"Here's the dope, boys," and the deputy leaned closer. "This Delton may or may not have been doin' business here at the ranch. If he has been, an' I'm goin' to figger that way, his friends still expect him to be here. He left in too much of a hurry to send out word. An' here's where you-all come in.

"I want you to pretend the ranch hasn't changed hands. Just lay low for a while, not travelin' 'round much, an' we'll see what happens. I don't mind tellin' you we got another tip, that some c.h.i.n.ks were goin'

to be rushed across within the next few days. Can't say just when, but soon now. It's a big load this time, an' if things work the way I think they will, they'll try to land them at this ranch."

"You mean they'll think Delton is still here?" Nort inquired excitedly.

"Yes. Of course I may be wrong--that may not be the plans at all. But I've got pretty good reasons for thinkin' I'm right. We sort of suspected that the Shootin' Star was bein' used for illegal purposes, but we never had a chance to prove it. The place was too well guarded, and without a warrant you can't go on another's property. I knew we'd not find anything if we did search the place, for the c.h.i.n.ks are only landed at night, and shipped away the next morning; scattered all over the country. They all look so much alike it's hard to tell 'em apart."

"So you never really saw Delton?" asked Nort.

"Nope--never have. He never came to town--whatever stuff he wanted he sent his men in for."

"Told you!" Billee Dobb cried. "I knew he never saw the geezer! Just like I said--n.o.body was allowed in here with a badge on."

"Right again," the Kid said with a grin. "Billee's the only one of this gang that seems to know his stuff."

"Well, that's the plan, boys," stated Mr. Hawkins. "Are you with me?"

"You bet!"

"Bring on the smugglers!"

"Kid, here's your chance to find out what became of your shirt!"

"Wait!" the deputy held up his hand. "We can't go into this thing like that, boys! It's too dangerous. Enough men have been killed now by the smugglers, and I don't want to add to the list. I thought a long time before I came over this morning, and I finally decided I'd take a chance on you. When I met you first I knew you were dependable men.

Remember--this is no joke! We've got to be ready to take what comes!"

The faces of the boys sobered in an instant.

"I guess you'll find you weren't far wrong," Bud said quietly. "We've been in a few tight squeezes before--I suppose you heard of Del Pinzo?"

"Certainly. He was captured and jailed a while ago. Don't know whether he got out since or not."

"Well, we are the ones who put him there," Bud went on in a quiet tone.

"No! Why say,--I remember you now! I saw you bring him in! Well, well! So that's the way of things! Boys, I'm sure glad I met you!

Between us we ought to make a go of this. So you captured Del Pinzo!

Now here's another job for you. What do you think of this idea?"

The boys leaned close as they prepared to hear the deputy's plan.

CHAPTER XIII

TRAPPED

For some minutes the boys listened to the details of the deputy's scheme. It involved danger, there was no doubt of that, but it also gave a chance for success. If luck held in their favor--and Kid said after the run of misfortune they had met with it was time for a change of weather--they might hope for a rich prize--possibly Delton himself--though this last did not seem likely. The whole success of the plan depended on fooling the smugglers into thinking the ranch was still held by Delton.

"And there we are," finished Hawkins. "Any questions, boys? You-all know what to do?"

"All set!" Yellin' Kid answered. "Now that's over with, guess I'll mosey down to town."

"Rather you stayed around, Kid, if you don't mind," said the deputy.

"Anything particular you wanted?"

"Well, just to see about that bronc you mentioned. And we got to get hold of a sheepman soon."

"I'll fix that up for you," Hawkins offered. "d.i.c.k, how about you riding back with me?"

"Glad to, Mr. Hawkins. Anybody want anything?"

"Better find out about food," suggested Nort. "And we could all stand a clean shirt or two. Before you go, d.i.c.k, we all better take inventory. Didn't bring much, you know. What do you say, boys? Speak up, and d.i.c.k can collect your stuff while he's in town."

"Where's that Mex?" the Kid asked. "Wait a minute while I head for the kitchen."

He bounded up the steps and flung open the door. To his surprise a figure stumbled away and ran back. But Yellin' Kid was faster, and in a moment he had collared the man. It was the Mexican cook.

"Hey, what the mischief you doin' here? Huh? Listening weren't you?"

The Mexican shook his head.

"What, then? If you weren't listenin' what were you doin'?"

The cook pointed toward the kitchen and then to his mouth. He spread both hands, palms upward.

"No more grub? Oh, I see. An' you was comin' to tell us?"

"What's the matter, Kid?" the deputy called. "Who you talking to?"

The Kid dragged the Mexican out into the yard.

"This bird," he said. "Cook. The one we found here. He was hidin'

behind the door--wants me to believe he came out to tell us there was no more eats. Why you run, hey? What's the idea of that?" He tightened his grip on the Mexican's collar.

"Oh, let the poor Greaser alone, Kid," Bud objected. "He's all right.

Just scared, that's all. The way you jerked open the door was enough to scare anyone."

"Yea? Maybe. Anyway, I don't like this coot's looks. Back you go, Mex. Next time don't be snoopin' around like that. We'll get your stuff for you." He released his grasp, and the Mexican slunk back into the house.

"Funny gink," commented Billee Dobb in a drawling tone of voice, as he stared at the door through which the cook had disappeared. "Queerest Mex I ever saw."

"The old detective still on the job," the Kid laughed and grinned.

"Well, Mr. Hawkins wants to get started. Guess you can order a whole stock of food, d.i.c.k. The store got a buckboard, deputy?"

"Believe it has."

"Then you can tell 'em what you want and they'll cart it over. Flour, bacon, bakin' powder, canned tomatoes, some yellow clings--don't forget them, d.i.c.k--and whatever else you can think of. Shirts can wait. All right, boys. Stay here, d.i.c.k, I'll bring your bronc."