THE CROWD WATCHED THE POLICEMEN

The Rambler Club on
the Texas Border

BY W. CRISPIN SHEPPARD

AUTHOR OF

“THE RAMBLER CLUB AFLOAT”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S WINTER CAMP”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB IN THE MOUNTAINS”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB ON CIRCLE T RANCH”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB AMONG THE LUMBERJACKS”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S AEROPLANE”
“THE RAMBLER CLUB’S HOUSEBOAT,” etc.

Illustrated by the Author

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
MCMXV

COPYRIGHT
1915 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY

The Rambler Club on the Texas Border

Introduction

The members of the Rambler Club of Kingswood, Wisconsin,—Bob Somers, Dave Brandon, Tom Clifton, Dick Travers and Sam Randall,—have taken advantage of an opportunity to visit the state of Texas. Shortly after their arrival, Cranny Beaumont, an old-time friend, comes on to pay them a visit. And whenever Cranny is around adventures and excitement of some sort always seem to follow.

The crowd is thrown a great deal in the company of the Texas Rangers, the “policemen of the plains,” who have many achievements to their credit in the suppression of lawlessness along the border and elsewhere in the Lone Star State.

Four of the lads, in the company of two travelers, cross the famous Rio Grande del Norte and enter Mexico, which at this time is shaken by some of the most troublous events in all of its stormy and eventful history.

In a little frontier town they meet a newspaper man and a mysterious young pianist, and through a peculiar combination of circumstances are plunged into the midst of a series of thrilling adventures.

What happens to the pianist and how a certain event plays a very important part in the career of Cranny Beaumont is related in this story.

Other books telling of the adventures of the club are:

“The Rambler Club Afloat,” “The Rambler Club’s Winter Camp,” “The Rambler Club in the Mountains,” “The Rambler Club on Circle T Ranch,” “The Rambler Club Among the Lumberjacks,” “The Rambler Club’s Gold Mine,” “The Rambler Club’s Aeroplane,” “The Rambler Club’s Houseboat,” “The Rambler Club’s Motor Car,” “The Rambler Club’s Ball Nine,” “The Rambler Club’s Football Team,” “The Rambler Club With the Northwest Mounted,” “The Rambler Club’s Motor Yacht.”

Contents

Illustrations

The Rambler Club on the
Texas Border

CHAPTER I
CRANNY

“Honestly, fellows, I can hardly keep from shouting hip, hip, hurrah—rah, rah, rah, all the time. Just think, here we are, out for adventure. Yes, I’ve got to let it go. Rah, rah, rah for the Ramblers, and ditto for the Texas Rangers!”

It was a big, husky-looking chap who uttered this rapid flow of words, and the shout which ended his sentence rang through the spacious square room of the ranch-house so lustily that his hearers, a crowd of six boys and two men, broke into a storm of laughter.

The shining eyes of Cranny Beaumont, once of Kingswood, Wisconsin, and later of Tacoma, Washington, would have told of his delight and exuberant spirits without this corroborative evidence. And his companions, or at least the boys, looked just as happy as he.

The Rambler Club and Cranny Beaumont, the impetuous, the reckless, the daring but always rollicking, light-hearted lad, were once more in each other’s company and eager for the adventurous life which they hoped would be theirs for a few weeks to come.

It was rather an odd assortment of boys and men which lounged informally about the room. Beside the five Ramblers,—Bob Somers, Dave Brandon, Tom Clifton, Dick Travers, Sam Randall and their friend Don Stratton, the son of a New Orleans financier,—there were present Sergeant Robson Howell and Private Carl Alvin of the Ranger force at Texas.

Dave Brandon and Tom Clifton were easily the most conspicuous members of the club. The former, stout, round-faced, with twinkling eyes that betrayed a wealth of good humor, was an excellent foil to the tall, active Tom, whose shoulders, now broadening out, gave him quite the appearance of a formidable athlete.

All the lads with the exception of Don Stratton showed the beneficial effects of outdoor life. Clear skins, cheeks flushed with the ruddy hue of health, and keen steady eyes stamped each with an air of vigor and strength.

Cranny Beaumont hadn’t lived out in the open as much as his friends, but to none did that life hold a stronger appeal. As he ceased pacing the floor, to come to a halt before the window, his eyes rested upon two brown-patched mustangs tethered to hitching-posts near the broad flight of steps which led to the entrance. To him these restless, stamping animals, surcharged with life, dynamic with force and energy, seemed fairly to breathe the spirit of the plains. In his mind’s eye he could see those vast reaches, the great herds of cattle roaming over them and the cowboys on their lonely rounds. It was a pleasant picture to contemplate, even though it loomed only in the shadowy depths of his imagination, and a loud whoop almost involuntarily escaped his lips.

“I suppose that means a contented spirit,” remarked Sergeant Howell with a grin.

“I should say so,” gurgled Cranny. “Now, fellows——”

“Look here, let’s get down to business,” interrupted Tom Clifton, in a voice which almost possessed the depth and gruffness of the burly sergeant’s. “Fire away, Cranny. You know——”

“I know that I don’t know a whole lot of things about your last trip,” said the Tacoma lad, with a shake of his head. “Go ahead, somebody. I’m listening.”

When Cranny Beaumont spoke in a certain tone and squared his jaw there was generally nothing to do but to accede to his wishes, and Tom, knowing this, figuratively stepped into the spot-light. He told about the business which had brought the crowd to New Orleans, of their unexpected voyage on the Gulf of Mexico aboard Mr. Stratton’s power yacht, and of their still more unexpected and thrilling adventures in the troubled land of Mexico.

It was there the crowd had fallen in with Carl Alvin, the Texas Ranger, at that time on a furlough, and the idea had come to them to spend a few weeks among those famous policemen of the Lone Star State. Alvin was delighted at the idea, and this, in connection with the lure of the open-air life, proved irresistible.

So, in the Ranger’s company, the Ramblers and Don, who succeeded in gaining his father’s permission, had journeyed from the oil district of Tampico, Mexico, to Brownsville, Texas, and thence to a small town on the Rio Grande.

“My, what a great time you’ve had!” exclaimed Cranny. “By George, I only hope I’ll run into something just as full of ginger.”

“Not for me,” said Don Stratton, decidedly. “Gingery affairs of that kind are all well enough to read about, but when it comes to the real thing I’d rather be excused.”

“Well, boys,” broke in the sergeant, “we must be getting along now. Just stepped in to say howdy-do.” A grin crossed his weather-beaten face which was burned to a coppery hue by the sun’s hot rays. “Ride over to headquarters whenever you feel like it,” his glance fell on Cranny—“and don’t try too hard to run into adventures, my lad, or——”

His sentence, concluded by a significant gesture of a big brown hand, plainly conveyed his meaning, and caused the Ramblers to chuckle with mirth.

“The sergeant has you sized up all right, Cranny,” exclaimed Tom. He intended to speak in a low, confidential tone, but every one in the room plainly heard his words. “I say, old chap, it wouldn’t be possible to have a nice, quiet time with you along, eh?”

“Not if I could help it,” grinned Cranny. He faced the burly Howell. “You’ll see us come over, Sergeant. Honestly, I’m just pinin’ to get a glimpse o’ that bunch o’ Rangers.”

“An’ I guess all of ’em will be just as glad to see you,” remarked Carl Alvin. “If there’s anything a Ranger likes, it’s a chap brimful of grit.” He eyed the big Tacoma lad critically. “And if I’m not mistaken you’ve got the goods.”

“Thanks!” laughed Cranny.

The two Rangers picked up their rifles, which rested in a near-by corner, and with the crowd following at their heels walked out on the wide veranda which extended entirely around the old rambling building.

Good-byes were said. Then the crowd watched the policemen untie their fiery mustangs and swing themselves into the saddle. The animals kicked up their heels, shot forward, then settling into a loping trot carried them swiftly away.

On all sides of the house stretched a broad undulating prairie covered with long waving grass which sparkled in the light of a cloudless day. To the southwest, seen as flat, gray masses against a sky of dazzling brilliancy, rose the low, irregular hills of Mexico, just across the Rio Grande. Northward, a line of cottonwoods and oaks fringed the border of an unseen watercourse, and dotted over the great expanse were groups of trees or other vegetation.

Amid this immensity of space the figures of the rapidly retreating horsemen seemed to be dwarfed to mere pigmy proportions; but even from afar the rays of the sun, striking on pistol butts or trappings, continued to send back spots of flashing light.

Cranny Beaumont drew a long breath. With all the eagerness of a bird which sees the door of its cage open and freedom before it he observed these vast reaches extending off to a hazy distance. How different it was from being cooped up in a city office, a din of clicking typewriters continually sounding in his ears!

“Well, fellows!” he said.

And then such a curiously sober look chased away his expression of whole-hearted enjoyment that Tom spoke up:

“What’s the matter, Cranny?”

“Tell us the secret sorrow,” chirped Dick.

The big Tacoma lad seated himself on the veranda railing, where with one foot swinging forth and back like a pendulum, he began to grin almost sheepishly.

“Say, fellows, the fact is I’m a—a—oh, hang it all, you might as well know—a—a—failure.”

“For goodness’ sake!” cried Tom—“a failure?”

“Terrible indeed to hear such a confession from one so old!” mused Dave.

“Yes, sir—or sirs—a flat failure; even a steam roller couldn’t make it flatter.”

“Hist—hist! Another case of life’s young dream forever shattered!” gurgled Don Stratton.

“Oh, it may sound very funny to you chaps,” said Cranny, “but honest to goodness, I feel pretty serious—or at least I do sometimes.”

“Go ahead, Cranny,” laughed Bob. “We’re listening now.”

“I’ve been intending to tell you ever since the train dropped me, about an hour ago, at that station back yonder and your nag, Bob, carried us over here—a hefty weight for one little horse-power, eh?”

“Stick to the point at issue,” said the Rambler, in judicial tones.

“I’ve been working in dad’s real estate office off an’ on for a long time, you know; but I couldn’t get down to the clockwork thing. It was late in the morning—late gettin’ back at lunch time, an’—an’——”

“Early leaving at night, I s’pose?” suggested Dick.

“Rather. Well, at last dad simply wouldn’t stand for it any longer, an’—an’ I don’t blame him.”

“Neither do we,” grinned Sam.

“When I received a letter from Bob Somers telling me the crowd was going to spend a short time with the Texas Rangers I got an idea.”

“Fine! Let’s share it,” cried Dick.

“Dad could have found me a job in a big wholesale house. But after thinkin’ things over a bit I put it up to him like this: ‘Father’ I said, ‘the Ramblers are in Texas.’ An’—— Say, boys, maybe he didn’t laugh!”

“Why?” demanded Tom, suspiciously.

Cranny regarded the tall lad with a quizzical air. Then, like a flash, the thoughtful expression flitted from his face. He laughed in his old, boisterous fashion.

“Because he knew what I was going to say, Tom,” he chuckled. “Both he and I think you’re the greatest bunch ever.”

“Off the subject again, Cranny,” Bob reminded him, severely.

“Ob, pardon me, your Honor. I told dad I simply must see the crowd. Say, but didn’t he look—er—er——”

“Flabbergasted?” said Dick, helpfully.

“You’ve struck it. Anyway, to boil three days’ conversation down into three minutes’ talk,—what do you think he did?” Before the others had had a chance to put in even a single word Cranny resumed speaking. “Why, good old dad actually consented to lend me three hundred plunks.

“Yes, sir. An’ he said”—the big lad fairly bubbled over with glee—“‘I consent. Join Bob Somers an’ his club in Texas; but remember, Cranny, henceforth’”—a suggestion of the sober look returned,—“‘you must carve out your own future.’”

“Help!” grinned Dick.

“And when is the carving to begin?” asked Don.

“That’s just it,” confessed Cranny. “I—I—don’t know.”

“One thing’s sure,” pronounced Don: “your pater must be very kind and indulgent.”

“You’re right,” agreed Cranny. “An’ you can just believe he did a whole lot o’ thinkin’. Oh, I know.” He jumped from his perch, to begin striding up and down. “Dad thinks I need a jolly good lesson. I reckon he figures it out this way: In about a month or two the money’ll be all gone—and then! But, by Jove, I won’t, no sir—I’ll—I’ll—— Say, fellows—honest, I don’t know what I’m good for. Speak up, philosopher.”

Stout Dave Brandon smiled genially as his eyes met Cranny’s.

“A few days’ riding about the plains with the Texas Rangers is my prescription,” he said. “The pure fresh air, the illimitable distances, the communing with nature in all its varied aspects, the——”

“Hold on—hold on!” chortled Cranny. “You’re the same old Dave. Fellows”—his tone changed to one of seriousness—“I want to make good at something. But for a few weeks I’ll just chuck all the worry stuff to the Texas winds. Dave’s right. Hooray for the Rambler Club and life with the Rangers!”

CHAPTER II
MACHINE GUNS

The crowd had arrived in the Lone Star State only a few days before. Traveling by rail, they reached a little town on the Rio Grande, visited the company headquarters of the Texas Rangers, for the time being stationed there, then put up at the rather pretentious Ledaro Hotel.

The first thing the boys did was to hire horses and provide themselves with firearms; the second, to ride off on a tour of the surrounding country. A few miles out of town, crowning the summit of a gentle rise, an abandoned ranch-house claimed their attention. Old and dilapidated, a suggestion of romance seemed to hover about its cracked and yellowed adobe walls. To those poetically inclined it conjured up thoughts of the long ago, when the sun shone on a fresh, clean structure situated amid a grassy field. But now rank weeds and scraggly bushes flourished unchecked, while vines climbed about the wooden steps or trailed over the veranda railing, as if to flaunt their disdain of the ruin which time and neglect had wrought.

Dave suggested renting the place. His idea received enthusiastic support. With Carl Alvin’s aid, they succeeded in finding the owner; and he, possessing that hospitality for which the Southern people are noted, promptly gave his consent, though the crowd had a difficult task to persuade him to accept remuneration.

Don Stratton had always been accustomed to ease and luxury, and though he couldn’t understand why the crowd should deliberately cast aside the comforts of hotel life, he proved his gameness by offering no objection to the plan.

So the ancient interior, in which perhaps for years the dreary silence had only been occasionally broken by intruding rodents scurrying across the floors or bats flapping in circular flights about the rooms, now became the temporary home of lusty, enthusiastic youths.

According to Tom, the task of putting the lower floor into habitable shape was jolly good fun. Many willing hands made the cleaning and dusting occupy but a surprisingly short time. From a clump of timber close by the boys gathered great quantities of fragrant cedar boughs; and these, skilfully fashioned, became their beds. Then, from the old, tumble-down stable in the rear, they obtained a supply of boards which enabled them to construct a table and several benches, rough and uncouth in appearance, yet strong and serviceable.

It was just about this time that the crowd had received a letter from Cranny telling them to be on the lookout for him. And now the Tacoma boy was actually there.

“Hooray for the Rambler Club!” repeated Cranny. “What a perfectly rippin’ time we’re goin’ to have, fellows! Just let me get a horse, a few shootin’ irons—then I’ll be so jolly happy I’ll——” He paused. “Just happened to think o’ that makin’-a-livin’ business,” he explained.

“Oh, cheer up!” laughed Don. “Come along. We’ll conduct you through the palace.”

“I’d be more cheerful than a song-bird in spring,” declared Cranny, “if I only knew what to do.”

The tread of many feet and the sound of voices echoed uncannily through the rooms as the lads passed from one to another. Everywhere their eyes lighted on broken plaster, decaying boards, and many a thick festoon of cobwebs dimly revealed itself in shadowy corners. Up a twisting stairway they climbed to the second floor. Here Cranny, to his surprise, always found himself coming upon unexpected rooms and passageways,—these last, dark, somber-looking places, where the accumulated dust of ages rose up in choking clouds.

“Been up on the roof yet, fellows?” he asked, suddenly noting in one of the rooms a ladder resting against a trap-door.

“Of course. It was about the second thing we did,” answered Tom. “There’s a dandy view, too.”

“Me for the roof, then,” declared Cranny.

He briskly crossed the floor; sprang up the rungs of the ladder; then the door, in response to a vigorous shove, banged on the roof, while a flood of whitish light poured through the opening.

Cranny immediately scrambled upward. For an instant his figure was sharply outlined against the blue sky, then he disappeared from view.

One by one the others followed until all stood on the gently-sloping roof, the target for a fresh, strong breeze which swept directly toward them from the land of Mexico.

Tom’s description was not exaggerated. Here and there bright spots of a yellowish color traced the course of the Rio Grande, and the low hills on the opposite side were now touched with delicate purple shadows and glowing lights.

In the vast sweep of country which their lofty perch embraced, not a living thing was in sight. The undulating surfaces stretched far off with the grasses billowing like waves of the sea, and finally melted softly into a hazy sky.

“Superb!” murmured Dave.

“Gettin’ an inspiration for a poem?” asked Cranny with a chuckle.

“Almost,” laughed the stout lad, seating himself with a sigh of satisfaction. His example was quickly followed.

Cranny still had a number of questions to ask. He wanted to know all about their experiences since they had been in Wyoming together; and the Ramblers, too, felt a keen interest to hear some further particulars in regard to his own affairs at Tacoma. Naturally all this took some time. The sun rose to the zenith and continued on its slow journey toward the west while lively tongues rattled on. Cranny was in the midst of a graphic description of his “failure” when a sound—a very faint sound coming from the distance—abruptly caused him to break off in the middle of a sentence. He glanced inquiringly toward his companions.

“What in thunder was that?” he demanded, raising his hand. “Listen!”

“Great Scott!” cried Tom, springing to his feet, and gazing intently toward the Mexican hills. “That must mean trouble not so very far away.”

Once more the sound, borne on the sweeping wind, came to their ears. It was unmistakably the rattle of a machine gun, and presently a continuous series of ominous reports convinced every one that somewhere across the Rio Grande an engagement was taking place between Federal and Revolutionary forces.

“By George! Fellows, I reckon if we ever got over there, we’d see some excitement!” Cranny Beaumont’s eyes, as he spoke, were shining with excitement. “Sounds like a hot scrap, eh?”

The Ramblers all knew the Tacoma lad’s reckless, daring nature. Wherever any excitement was going on, there Cranny wanted to be. And the eagerness of his expression plainly revealed the thoughts running through his mind.

“I’d rather stay on this side of the river,” drawled Dave. He grinned faintly. “It’s no fun, Cranny, to be anywhere in the vicinity of bursting shells, or to hear bullets singing past one’s head.”

“We know by experience, too,” said Tom loftily.

“You bet,” chimed in Don Stratton.

“A chap wouldn’t have to run into any danger,” declared Cranny, rising to join Tom, who stood near the edge of the roof. “Some day——” The lad paused, but the sparkle hadn’t faded from his eyes, nor the notes of suppressed excitement from his voice.

“He’s always out for adventure,” said Bob to Dave.

“Yes, and always bound to find it,” returned the other.

As the faint notes of warfare continued, sometimes barely perceptible above the sighing of the breeze, then again booming forth clearly, the nerves of all were tingling.

“How glad I am we’re neutral,” remarked Dave.

“How I’d like to be in an aeroplane lookin’ down upon it,” declared Cranny.

Finally the distant guns spoke at longer intervals, and at length ceased altogether.

“Yes,” said the Tacoma lad reflectively, “a jaunt into old Mexico would—— Oh, don’t shake your head, Dave—I reckon I’ll have to go—so near, you know. What! Lunch time already? By Jove! I’d almost forgotten about it. Let’s hurry—I want to hire that nag this afternoon.”

Recklessly he sprang for the trap-door, and several times the ladder threatened to collapse beneath the weight of the boys as they piled back into the room.

When they reached the lower floor, Tom explained to Cranny that he was “chef” for the afternoon.

“To-night Don takes a crack at it,” he added.

“And I reckon you’ll all want to take a crack at me after the frost is over,” grinned Don.

The Ramblers immediately got things under way. Dick kindled a fire in the old-fashioned open-grate; Bob brought forth the provisions and tin dishes, while stout Dave and Sam attended to various odds and ends.

Tom went about his duties with a stern and determined air, and Cranny, watching him with twinkling eyes, was before very long sniffing some delicious odors. A monster coffee-pot generously let the nature of its contents be known, and beans baked the day before in true lumberman’s style, now having the finishing touches supplied, helped to indicate that this meal at least would be no “frost.”

When the chef finally cried, “Fall in, fellows,” the others obeyed his summons with wonderful alacrity, and in a few moments the good things began to vanish like a flurry of snowflakes in the early spring.

About an hour later the boys were in the stable.

“Ho, for that little Mexican town, and the Texas Rangers!” exclaimed Cranny. Then his eyes traveling over the mustangs he added, “A corkin’ fine pony o’ yours, Bob.” He critically examined the brown-patched animal when the Rambler a moment later led it forth into the light.

No friendly look greeted Cranny from a pair of dark, intelligent eyes. And at almost every sound the mustang’s shaggy sides quivered; its ears were thrown back, while four active hoofs suggested the advisability of keeping a considerable distance away.

“H’m—a jolly bad-tempered little beast,” commented the lad.

“Here’s the horse-dealer’s description of him,” laughed Bob. “‘He’s hardy as a cactus, vicious as a rattler, and as ungrateful as a coyote, but he certainly can go.’”

“Well, I only hope that I can find one just like him,” declared Cranny. “They can’t be too gingery for me.”

It was a pretty difficult job to saddle “Whirly-gig,” but Bob accomplished the task with an ease that brought an admiring comment from the big Tacoma lad.

“You’re as clever as a cow-puncher in a wild-west show, Bob,” he chuckled.

“Thanks,” laughed the other. “Whoa! old boy,” he patted the pony’s neck. “Ready, fellows? Whoa—come along then!”

A clatter of hoofs echoed noisily throughout the dingy old building as the horses one by one were led outside.

“Into the saddle, boys,” cried Bob, springing into his own. “Jump up, Cranny—look out.”

Cranny, active, alert, his eyes shining with pleasure, had need to heed this caution. The mustang, “Whirly-gig,” apparently having no desire for a repetition of his early morning experience, was exhibiting a tendency to buck and dance.

Seizing a favorable moment, he matched his speed with the pony’s and won. Then almost simultaneously six mustangs leaped forward, soon to settle down into a steady, loping trot.

And a few minutes later, bathed in the bright clear sunlight, horses and riders became but tiny, far-off specks amid the ever-billowing grasses of the plain.

CHAPTER III
THE RANGERS

The importance of the little Texas town on the Rio Grande could not in justice be estimated by the size of its population. Situated in a thriving agricultural district, and near a stock-raising region, with ore deposits and coal lands to be found not far away, it had gradually developed into a center of trade for the surrounding country.

Founded by the Spaniards almost one hundred and fifty years before, some portions of the town still bore a faint impress of their domination in the quaint, pleasing architecture of the buildings. Others again were as characteristically Mexican in appearance as though belonging to towns on the other side of the Rio.

The demands of a rapid, hustling, up-to-date age, however, was bringing about a change. Modern buildings sprang up, overtopping their primitive, adobe neighbors, and, like the cattlemen retreating before the steady advance of the homesteaders and farmers, a certain element of charm was slowly vanishing from this frontier town.

Its inhabitants, too, were as varied in character as the streets. Cow-punchers, Mexican vaqueros and men of business, such as might be seen in any Eastern city, mingled together. The Mexicans, usually long-haired and swarthy, their costumes often enlivened by gaudily-colored sashes or handkerchiefs, furnished perhaps the most picturesque note.

The traveler who stopped here was apt to have his ears assailed by a strange jargon of tongues. Sometimes it was English, sometimes Spanish, or it might be a curious combination of the two.

An International bridge connected the town with another, considerably smaller in size, on the Mexican side of the river. The railroad also crossed at this point.

A company headquarters of Texas Rangers which had been located in this section of Texas for some time was in charge of Captain Julius Braddock. The officer, an old-time cattleman, had passed most of his life on the plains. In the early part of his career the “bad man” of the border and elsewhere occupied a far more conspicuous position than he does in this age, when civilization is constantly reaching farther and farther afield. And he could tell, and often did, stories of actual experiences with cattle rustlers and other desperate characters, which made the usual motion-picture drama on the same subject appear by comparison quite tame indeed.

Captain Braddock was sitting at his desk in one corner of the big room, when the door suddenly opened, and, on looking up in surprise, he saw a great crowd of boys pushing their way inside.

“Hello!” he exclaimed, the stern lines on his rugged, weather-beaten face relaxed into a smile of welcome. “You all here again, and—’pon my word—what? Still another?”

He rose to his feet and advanced to a rail, his keen gray eyes fixed on Cranny Beaumont’s smiling face.

“Yes, sir; still another,” echoed the lad with a chuckle. “How are you, Captain Braddock?—the boys have told me all about you.”

After a more formal introduction by Bob Somers, breezy Cranny began to chat with all his accustomed ease and frankness. He told him about his plans; about the “cracker-jack” nag called “Starlight” he had just hired from a horse-dealer in town; he mentioned a rifle and revolver bought but a few minutes before, and altogether managed to impress the bluff old captain most favorably.

“So you’re out for adventure before settling down to the more serious pursuits of life,” he said finally, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, sir,” replied Cranny. “I say, Captain, has there been anythin’ doin’ around here lately?”

The officer looked thoughtful.

“Quite a great deal,” he answered slowly.

“To-day, from the roof of our ranch-house, we heard the sound of firing!” broke in Tom.

“I am not surprised,” said Captain Braddock. “Reports to the effect that the Mexicans were fighting close to the river reached us. The Federals are now in possession of the opposite town, but I understand that an army of Constitutionalists is encamped not twenty miles away.”

“Gracious!” murmured Cranny.

“What an unfortunate state of affairs!” put in Dave. “If the warring factions could only get together and put as much energy in developing the wonderful resources of their country as they do in fighting, how much more sensible it would be!”

The Tacoma lad scarcely heard this observation. To one of his reckless, adventurous temperament, the thought of actually visiting a town where such stirring events were possible held an irresistible attraction for him. He made up his mind to run over to the other side of the Rio before very long—even if he had to make the trip alone.

The sound of their voices presently brought several of the Rangers, Carl Alvin among them, from an adjoining room.

The members of the force did not have the spick and span appearance of the scarlet-coated Royal Northwest Mounted Police of Canada, among whom the Ramblers had spent some time the summer before. A certain bearing, however, gained through years of hard service, was sufficiently authoritative without additional embellishments.

“Hello, fellows! Mighty glad to see you,” hailed Carl Alvin. He turned to the others. “These are the chaps I told you about.”

Thereupon he introduced the crowd to big Tom Raulings, Oscar Chaney and Jack Stovall.

“Well, what do you youngsters think you’re goin’ to do out here, anyway?” drawled Jack, chuckling audibly.

“For one thing—trail the Rangers a bit,” grinned Cranny. “We want to find out what their job’s like. My—it must be dandy fun, ridin’ around the country all day, an’——”

“I’ll wager them there notions won’t stick long in your head,” put in Jim. “’Tain’t no easy snap.”

“But in the old days things was a heap worse,” exclaimed Stovall, the youngest of the four. “Then Texas was full o’ outlaw bands an’ cattle rustlers. The ranchmen and cow-punchers used to have some mighty hot times, an’ the man who was slow on the draw didn’t stan’ much show!”

“You’re right there, Jack,” affirmed Captain Braddock. “I know, for I’ve seen a bit of gun play in my time.”

“Here’s what I mean, fellers,” went on Stovall.

Walking to the center of the room he began to give an exhibition of “the draw.” From almost every conceivable position, both on the ground and standing, the tall, raw-boned Texan showed with what remarkable rapidity and dexterity a man can draw his pistol and aim.

The boys enthusiastically applauded his efforts.

“Thanks; glad ye like it,” said Stovall, with a broad grin. “Whew! Maybe I ain’t some hot after all that.”

“Say, Jack, do you chaps have any drills?” asked Tom Clifton.

“Drills?” repeated Stovall. “An’ what for, I’d like to know?”

Captain Braddock, with a laugh at the scorn expressed in the Ranger’s voice, now excused himself, a proceeding which Dave promptly took advantage of by starting toward the nearest bench.

“I’m uncommonly tired, fellows,” he explained.

“Drills!” remarked Jack a second time, when all were comfortably seated. “No siree! An’ why? ’cause no chap ever gits appointed to the force unless he’s shown beforehand he’s got the goods!”

“How many men are in this company?” asked Bob.

“Besides the cap’n and sergeant, there’s fifteen privates. Altogether we have four companies o’ Rangers. One quartermaster acts as commissary an’ paymaster for the whole business.”

“That’s a pretty big job, eh?”

“You can just believe it is. He has to make his accounting to the adjutant-general of the state. An’ of course the company commanders send in their reports to him, too. Whenever a detail from a company or detachment headquarters is forced to be away longer’n twenty-four hours the cap’n must report the object of the expedition, the reasons for it and the name of the Ranger in charge.”

“Yes; an’ this company is about as busy as any,” put in Chaney. “You see, onct in a while, when Mexican bandits find it gettin’ too hot for ’em in their own country they take a little trip over the Rio Grande, an’ our job is to see that they don’t stay here long.”

“How much authority have you?” asked Tom.

“Enough to make a whole lot of tough characters fight mighty shy of us,” spoke up Alvin. “The act of the legislature covering our case speaks of a ‘rangers force for the protection of the frontier against marauding and thieving parties and for the suppression of lawlessness and crime throughout the state.’”

“We aid the regular civil authorities,” explained Raulings. “When an arrest is made the Rangers must convey the prisoner to the county in whose jurisdiction he was at the time of the commission of the crime.”

“Then sometimes you get a bully chance to see the country,” said Don.

“Yes. I’ve even ridden in real trains while in the discharge of my duties,” laughed Oscar Chaney.

“What weapons do you carry?” asked Cranny.

“A Winchester rifle and a pistol,” answered Alvin. “They are supplied to us at cost.”

“But we’ve got to furnish our own horses an’ clothing,” said Raulings.

“Suppose somebody should draw a bead on your nag, and the next minute he keeled over; what then?” inquired Cranny.

“When a horse is killed in action the state gives another free of charge.”

“There’s a detachment from this company temporarily located many miles from here, an’ this bunch is detailed to take a ride over there to-morrow,” put in Stovall. “We’ll be ridin’ within sight o’ your old ranch-house early in the morning. Want to come along?”

“I should say so!” declared Cranny, enthusiastically.

“Yes siree,” said Tom.

“We’re off on scoutin’ expeditions all the time,” explained Raulings. “An’ that means roughin’ it enough to suit anybody. This here one——” The Ranger stopped suddenly, his eyes roved in the direction of the captain; then, seeing no movement on the latter’s part he resumed in a lower tone, “An’ this here one——”

“Oh, pshaw! Man—there isn’t any secret about it,” interrupted Stovall, impatiently. “Speak up!”

“Yes; fire away!” urged Cranny, the flashing light which so often came into his eyes now strongly in evidence.

“Wal, rustlers have started up work ag’in! Cattle is gettin’ stole right an’ left.”

“Rustlers!” broke in Tom, interestedly.

“Yes. An’ the job o’ this here bunch o’ Texas Rangers is to ketch them fellers or run ’em out o’ the state,” declared Stovall. The lines on his youthful face became hard and stern. “The ranchmen are mighty hot about it, too. There’s Colonel Sylvester of the ‘Eagle Pass’ Ranch—some o’ his stock is missin’ an’——”

Cranny Beaumont rose to his feet.

“Fellows!” he exclaimed impressively. “I wonder if we’re going to run into any excitement!”

“Don’t think of such things, Cranny,” begged Dave. “I’m just longing for a nice quiet trip.”

“Haven’t you any clues?” asked Bob.

“Nary a one,” responded Jack. “I reckon, though, it’s the work of a purty well organized band o’ outlaws.”

“An’ to change the subject, boys,” interposed Raulings, “don’t forget that little job we have on hand for Colonel Sylvester. The last time I saw him he was all worked-up about that kid.”

Ranger Chaney was the only one who heard this speech, for at that precise moment all the boys rose to their feet, which, together with Cranny’s boisterous laughter at some observation of Dave’s, and a lively rattle of tongues, proved quite sufficient to distract the others’ attention.

“I reckon he’s skipped from these parts a’ready,” remarked Chaney.

“An’ I reckon he ain’t,” returned the other.

A few minutes later the crowd took leave of the Rangers, promising to keep a sharp lookout for them on the following morning.

Cranny Beaumont was in a very happy frame of mind. The Tacoma lad had another interesting subject to occupy his mind just now—the cattle rustlers. And it would be a mighty strange thing, he thought, if between them and a visit to the Mexican side of the “Rio Bravo” he didn’t run into some kind of excitement before his visit to Texas was over. And excitement to Cranny seemed almost as necessary to existence as food and drink.

CHAPTER IV
THE INVADERS

The moon had risen and was casting a pale, greenish radiance over the picturesque little town, when the seven, who had been seated on the spacious veranda of a restaurant, reluctantly decided that it was time to go. Under the magic of the soft illumination the harshness of line and color had departed. Even the grim-looking grain elevator near the railroad tracks, a flat mass of bluish gray rising against a luminous sky, wore an aspect of calm serenity which fitted well into a scene full of silvery lights and mysterious shadows.

“Ah, how superb is nature,” sighed Dave.

“What a superb meal we had,” chuckled Don.

“An’ what a superb ride is before us,” chimed in Cranny.

He was the first to dash down the wooden steps, the first to spring into the saddle, and he also led the procession of riders which presently swung into the broad white road.

Waving their hands in response to salutations from several interested spectators, the boys allowed the mustangs to break into a lively gallop, which they kept up until the railroad crossing was reached. There, a long line of slowly-moving freight cars filled with crates of onions barred their way.

“Huh!” said Tom, “I guess there’s enough of ’em to melt the whole world to tears.”

“This little Texas town,” remarked Sam quite solemnly, “enjoys the distinction of being one of the largest onion-shipping points in the world.”

“Do tell,” grinned Cranny.

“And you might as well learn that the soil is good for all sorts of truck and farm products. Figs, grapes, watermelons, cantaloupes, and cabbages.”

“That sounds like a Chamber of Commerce booklet,” laughed Dick.

“When knowledge is being disseminated, don’t interrupt,” said Sam severely.

“I say, Mr. Speaker, where did you capture that last word?” gurgled Cranny. “Don’t spring anythin’ like that again so suddenly or——”

The lad did not complete his sentence for the cars had rattled by and the impatient mustangs, like hounds unleashed, abruptly started off on their own accord.

At a rapid pace the seven clattered along. The houses became farther and farther apart until finally the last one was reached and left behind, and they saw stretching before them a broad undulating country.

Beneath a grove of cottonwoods by the side of the road they reined up.

“Hello!” exclaimed Cranny, looking behind. “There’s that little Mexican town.”

“So it is,” said Tom.

They could see a few twinkling lights, some apparently poised in space, and a darkish patch stretching across the Rio—the International bridge.

Half an hour later, now on the open prairie, the boys had halted once more. Their eyes were following a train on the railroad, which had its terminus at a rapidly growing settlement on the river about twenty-five miles away. They watched the tiny starlike points of light blinking from the car windows, now flashing into view, now blotted from sight, as intervening objects came between, with an interest born of the solitude and silence which surrounded them.

“Fine,” said Cranny, “but I’m glad I’m not aboard. Ha, ha! Just think, Sergeant Howell doesn’t want us to go out huntin’ for adventures.”

“We never have to,” returned Sam, quite truthfully, “for our crowd is always running into them.”

“I do hope this trip will be an exception,” said Dave, with a yawn. “What do you say, Bob?”

“Either way suits me,” laughed the other.

“I’m watchfully waiting for something to start pretty soon,” remarked Dick, laughingly. “Better be prepared, Dave, old chap.”

“Come on, fellows,” cried Cranny.

The boys were soon following an old cattle trail. The hoofs of countless animals, which for years had followed this route to the town, had beaten a path almost as plainly marked in places as though the hand of man had taken part in its making.

“Just think of the thousands and thousands,” said Tom, thoughtfully. “My, mustn’t it take an awful number of cattle to supply the world?”

“The state of Texas does its share,” declared Dave. “Why, in San Antonio County alone, an area as great as Belgium, Holland and Denmark could be tucked away and still there would be plenty of space to spare.”

“Well,” said Cranny, “no wonder everything around here looks so big.”

Soon the party reached a dense thicket of chaparral, which merged into a brake of cottonwoods and willows, interspersed with mesquite and prickly pears. The moonbeams filtered through the dense masses of vegetation in silvery streaks; here spotting the tree trunks, there detaching branches and leaves from the shadowy, mysterious background.

The soft, musical sighings and rustlings, as the breeze stole through this leafy coverlet, made of it a place conducive to thought and reflections, and even Cranny Beaumont fell under its spell. And what was more natural than that he should recall the time when, with three hundred dollars in his pocket, he had left home henceforth to depend upon himself.

Three hundred dollars! Why, at that time it had seemed like a fortune, enough to go forth and conquer the world. Yet now—he didn’t like to think of it—his finances were dwindling rapidly. The hiring of “Starlight” and the purchasing of firearms had cut a pretty big hole in his resources. Was he to go back to his father—a failure?

“No, never!” he murmured. He bit his lip almost savagely. “I must find a way!”

And despite the lively conversation of his companions and the bantering remarks which his continued silence brought from them, the Tacoma lad continued to ponder over the important problem.

A few miles beyond the timber they began to see familiar objects.

“Not far now, fellows,” sang out Tom, at length. “The old ranch-house is just beyond the next rise.”

“And after such a glorious ride, how glorious it will be to crawl under a blanket and reflect upon the lovely things we have seen,” said Dave.

“I’d rather steer away from reflections,” declared Cranny, who was beginning to recover his spirits. “I’ll race you to the top, Tom.”

The Ramblers promptly accepted this challenge, and the two, cracking their quirts, started off. The distance, only a few hundred feet, was quickly covered; “Starlight,” to Cranny’s extreme gratification, leading by a head. But the first glance he took toward the ranch-house stifled his shout of triumph and made him utter an exclamation of surprise instead.

“Just look at that, Tom!” he gasped. “Did you ever see anythin’ to beat it?”

Tom was staring in open-mouthed wonder.

The grim, square outlines of the ancient ranch-house made a dark silhouette against the cloudless sky. All of its windows but two appeared as dark, gloomy patches; and from these exceptions a dull glow of yellowish light struggled forth.

Their castle had been invaded.

CHAPTER V
NEW FRIENDS

A chorus of exclamations arose when the others rode up.

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Dick. “Say! Maybe this isn’t some surprise.”

“Well, I like that,” cried Tom, fiercely.

“I don’t,” said Don, with decided frankness.

“We’ll just dash right down and see what it all means. Come on, fellows.”

The impetuous Tom, quite as indignant as though the ranch-house were his own private property, was about to act upon his own suggestion, when Don hastily voiced an emphatic protest.

“Wait—hold on!” he cried.

Don had been thinking about Jim Raulings’ revelation regarding the cattle rustlers. Was it safe, he demanded, to rush heedlessly ahead, not knowing who might be there to confront them? Suppose, for instance, they should belong to a band such as the Texas Rangers had described—what then?

“Oh, pshaw!” scoffed Cranny, his eyes sparkling with interest. “It’s no use to call for the police. I’ll bet there isn’t one due on this beat for another moon. Besides we’re seven—all armed—— That for the cattle rustlers!” He snapped his fingers.

“Let ’er rip!” cried Tom.

And then Don saw the others flash away from his side and go swinging down the gentle incline. With a feeling of apprehension the lad slowly followed.

The moonlight falling across the dusky 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.