The Boy Ranchers in Camp: or, The Water Fight at Diamond X

The eastern lads looked to Bud for confirmation, and their cousin, nodded, rather gloomily, though.

"Yes," said Bud, "fish do come through the pipe. But if we don't get any more water they'll all die off soon."

"Maybe the water will come back – as it did before," asserted Dick.

Bud did not answer. He appeared to be figuring out something on the back of an old envelope with the stub of a pencil.

"We'll have enough for a week, I think," finally announced the boy rancher. "Then, if the water doesn't come back, we'll have to drive all the stock over to Diamond X. Can't take a chance letting 'em die of thirst here, even if they didn't stampede, which they'd be sure to do."

Two things are vitally necessary on a ranch – grass and water for the stock. Of grass there was plenty in Flume Valley, and, had the stream continued to come through the pipe, there would have been a goodly supply of water, even for the extra stock added from Square M.

But when no fluid spurted from the mouth of the black pipe, the other end being hidden in the opening of the natural water course, it spelled ruin for Diamond X Second.

"I wonder – I just wonder – if this has anything to do with the threat we received?" mused Bud, as he and his cousins went down the slope to the little table of land where the tents were pitched.

"Granting that it has, who sent the warning?" asked Nort.

"Who else but the man who doesn't want to see any water diverted from Pocut River?" asked Bud, in turn. "I mean Hank Fisher, and the gang he trails along with! If anyone stopped this water, he did!"

"But how?" asked Yellin' Kid, who had strolled up to take part in the general conversation. "He couldn't do it at th' river end of th' pipe, without bein' found out, and he hasn't been around here, I'll gamble on that – not since we started keepin' watch at night."

"No, he hasn't been here," admitted Bud, slowly. "It sure is a puzzle. Well, let's have grub, and talk about it later. It may come back. If it doesn't we have enough for a week – maybe longer."

It was drinking water for the cattle that was mostly needed, since the occasional, slight rainfall was now sufficient to provide for the grass, though some water was used to irrigate certain sections that would be called "meadows" in the east. This drinking water was conducted to distant troughs by pipes running from the reservoir, the pipes being controlled by means of valves, or water gates.

Had there been natural water-holes in Flume Valley it would, long ago, have been used as a place to raise cattle. But it was the absence of drinking places that caused it to be passed by, until, by artificial means, tapping the river through the underground course, Mr. Merkel had enabled his son and nephews to become boy ranchers in earnest.

As Bud had stated, there was about a week's supply on reserve in the concrete reservoir. When that was exhausted, unless the water again started flowing through the pipe, the cattle would suffer from thirst.

"Well, she isn't spouting any," mournfully remarked Nort, as, with his brother and Bud, he ascended the slope, standing on the edge of the reservoir.

"No," agreed Bud. "She's as dry as an old buffalo skull now. I don't know what to do!"

The shadows of dusk were falling, and the boys felt that the night was coming with its gloom to match their own feelings. Failure seemed to stare them in the face.

"But I don't see how anyone – granting that somebody like Hank Fisher or Del Pinzo has it in for us – can shut off the water without operating at either end of the flume!" exclaimed Nort.

"That is queer," agreed Bud. "I wonder what's inside that tunnel where the old watercourse runs? I've been through it, but couldn't see much of anything. I've a good notion – "

He broke off his remarks to gaze intently ahead. There was a movement in the gloom, and a figure walked away.

"Who's there?" asked Bud sharply, his hand slipping to his .45.

"It's me," came quickly, if not grammatically, from Pocut Pete, whose voice the boys recognized. "I just moseyed up here t' see if she was runnin'."

"Well, she isn't," spoke Bud, a bit shortly.

"So I see," came the drawling answer, and it was followed by a faint tinkling of glass.

Bud started, and tried to pierce the night shadows. But all he saw was the figure of the strange cowboy becoming more and more indistinct. Bud was just going to say something when he was halted by the voice of Nort.

"I have an idea!" exclaimed the eastern lad.

"What is it?" asked his brother. "Anything to do with this?" and he waved toward the reservoir which was strangely still, now that the water no longer bubbled into it from the pipe.

"Yes," went on Nort. "Why not investigate and see where the stoppage is, Bud?"

"Investigate what?"

"The pipe line – the old underground water-course."

"You mean go through the tunnel?" Bud asked.

"Sure! Why not? You say it's big enough all the way through, and the water itself doesn't occupy much of the bottom. We could walk it in a day, easy!"

"Yes," agreed Bud, "it isn't more than five miles, though we'd have to carry lanterns, and we might get lost in some side passage."

"That's just what I want to find out about!" cried Nort. "If there is a branch passage maybe that's where the water goes! Come on, Bud, let's go through the tunnel!"

"I'm with you!" said Dick.

For a moment Bud hesitated and then, as he was about to reply, there came the sudden sound of a shot, which shattered the night with a sliver of flame, plainly visible to the boys.

Instantly a band of coyotes set up their weird howling, and the startled steers lowed and bellowed as they rushed about.

CHAPTER X

INTO THE TUNNEL

"What's that?" cried Bud.

"Who's there?" demanded Nort.

The hand of Dick went toward the .45 he wore in a holster at his belt, and, it might be added, the hands of the others did also.

"Keep your shirts on," came the somewhat drawling voice of Pocut Pete, who, it seemed, had returned after shuffling off in the darkness. "I just winged a coyote."

"Oh," murmured Bud. "You were shooting at them, were you?" he asked.

"Not exactly," answered Pocut Pete, as he sauntered up out of the gloom. "I saw something movin' down among th' cattle, an' I knew it couldn't be any of you fellows, so I let go at him."

"Him!" cried Nort. "Was it a man?"

"Looked like one," drawled Pete. "I heard you'd had trouble with rustlers before I came, so I wasn't takin' any chances. I didn't aim t' hit him, though, only t' scare him, an' I must have winged one of them night-owls!" He chuckled at this characterization of the coyotes.

"Let's take a look down there," suggested Bud to his cousins, their worried interest in the stoppage of the water momentarily eclipsed by the new excitement.

"Oh, you won't find anyone down there now!" Pocut Pete made haste to say. "If it was a rustler he's far enough off by this time, an' I'm not positive I really saw one – it was so dark."