WHERE ARE THE BURROS?

After Tally had the horses ready and waiting for a start in the morning, Ranger Johnson announced: “Sorry I’m not to be in on this picnic to-day, friends, but my pal Oliver and I take turn and turn about. And this is his day off. He says he’ll be delighted to ride over to Lake Park with you-all and back-trail to Grass Mountain after leaving you in camp up at Mountain View.”

“Is Lake Park near the trail we plan to follow?” asked Mrs. Vernon.

“Yes; in fact it forms the eastern boundary line of the Park,” explained Johnson. “By riding to Lake Park you get a wholesale group of sights in one day. There is Santa Lake, Aspen Mountain, Stewart’s Lake, Santa FÉ Baldy, and Spirit Lake. You ought to be able to get along the up-trail before sundown and pitch camp at the first good spring or camp-site you come to. Oliver says he can see you comfortably settled for this night and then ride back here, as he knows these trails by heart.”

“That’s awfully good of him, Johnson, but we have no right to take his day like that,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Why, he’ll enjoy the outing more than any of you. It’s so seldom we get a chance to picnic with the sort of people who make things pleasant,” said Johnson.

So it was settled that Oliver should go with them that day, and in less than ten minutes’ time Johnson was left standing on a bowlder envying the good times his chum was about to have with the scout-party.

Having ridden down from Grass Mountain and crossed the trail to take a short cut to Lake Park, it was Oliver’s suggestion to leave the three packburros hobbled somewhere along the trail. As the scouts could ride on twice as fast, and be able to get back to the Pecos River trail that much sooner, this plan was agreed upon, and Oliver showed Tally an excellent spot where the animals might graze during the day. The packs were cached under some rocks, and the burros secured, then the scouts rode away to the park as had been outlined by the Ranger at breakfast that morning. By four o’clock that afternoon, the scouts sent Tally for the burros, and then, reaching Winsor, said good-by to Oliver, who continued on the trail to his station, while they rode on further and pitched camp on the Pecos River, just south of Panchuelo.

They had been undecided whether, after reaching Panchuelo, to take the trail that followed the Rio del Pueblo for some distance on the trail to Taos, or whether to turn northwest and follow the trail to Truchas, thence northeast to Taos. Therefore at the breakfast, next morning, a vote was taken and because there was a possibility of having Ranger Sanderson and Mr. Burt overtake them on that trail from Santa FÉ to Taos, Truchas trail won the election.

Panchuelo was located at the fork of these two Taos trails and the scouts wished to ride on a short distance to visit Round Mountain and Pecos Baldy, so they debated what to do with the burros.

“What’s the use of dragging these slow coaches over the trail to the mountains and back again?” demanded Mr. Gilroy. “Why not do as Oliver did yesterday—find a place to hobble them and, later, send Tally to get them?”

“All right!” agreed Mr. Vernon. “Tally, we’ll ride on, and you hide the burros somewhere along the trail where they can graze till you come for them.”

“But do not unpack? We won’t be at the peaks more than three hours,” added Mrs. Vernon.

After breakfast the party rode on to the Forest Station, where they were cordially received. Not till they stopped to look around were the scouts aware of the altitude of Panchuelo. Now they stood in the Lookout gazing upon the peaks of surrounding mountains which stood out clearly in the morning light; they found that the far-down dots betokened villages and camps in the valleys. Silvery streams winding here or there showed where the Pecos and other rivers followed the course of least resistance.

Having visited and photographed everything of interest at the station the scouts bid good-by to the Foresters and rode away to the northeast point of the triangle trail, thence westerly to the Truchas point, where they were to meet the guide. He was not there.

“How could he be, when he has three burros to push and pull along the road?” said Julie.

Finally, waiting got to be irksome, and the Captain suggested that some one return to the Panchuelo point of the trail to see if anything had happened to the Indian or to the burros.

Then Tally himself came to explain.

“Boss, dem burros all gone!” he gasped. “I hunt and hunt an’ I axe ever’ one what pass, but nobody see dem!”

“Why! Where do you suppose they could have gone?” gasped Mr. Gilroy. But Tally was already on the way back, so they all turned and followed him.

“Tally, what do you say? did the burros run back to Grass Mountain? If they did we shall soon know because Oliver will bring them down,” said Mr. Gilroy.

“Burros go down-trail,” remarked Tally, “Not ’lone; two man-riders drive ’em.”

This amazing information surprised the scouts, and Mr. Gilroy said: “How do you know.”

Tally explained about faint impressions made by the hoofs of the burros, and the tracks made by two larger animals.

After a time they came back to the place where the burros had been left.

“Dem men not gone long. He drop ash here, see?” and the guide pointed to a small rock beside the trail where some one had knocked the ashes from a smoking-pipe.

“Even that does not prove it to be from a man to-day. That may be from last night,” returned Mr. Vernon, deeply interested in Tally’s deductions.

“Dem foot-tracks not last night’s,” said Tally, showing plainly where the grass had been pressed flat.

“If that had been from last night the dew would have freshened it so that the blades would have straightened again,” added Betty, her scout-lore expressing itself.

“Then we’d better ride on and overtake the zealous assistants!” was the Captain’s advice.

“You mean if they allow us to,” Mr. Gilroy amended. Tally had jumped into his saddle and now he started ahead of the others, but he kept his eyes fixed upon the faint tracks in the trail as he went. Halfway between Panchuelo and Winsor was a trail which ran along the northly boundary of Lake Park and so on down to Santa FÉ. This they followed, the guide leading. Just before they reached the foot of Santa FÉ Baldy they came to a rushing torrent with a rough-hewn bridge of logs across it.

Tally halted, and said: “Burros and riders no go up-trail f’om here. Mebbe men lead um up brook to fores’,” and the guide pointed to a small tributary which emptied into the larger stream which was spanned by the bridge upon which his horse stood.

“Well, Tally, what shall we do?” asked Mr. Gilroy.

“Me scout here for signs if he’em come out. Tally got full gun,” the Guide patted a Colt’s revolver upon his hip. “Boss take some scouts up-trail an’ keep look-out for Ranger San’son, en some scout go wid Mr. Vernon down-trail f’om Winsor en ask eve’y touris’ if dey see men who got packburros what look familiar, see?”

“Yes, I see, Tally. But they may be down at one of the towns by now, and the animals with our packs sold. Or they may be hiding in the woods, waiting for a chance to come out again. Whichever it is we will be without camping equipment and nowhere to get new things,” worried Mrs. Vernon.

“You-all got hosses. Always scouts kin ride to hotel and get bed and board,” was Tally’s practical reply.

“You’re right, Tally; some of us go Lake Park trail, and some ride the Aspen Mountain trail and wait at Bishop’s Lodge. You stay and hunt man, but be sure and meet us before dark at the Lodge,” said Mr. Gilroy.

It was sundown that evening, when the girls, accompanied by Mr. Vernon and the Captain, rode up to Bishop’s Lodge to secure accommodations for the night. Tally and Mr. Gilroy were out on the trails still hunting for the men who had stolen the burros. While Mr. Vernon registered, the girls stood near by talking.

“It’s just like a horrid nightmare where you start for a place and some unseen foe holds you back,” said Joan.

“I suppose Sandy and Mr. Burt are almost up in Taos by this time,” wailed Julie.

“Who’s taking our names in vain?” called a genial voice from behind a wide-open newspaper. The man thus screened, sat in a chair in the corner. Now he jumped up and laughingly came forward.

“Wby, Sandy! Where did you come from?” cried the girls in one voice.

“Right straight to you from that corner,” said the Ranger, pointing to the paper on the chair.

“My! but you’re good for sore eyes, old chap,” remarked Mr. Vernon, shaking hands with the Ranger.

“Yes, eyes sore from hunting for needles lost in a haystack,” laughed Julie.

Sanderson smiled at her as she spoke. He had not believed Julie so enchanting as he now found her to be. But the recital of a tale of woe now demanded his attention. When Mr. Vernon’s story was ended, the Ranger’s advice was asked.

“Burt and I arrived here not twenty minutes before you came. He is out somewhere, but I wanted to see the papers before dinner. I saw you come up to the door and I hid myself to see what you would do when you found me,” explained Sanderson.

Then he proceeded to outline what could be done to get the burros as well as the men, common rustlers without a doubt, who had stolen the animals.

“We have the beasts insured, Sandy, and I’m not worried about them, but we had dandy camping outfits as you know, and we need them for our entire season,” complained Mr. Vernon.

“Leave it to me, Mr. Vernon, and you’ll get them all back in no time,” promised Sanderson, “but that means I shall have to leave you here with Burt while I run back to Santa FÉ to pick up a coupla guides who can find anything in New Mexico.”

Sanderson, merely leaving word for Burt, rode away on his wonderful horse to Santa FÉ, to find the Indians, of whom he had spoken. He said he would be back at the lodge that night in order to start his men on the hunt at dawn in the morning.

As long as the scouts had visited the Pecos Region and now were down where the trail ran north to the Nambe Indian Pueblos, and thence on to Truchas and northwest to Taos, it was agreed that they would ride with Sanderson and Burt when they started up that trail.

For various reasons the scouts refused to retire that night. One was, Sanderson had not yet returned; another was that they fully expected to have Tally and Mr. Gilroy come in at any moment, and they wished to be on hand to hear all the news if either party arrived.

“Evidently, Sandy has not had so simple a job in finding his Indians, as he had expected,” remarked Mr. Burt, glancing at his watch. It was just eleven.

By eleven-thirty Betty was dozing, and the other girls were doing their best to stifle sleepy yawns. At a quarter to twelve they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs in the court-yard outside, and they all ran to the door to see who it might be.

“Behold the conquering heroes come!” sang Mr. Gilroy, rolling from his horse and limping up to the scouts.

“Oh, Gilly!” exclaimed the girls, trying to peer through the darkness to see who was with Mr. Gilroy.

“Ish me, an’ we got burros all fine!” laughed Tally, finding the scouts could not see him through the darkness of the night.

“And some ride we’ve had from Lake Park here!” grumbled Mr. Gilroy. “Had it not been for those bully Rangers, Tally and I might have lost our way again and again.”

“Oh, Boss! Not say so for Tally!” exclaimed the Indian. “You know you mek me go your trail an’ he’em alius wrong one. But you be Boss, and Tally have to mind you.”

As every one laughed at this, Burt added: “Come in, Tally, and tell us all about it. At the same time we’ll see if there’s a chance of getting at the pantry to find you some supper.”

Burt enlisted the sympathies of the night-clerk who went with the newspaper man to the culinary regions. Within ten minutes’ time they both returned.

“Now, then, boys, you come with me and sit down to the impromptu spread,” was Burt’s hearty invitation to the belated wanderers.

“We’re all coming,” declared Julie; “if we don’t, you’ll hear the whole story and then we girls’ll have to have it warmed over.”

Mr. Gilroy laughed. “Come on, you’re in the game.”

After sitting down to a table in the corner of the room the two men spoke not a word but plied knife and fork diligently for a time. Finally Julie exclaimed: “Don’t use all your power on the supper—spare a little with which to tell the story.” And Mr. Gilroy obeyed.