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[Illustration]




 THE RED

 MUSTANG

 _by_ W. O. STODDARD




THE RED MUSTANG




 HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S SERIES
 NEW LARGE-TYPE EDITION

 TOBY TYLER                      James Otis

 MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER            James Otis

 TIM AND TIP                     James Otis

 RAISING THE "PEARL"             James Otis

 ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL      W. F. Cody

 DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT           Mrs. L. C. Pyrnelle

 MUSIC AND MUSICIANS             Lucy C. Lillie

 THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB    W. L. Alden

 THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST"       W. L. Alden

 MORAL PIRATES                   W. L. Alden

 A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE           W. L. Alden

 PRINCE LAZYBONES                Mrs. W. J. Hays

 THE FLAMINGO FEATHER            Kirk Munroe

 DERRICK STERLING                Kirk Munroe

 CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO.            Kirk Munroe

 WAKULLA                         Kirk Munroe

 THE ICE QUEEN                   Ernest Ingersoll

 THE RED MUSTANG                 W. O. Stoddard

 THE TALKING LEAVES              W. O. Stoddard

 TWO ARROWS                      W. O. Stoddard

 HARPER & BROTHERS
 PUBLISHERS




[Illustration: "NOW FOR SANTA LUCIA!"]




 THE
 RED MUSTANG




 BY
 WILLIAM O. STODDARD

 Author of "THE TALKING LEAVES"




 ILLUSTRATED


 [Illustration]



 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
 NEW YORK AND LONDON




 THE RED MUSTANG

 Copyright, 1890, by Harper & Brothers
 Copyright, 1918, by William O. Stoddard
 Printed in the U. S. A.




CONTENTS


 CHAPTER                                                PAGE

       I. THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER                          1

      II. HOW CAL EVANS RODE FOR HELP                     15

     III. THE BAND OF KAH-GO-MISH                         23

      IV. THE GARRISON OF SANTA LUCIA                     27

       V. CAL AND THE CAVALRY AND THE RED MUSTANG         32

      VI. THE PERIL OF SANTA LUCIA                        38

     VII. BOUND FOR THE BORDER                            51

    VIII. GETTING READY TO CHASE KAH-GO-MISH              56

      IX. THE HACIENDA OF SANTA LUCIA                     63

       X. THE TARGET ON THE ROCK                          67

      XI. THE STORY OF A LOG                              75

     XII. PING AND THE COUGAR                             82

    XIII. THE RETURN OF KAH-GO-MISH                       89

     XIV. THE FOUNTAIN IN THE DESERT                      94

      XV. LOST IN THE CHAPARRAL                          101

     XVI. AN INVASION OF TWO REPUBLICS                   107

    XVII. HOW PING AND TAH-NU-NU GOT TO THE SPRING       114

   XVIII. HOW DICK PLAYED SENTINEL                       120

     XIX. BAD NEWS FOR WAH-WAH-O-BE                      126

      XX. HOW CAL STARTED FOR MEXICO                     132

     XXI. THE MANITOU OF COLD SPRING                     139

    XXII. ACROSS THE DESERT BY NIGHT                     144

   XXIII. AT THE RANCH AND IN THE CHAPARRAL              151

    XXIV. CAL'S NIGHT UNDER A TREE                       157

     XXV. A STRANGE LETTER FROM MEXICO                   163

    XXVI. CAL'S VISITORS AND HIS BREAKFAST               169

   XXVII. THE POST-BOY THAT GOT AWAY                     174

  XXVIII. THE MYSTERY OF THE STICKS                      180

    XXIX. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE FIRE?                       186

     XXX. THE MANITOU WATER                              192

    XXXI. PULL STICK AND THE HURRICANE                   198

   XXXII. UNDER A FALLEN TREE                            204

  XXXIII. LEAVING THE BAD-MEDICINE CAMP                  210

   XXXIV. TAH-NU-NU'S DISAPPOINTMENT                     216

    XXXV. HAND TO HAND BY FIRELIGHT                      222

   XXXVI. HOW CAL WAS LEFT ALL ALONE                     227

  XXXVII. RESCUED BY THE RED MUSTANG                     234

 XXXVIII. HOW THEY ALL REACHED SANTA LUCIA               239




ILLUSTRATIONS


 "Now for Santa Lucia!"                            _Frontispiece_

                                                      FACING PAGE

 She and Ping Were Stealing Out upon the Broken Ledge          86

 "Ugh!" They Said, as They Looked at Him. "Kah-Go-Mish"       110

 Cal Took the Leaf, and Used His Knife for a Pen              184




THE RED MUSTANG THE RED MUSTANG:

_A STORY OF THE MEXICAN BORDER._




CHAPTER I.

THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.


Early one bright June morning, not long ago, a high knoll of a prairie
in southern New Mexico was occupied as it had never been before.
Rattlesnakes had coiled there; prairie-dog sentinels and wolves and
antelopes, and even grim old buffalo bulls, had used that swelling mound
for a lookout station. Mountains in the distance and a great sweep of
the plains could be seen from it. Never until that hour, however, since
the grass began to grow, had precisely such a horse pawed and fretted
there, while precisely such a boy sat in the saddle and looked around.

It is very uncommon for a mustang to show a bright and perfect blood bay
color, but this one did so, and it seemed as if the glossy beauty of his
coat only brought out the perfection of his shape and the easy grace of
his movements. He was a fiery, powerful fellow, and he appeared to have
some constitutional objection to standing still. The saddle upon his
back and the bridle held by his rider were of the best Mexican
workmanship, silver mounted, the very thing to complete the elegance of
the red mustang.

In the saddle sat a boy about fourteen years of age, a gray-eyed,
brown-haired young fellow, broad-shouldered and well made, whose
sunburned face was all aglow with health and who seemed to feel
altogether at home in the stirrups. He wore a palm-leaf sombrero, a blue
flannel shirt and trousers, while the revolver case at his belt and the
carbine slung at his back added to the dashing effect of his outfit.

"Cowboy! I a cowboy!" he exclaimed, as the mustang curveted under him.
"Look at those cattle! Look at all those horses! I'd rather own Santa
Lucia ranch and ride Dick all over the range, than to live in any city I
saw in the Eastern States. Hurrah!"

An exultant, ringing laugh followed the shout, but he still held in
Dick. He took a long look, in all directions, as if it were part of his
business to know if anything besides cattle were stirring between that
knoll and the dim, cloudlike mountain-peaks, or the distant trees which
marked the horizon of the plain.

Cattle and horses enough were in sight, as he turned from one point of
the compass to another. The horned animals were not gathered in one
great drove, but were scattered in larger and smaller gangs, here and
there, and were busily feeding. Something like half a regiment of
horses, however, had kept together somewhat better, and the red mustang
himself seemed to be taking an especial interest in them.

"Be quiet, Dick," said his master. "Are you set on springs?"

A low whinny and something like a suppressed curvet was Dick's reply,
and it was followed by a sharp exclamation.

"Dick, what's that? What's the matter with Sam Herrick?"

At the same instant Dick was wheeled in an easterly direction and was
permitted to bound away to meet a horse and rider who were coming
towards him at furious speed.

Hardly three minutes later both reins were drawn so suddenly as almost
to compel the two quadrupeds to sit down.

"What's the matter, Sam?"

"Indians, Cal, Indians!"

The news was of an exciting character and was given with emphasis, but
neither the voice nor the face of the black-bearded, undersized,
knotty-looking man who gave it betrayed the least trace of emotion. It
was as if he were mentioning some important but altogether
matter-of-course part of a cowboy's daily business. He added, in even a
quieter tone and manner, as his horse came to a standstill, "I scored
one of 'em. They've kind o' got the lower drove, but mebbe they won't
drive 'em far. We can race these hosses into the timber. That's what I
came for, and I'm right down glad you're here to help."

Cal's eager young face glowed with something more than health, and his
eyes were flashing, but he made an effort to seem as calm and
unconcerned as Sam Herrick himself.

"How far away are they now?" he asked, as he followed Sam's quick dash
towards the drove of horses.

"Mebbe a mile 'n a half. Mebbe not so much. Mebbe some more. All of 'em,
except the braves that took after me, went for hosses and fresh beef, or
seemed to. Guess we'll have time."

"Will they get many cattle? Were there enough of them to gather the
whole drove?"

"They won't gather any cattle. It's a kind of bufler hunt for 'em. Lots
of beef handy. They won't think of driving off any horned critters. Too
slow, my boy. They'll take all the hosses they can get, though, and load
'em up, too."

Cal's face was in strong contrast with the dark, almost wooden sternness
of the one he was looking into when he asked:

"Sam, did you say you killed one?"

"Can't say. Guess not. I meant to mark him, but it was his pony that
seemed to go down. Didn't either of 'em get up, that I saw. He was an
awful fool to follow me in the way he did."

Sam was shouting at the horses between his short, jerky sentences, and
his long-lashed, short-handled whip was whirling and cracking in a way
that they seemed to understand.

"How many were there of them?" asked Cal, the next opportunity he had.

"Hosses? Well, they must have scooped the eastern drove. More'n a
hundred head. We've got about two hundred here, but your father's lost
some real good ones, this time. No fault of mine."

"I didn't mean horses," said Cal. "How many Indians?"

"Oh, the redskins?" said Sam, with a tremendous crack of the long whip.
"Nobody can guess how many. They seemed to swarm all around. 'Paches, of
course, but it's a curiosity where they came from. We must work, now.
Further to the left, Cal. That's it. They're started. What are those
mules halting for!"

Nearly a score of long-eared fellows knew, in half a minute more, why
they were trying to reach the woods ahead of the horses. It must be
dreadfully aggravating to any mule to hear such a yell as that of Sam
Herrick behind him, and to feel himself whip-stung somewhere at the same
moment.

Cal Evans whooped and shouted remarkably well, but there was something
sepulchral and savage and startling in the sounds with which Sam
encouraged the whole drove to reach the long, irregular line of trees
and bushes, half a mile to the southward.

"Keep it up, Cal! Whoop it! They're all a-going. Never mind any cattle.
Whoop it!"

"There come the redskins!" shouted Cal, at that moment, and then he
seemed to almost hold his breath.

"I saw 'em," coolly responded Sam. "We'll reach good cover before they
get here. The drove's running fine."

Sam was cool enough, but every muscle of his wiry body seemed to be
uncommonly alive, and the horse he was on dashed hither and thither as
if he also understood the matter.

"They're gaining on us," shouted Cal, at the end of another minute.
"More'n a dozen of 'em. What can we two do against so many?"

"Keep cool, Cal. I'll show you when we get to the timber," replied Sam.
"We're going to save every hoof of this lot, but they may get away with
the other drove. I'm only half sure 'bout that, though."

The mob of mules and horses before them had been whipped and shouted
into a furious run, and the thud of their hoofs was worth hearing. The
best runners were streaming out ahead, and the heavier, slower animals
were sagging behind as a sort of rear-guard. Sam worked vigorously for
the rescue of those slow horses, and he hardly turned his head to take a
look at the Indians. Cal imitated him as well as he could, except about
the looking, and with every bound of the red mustang he justified Sam's
remark:

"He rides like an Indian. Isn't he a fine young feller? Reckon the old
colonel 'll say I was right. I'll save his boy for him if I have to lose
the whole drove--and my own hair, too; but they won't get that for
nothing."

Cal Evans could not know what was passing in the mind of the swarthy
cowboy. His own brain and every nerve of his body seemed to be all a
tingle of excitement. He was now able to think about it and to be proud
that he felt no fear. That is, no fear concerning anything but the
horses.

On, on, on, went that tumultuous race, and the line of forest was very
near now. It was a sort of natural barrier, stretching across the plain
as if put there to check the sweep of "norther" storms and prairie
fires, and any sort of stampedes. The middle of it was a winding ravine
or slough, and at some seasons it was a river, instead of a string of
ponds for buffalo wallows. All the wild or tame quadrupeds on that plain
knew the value of Slater's Branch, and some of them, and all of the men,
knew that it never quite went dry, and that its faculty to become a
river could be exercised at any time on short notice, when the snow in
the mountains melted rapidly or when a cloud-burst came on this side of
the Sierra.

The trees and bushes knew all about Slater's Branch, and they came and
settled for life on its banks, making a timber-belt thick and tall, with
here and there dense undergrowths for the deer to lie in.

Cal Evans could not quite understand the present value of that line of
forest, and yet he felt that it had a sort of sheltering look, and he
was particularly glad to be galloping nearer and nearer, for there was
an unpleasant chorus of whoops and yells only about a quarter of a mile
behind him, and it was manifestly growing louder.

"Cal," growled Sam Herrick, "they've gobbled hosses enough for this
trip. They can't have any more out of your father's corral. The critters
are getting into cover. Keep cool, Cal. We may have to throw lead, some;
but I reckon not much."

"Won't they follow us into the woods, then?" asked Cal, doubtfully.

"That's the question," replied Sam. "If they're young bucks they may;
but not if there's a chief or an old brave among 'em. I'll show you."

Cal was conscious of understanding the feelings of young braves who
needed an old chief to hold them back. He knew that it would be almost a
disappointment if he and Sam should succeed in saving the horses without
any shooting. He had no desire to hurt anybody or to be hurt, but then
the idea of a skirmish and a victory and all that sort of glory made him
think of all the Indian battles he had ever read about.

Sam Herrick was armed to the teeth, as became a cowboy in that region,
and yet it had been a long time since any hostile savages had troubled
it. The herds and droves had multiplied, year after year, almost
unmolested, for the Apache bands were either driven over the Mexican
border, or into Arizona, or were gathered on their reservations. If Cal
had been asked, that morning, why he carried his own weapons, his best
excuse would have been "I thought I might hunt a little," and his real
reason would not have been told unless he had said: "I love a gun, and
I'd rather carry one than not, and a fellow can keep thinking what he'd
do with it if he had a chance."

He had not tried to do any hunting, but his chance to do something else
had come, or it looked like it, very suddenly.

"There, Cal. Glad we're here--"

Sam Herrick said that as he reined in his horse and sprang to the
ground. Cal followed his example, and one glance around him made him
draw a breath of relief. There were great oaks, in all directions.
Several of the largest had fallen before the hands of time and some
strong wind, and he and Sam had ridden in behind them, followed by a
gust of angry whooping.

"Take your tree, Cal," said Sam, as he raised his repeater and sent a
warning shot in the direction of the whoops. "Now, my boy, if you was
one of them 'Paches, how'd you feel about riding into short range of two
good rifles, knowing what lead'll do for a careless Indian?"

"I'd think twice