The veterinarian stood looking down at the dead animal, while the buzzards patiently waited nearby for the feast they knew belonged to them. Evidently they were not fearful of germs.

"What's that funny smell?" suddenly asked Nort.

"That? Oh, it's the smell characteristic of the disease," replied Dr.

Tunison. "Not very pleasant. I got some of the pus on my hands--that's why I washed and disinfected them. Well, Bud, I'm afraid you're in for it!"

"You mean the epidemic may run through all my stock?" asked the boy rancher, anxiously.

"It may, and that's the reason I'm putting you on your guard. But let's hope for the best. We'll act promptly. Fence this place off, or don't let any more water here, where other cattle can drink from the pool, that must, of necessity, be contaminated, now that I washed my hands in it, if for no other reason. Also separate the other cattle into as many herds as you can handle. In this way, if the epidemic gets among one bunch, you don't stand to lose so many. This is about all you can do."

"No preventative measures?" asked Bud.

"No. If the cattle remain healthy they may resist the germs. Nature sometimes provides her own remedies. She'll have to, in a case like this, where so little is known about this malady that no cure is yet available to science."

"That sure is a funny smell--I don't like it!" said Nort again.

"No, it isn't very pleasant," agreed the veterinarian.

And then Bud, who had been in a serious, brown study seemed, for the first time, to become aware of the evil odor.

"That smell! That smell!" he cried. "I've smelled it before!"

"Not unless you came in contact with the germs," spoke Dr. Tunison.

"Where did you smell it, Bud?"

But, as suddenly as he had spoken, Bud Merkel became silent. He seemed to be thinking deeply, and as he turned aside he said:

"Oh, maybe it was when Old Billee rode in to tell me he had seen these dead steers."

"Possibly," admitted the veterinarian. "The smell is very characteristic, as I said. But you'd better arrange to bury these animals, Bud."

"There isn't any danger--I mean to humans; is there?" Bud asked. "If there is we'll let 'em stay here. The buzzards will make short work of 'em."

"No, there's no danger to man, even in directly handling the germs.

That has been proved," said Dr. Tunison. "But if you let the cattle lie here, and the buzzards eat 'em, in some manner the disease may be carried to your other cattle. Best bury 'em, and fence off this water-hole."

Which was done. So the evil-looking buzzards were deprived of a feast, and flapped mournfully away.

There were anxious days that followed the appearance of the epidemic among the cattle of the boy ranchers. I speak of the cattle as their own, and they were, in a sense. For though, of course, Mr. Merkel really owned Flume Valley, and put up the cash to start the boys in business, he had determined that they should run the place as though it was their own. They must stand or fall by what happened. It was the only real way to start them in the way of becoming cattlemen, he decided.

So, though the boys were young, possibly the youngest ranchers in that part of the west, they were in earnest and accepted all the responsibilities that went with the venture.

Bud was very thoughtful those anxious days. There was hard work for all, since dividing the doubled herds into small units meant that each cowboy, including Bud, Nort and d.i.c.k, had to look after a certain number day and night. But no one shirked, even Buck Tooth working unusually hard in addition to doing the cooking. Though Indian braves are const.i.tutionally opposed to labor, Buck Tooth made an ideal herdsman.

Not as much time was spent in camp as had formerly been the case, as the boy ranchers and their older helpers were more often out riding herd. But occasionally many of them gathered at the tents to compare notes and "feed up," as Snake put it. His wound, received in the fight with the rustlers, had healed.

"Some day we'll have regular ranch houses here instead of just a camp,"

Bud said, as he was riding back one day to look after the herd he had a.s.signed to himself.

"Oh, this isn't so bad," spoke Nort.

"Real jolly, I call it!" added d.i.c.k.

"If only the water supply keeps up, and no more epidemic comes, we'll be all right," Bud announced. "At the same time I can't be sure of either."

This was true. Though the water flowed merrily on since the time the lads had penetrated the length of the tunnel, there was always an uneasy feeling, on the part of the boy ranchers and their friends, that it might stop at any time.

"And when it dries up again," Bud declared, "I'm not going to be satisfied until I find out what makes it quit flowing!"

"That's the idea!" added Nort. "We'll solve the mystery!"

As the days pa.s.sed, and no more cattle were found ill or dead from the epidemic, the hopes of the boy ranchers began to rise. Had they caught the malady in time? Could it be stamped out by the burial of the five steers? Time alone--and a longer time than had so far elapsed--could tell.

Bud, Nort and d.i.c.k each had charge of a herd, the three bunches of cattle being pastured on adjoining areas of rich gra.s.s.

But the distances separating them were not so great but that Bud and his cousins could exchange visits. And it was on one of these occasions that there occurred something which cleared up, in part at least, the mystery hanging over Flume Valley.

The boy ranchers were about to part for the evening, having spent the afternoon together over "grub," cooking at an open fire; and Nort and d.i.c.k were preparing to ride back to their herds, Bud being on the ground, so to speak, where he would "bunk" for the night.

As they rode down into a little swale amid the gathering shadows of the night, a bunch of cattle moved uneasily along ahead of them, and as the steers parted there was disclosed in their midst the forms of a man and a horse.

"Who's that?" suddenly asked d.i.c.k.

"It isn't one of our boys," declared Nort.

Bud suddenly sat upright in his saddle. He breathed deeply, and then quickly spurred forward. His cousins saw him swinging his lariat around his head.

In an instant it went swishing through the air, and, a moment later, as the coils settled about the figure of a man who started to leap for his pony, Bud let out a yell, shouting:

"Roped! Roped, by Zip Foster!"

CHAPTER XIX

AN EXPEDITION IN THE DARK.

There was a confusion of rope and man. Sock, Bud's pony, braced his feet, including the white one that gave him his name, and the lariat tightened. There was a scurrying among the cattle, and the lone pony, without a rider, galloped off.

Nort and d.i.c.k, taken by surprise, had reined their steeds to a stop when they saw Bud la.s.soing the unknown man, but now they spurred up to their cousin.

"What is it?" demanded Nort.

"Who is he?" d.i.c.k wanted to know.

At that instant a shot cracked, and the fast-gathering darkness was cut by a sliver of flame.

"Trying that, are you!" angrily shouted Bud, and he backed his pony quickly, pulling the roped man along the ground, until the prostrate figure let out a yell.