



Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, David Edwards, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)







 [Illustration: From the mouth of the dark pit a fetid, foul-smelling
                          air rushed upward.]




                                  THE
                              BORDER BOYS
                             ON THE TRAIL


                                  BY

                          FREMONT B. DEERING




                               NEW YORK
                           HURST & COMPANY,
                              PUBLISHERS




                           Copyright, 1911,
                                  BY

                            HURST & COMPANY




                           MADE IN U. S. A.

       *       *       *       *       *




                               CONTENTS

              CHAPTER                            PAGE

  I.        ON THE BORDER                          5

  II.       THE BOYS FIND TROUBLE                 21

  III.      A RACE FOR LIFE                       35

  IV.       THROUGH THE GREAT DARKNESS            48

  V.        THE RUSTLERS AT WORK                  65

  VI.       TAKING UP THE TRAIL                   79

  VII.      IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY             94

  VIII.     BLACK RAMON'S MISSION                104

  IX.       A MOMENTOUS INTERVIEW                115

  X.        IN THE BELL TOWER                    125

  XI.       A DROP IN THE DARK                   138

  XII.      A RIDE FOR THE HILLS                 150

  XIII.     THE HERMIT OF THE CAÑON              160

  XIV.      TRAVELS WITH A MULE                  173

  XV.       A GATEWAY TO FREEDOM                 186

  XVI.      SHORT RATIONS                        200

  XVII.     THE TALE OF A MULE                   212

  XVIII.    THE TREASURE OF THE MISSION          222

  XIX.      JIM HICKS, PROSPECTOR                234

  XX.       RALPH A TRUE HERO                    247

  XXI.      AT THE IRRIGATION DAM                262

  XXII.     A BOLT FROM THE BLUE                 278

  XXIII.    WITH THE RURALES                     287

  XXIV.     THE ROUND-UP                         295

       *       *       *       *       *




The Border Boys on the Trail.




CHAPTER I.

ON THE BORDER.


"Maguez! Maguez!"

The trainmen began hoarsely shouting the curious-sounding name of the
small frontier town near the Mexican border, in the southwest part
of New Mexico. Slowly the long dust-covered Southern Pacific express
rolled imposingly into "Mag-gay," very slowly, in fact, as if it did
not wish to tarry in that desolate, sun-bitten portion of the continent.

As the brakes began to grind down, one of two boys of about seventeen,
who had been lounging on the shady side of a forward sleeper, awoke
from a semi-doze with a start.

"Hullo! somebody wants Maggie!" exclaimed Ralph Stetson, as he gazed
out of the open window. He saw nothing more novel before his eyes,
however, than the same monotonous stretch of yellow, sandy wastes,
sprinkled with sage brush and dotted by a few wandering cattle, which
the train had been traversing for hours.

"You'll have to get used to New Mexican pronunciation of Mexican
names, Ralph," laughed his companion, as he also opened his eyes and
began looking about him in the half-startled manner peculiar to those
abruptly awakened from "forty winks." "'Maggie', as you call it, is our
station."

"Station!" echoed the other. "Where is it?"

He stuck his head out of the window as the train gradually decreased
speed, but his eyes encountered nothing more suggestive of a town than
a stock car on a lonely side track, into which some cowboys, with wild
yells and much spurring of their wiry little steeds, were herding a few
beef cattle.

"That freight car must be in front of the town," muttered the boy,
pulling in his head.

"Over this side, you tenderfoot!" laughed Jack Merrill, pointing out
of the left-hand window. "Haven't you got used to Western towns yet?"

"One-sided towns, you mean, I guess," said Ralph, rising and looking
out in the opposite direction. "Why in the name of the State of New
Mexico do they build all the towns out here at one side of the tracks?"

"So that Easterners can have something to wonder about," laughed Jack
Merrill, brushing off the accumulation of white desert dust from his
dark suit with a big brown hand.

"Or so that they can at least get a few minutes of shade when a train
pulls in," retorted Ralph, gazing at the sun-baked collection of wooden
structures toward which the train was rolling. A yellow water tank,
perched on a steel frame, towered above the town like a sunflower on a
stalk. Apparently it took the place of trees, of which there was not a
vestige, unless a few cactus plants be excepted.

"Better follow my example and brush some of the desert off," said Jack,
still brushing vigorously.

"No, let the porter do it; here he is," said the Eastern Ralph. Sure
enough