the Texas Rangers to help me out,’ he says; an’----”

“Was he talking about the cattle rustlers?” queried Tom.

“No--somethin’ that worried him a heap sight more’n them critters,” grunted the Ranger in reply.

Tom, whose curiosity had been greatly aroused, might have asked some other questions but for the fact that Don jumped to his feet, exclaiming in disgusted tones:

“Say, fellows, I can’t stand these torments a minute longer!” He looked toward Alvin, who nodded.

“Into the saddle, boys!” said the Ranger.

Through openings here and there in the break they could see the river, a narrow and muddy stream. In a straight line the distance was short, but the route which the riders soon followed proved to be so winding and irregular that a considerable time elapsed before they reached its bank. In places the trees on either shore met to form a leafy archway, which sparkled and glittered in the sunlight.

The gravel bottom of the stream enabled the mustangs and burro to wade across.

Entering the brake at a point farther down-stream Carl Alvin led the advance so skilfully that nowhere were they forced by barricades of green to retrace their steps.

Probably no one among the party was more relieved to see the thicket opening out than George Parry, who had charge of the burro. The clumsy, intractable animal either halted with annoying frequency or managed to get his stocky little form tangled up in the vegetation.

“That was certainly tough work!” he puffed as they rode out on higher ground.

“I should say so,” laughed Cranny. His twinkling eyes sought Don’s. “Fun, I call it.”

“Well, I’m generous enough to let you have all my share,” chuckled the New Orleans lad.

The country through which the travelers rode during the next few hours was of a diversified nature. Sometimes it was over sandy ridges crowned with Yucca or mesquite, at others along rolling stretches of country which extended for miles and miles.