Chapter VI: On Guard

"Douse the glim, first of all, Lanky!" said Frank Allen without a second's hesitation. Frank seemed always ready for action, which was one of his strong points.

Lanky thereupon blew out the lamp, and the three boys found themselves in vague darkness. The late rising moon was above the horizon, but the western side of the ranch house was wrapped in the shadows.

"Now, let's keep mum and watch," whispered Frank. "He'll think the last comer has turned in, and the coast will soon be clear. Pretty near time for the boys to shut up shop over there in the radio den."

"Getting ready to wind-up when I left," murmured Paul. "Lige has a rule, you know, that every puncher must hit the hay by eleven, so's to be up with the sunrise."

Silence fell upon them.

Minutes crept on as the boys crouched by the window, eager for the first glimpse of the strange little unknown man whose former mysterious actions had so engrossed their curiosity.

Now and then one of them would stir, or it might be heave a heavy sigh, as though this pent-up enthusiasm was making serious inroads on his patience. The cramped position in which they maintained their vigil added to the discomfort of the situation.

For some little time the boys heard the voices and subdued laughter of the punchers, as some of them came out, to wander over in the direction of the horse corral, in order to have a last look, so as to make sure all was right in that quarter.

Even that died out by degrees, and then absolute silence descended upon the vicinity of the ranch buildings. Up to the coming of the guests from the East there had been a pack of mongrel dogs connected with Rockspur Ranch; but Frank and his pals had seen neither hide nor hair of any for some time.

The time began to drag terribly, and Frank himself feared none of them would be able to stand it much longer. But presently Lanky pinched his arm and breathed into his ear the words:

"Saw something move just then--might have been a slinking coyote, but I reckon it had only two legs, Frank!"

"Where?" the other whispered back, feeling a thrill of expectation, as it began to appear as though their weary vigil might meet with some measure of success.

"See that star low down near the horizon--just to the right of that bush."

"I get you, Lanky!"

"I hit the bullseye, Frank, because there he is again!" continued the owner of the eagle vision.

All of the chums had their eyes glued on the point Lanky had mentioned, for the brilliant setting star was plainly visible. Yes, something was moving, for a fact, and it must be either a venturesome coyote prowling around in search of a toothsome bone or else a man down on his knees, crawling toward the ranch house.

Closer came the object of their scrutiny. Presently Frank gave a low and suggestive grunt.

"A man, all right," he muttered.

"Heading right this way, too," chucked Lanky, well pleased over the way things were working out.

A hiss from Frank warned the others that greater caution than ever was now necessary. It would be too bad if after all some thoughtless act on their part should frighten off the queer little "sawed-off," as Lanky refereed to the moonlight visitor.

Every few minutes they could see that he elevated his head as though to take a wide survey, and thus made doubly certain he was not creeping into a trap.

"It's the runt, as sure as anything!" Lanky told himself. "Know that bushy-top anywhere I could glimpse it! Gee whiz! I sure do wonder what sort of a stunt he's meanin' to pull off this time."

Just then, as the intruder was close enough to be fairly seen in the moonlight, Lanky made a discovery that added to his keen curiosity. In one hand the man carried what looked like an ordinary spade, as though his purpose had something to do with digging.

It was plain to be seen that the fellow meant to approach close to the boys' shelter. He was heading in a direct line for the magnificent tree growing near that corner of the low building, the very first one Josh Kinney had planted, and now highly esteemed during the hot hummer days for the grateful shade its foliage cast.

Now the prowler reached a spot close to the thick trunk of this tree, and, after a good look around, he seemed to be measuring with a tape-line.

The nerves of that trio of watchers so close by quivered with excitement. As their lookout was bathed in deep shadow there was no possibility of their being seen by the intruder, even though he looked directly that way, if only the boys made no movement.

Satisfied at length after several trials that he had struck the exact location for which he searched, the man, still bending down, started to push the spade into the turf.

It was soft and pliable so near the house, where the shade of the foliage above prevented the sun from baking the surface. Consequently, the dwarf seemed to be having no great difficulty in digging.

He worked in utmost silence. Not once did Frank catch the slightest sound, as of the spade striking a root or a possible stone. Indeed, in a way it was uncanny. Lanky, being gifted with a lively imagination, could easily picture the queer little man as a ghostly grave-digger, plying his trade at this hour approaching midnight.

It was useless trying to guess what object the fellow had in view, for the boys had not the remotest clue to guide them. But by exercising patience they were likely to find the solution of the mystery when he "struck oil."

His caution still clung to him, it seemed, and he took nothing for granted. As systematically as clock-work that bushy head would be raised and turned around in every direction. Then, as if convinced he had nothing to fear, the digger would once more get down to work and deepen the hole he had already made.

Apparently, whatever he was after must be buried at some considerable depth below the surface. Already he had quite a good-sized pile of loam heaped up.

Then, all of a sudden, he seemed to take the alarm, for the boys saw him flatten out until he "looked like a flapjack on the ground."

At the same moment a distant sound, as of the regular beat of a pony's hoofs, was faintly borne to the ears of the watching boys. They all understood what it meant, knowing that Buster Lightfoot had been missing at supper and was believed to be far off on the range looking up strays.

He was now returning on a tired pony, and doubtless himself as hungry as a wolf. Yes, now the boys knew he was turning Buckskin into the corral, after which they could see him heading for the bunk-house, his burly frame looming up in the slanting rays of the failing moon.

Buster knew better than to make any undue racket when returning at so late an hour, for he would have had the rest of the boys about his ears like a swarm of angry bees. He would find plenty of food laid aside for him by the experienced Charlie Gin Sing, and after disposing of the bread and meat and the hot coffee contained in an enormous thermos jug, he was expected to turn in for the rest he so sadly needed.

In due time all was quiet again, and the digger once more tackled his job, with a stubborn spirit worthy of admiration. Lanky liked his nerve in thus taking such great chances of being discovered and caught, when he might expect to be given a good hiding.

It would seem as though the man with the spade must attain the object of his search before long, since the hole was already of some depth. As a consequence the boys found themselves more worked up than ever.

Lanky discovered that his right arm was feeling prickly all over. He knew what that meant, for it was not the first time his arm or leg had gone to sleep from a continuous pressure of some sort.

His intention was to change around and lean with his left arm, if only it could be managed, for he surely did not wish to lose sight of things at this critical stage of the affair.

It proved to be rather an unfortunate design on his part for his right arm was as helpless as though paralyzed so when he tried to move it played him a most dastardly and treacherous trick, actually crashing through the window and shattering the pane of glass into a thousand pieces!