In a few minutes the Chinaman came shuffling in from the garden."
"See here, Song," said Ted. "Did you see a strange man here early this
morning?"

"Stlange man!" said Song meditatively, with a smile of innocence on his
broad, yellow face. "No savvy stlange man."

"Man no b'long here," said Stella,

"Oh, yes, I savvy. No see stlange man."

"What time you get up?"

"Me gettee up fo' clock."

"Did you go outside?"

"Yes, me go out an' call cowbloy. Tell gettee up, P. D. Q. No gettee up,
no bleakfast."

"What did you see outside that you don't see every morning?"

"Evely moling? No savvy."

"Yesterday morning, day before that, day before that, all mornings."

"Lesterday moling, evely moling?"

"Oh, the deuce! You try him, Stella."

"Say, Song, you see something makee you flaid this moling?" said Stella,
imitating Song's pidgin English.

"Oh, yes, me lookee out, plenty jump in."

"What you see?"

"Plenty wolf. He sneakee lound side house. I lun like devil."

"What wolf look like?"

"Plenty big wolf. When he see me he lise up on hind legee, and lun likee
man."

"Ah ha! There's your clew," said Stella, turning to Ted. "The fellow who
posted this notice was disguised in a wolfskin so that he could sneak up
to the house unnoticed by the Chinaman, or, if seen, he would make a
bluff at scaring Song."

"Stella, you're a wonder."

"Say, Song, you no likee wolf?"

"No, me plenty flaid wolf," answered the Chinaman, shaking his head
violently.

"All right, Song. I givee you shotgun. Next time you see wolf, plenty
shoot. Savvy?"

"All light. You givee me gun, I shootee wolf plenty. Makee go 'ki-yi'
and lun belly fast."

Song went away with a grin on his face like a crack in a piece of stale
cheese.

"Stella, you've solved it. I believe whoever put that message there
heard our conversation, and at least they'll hate us a bit worse than
before, if that is possible."

"Let them bark, the wolves. I never was afraid of a wolf, anyhow. If you
want to throw me into spasms show me a bobcat. That's the fighting
animal."

During breakfast the boys were shown the warning that had been posted
beside the door, and it was decided to pay no attention to it, but to
watch for the appearance of a messenger from the "Flying Demons," and if
one was caught to make it hot for him.

Ted had no doubt but Creviss and his gang would try to injure the
broncho boys by every means in their power, but until they committed
some overt act the boys could hardly afford to become the aggressors.

For several days nothing happened, and the Moon Valley Ranch went the
even tenor of its way.

Preparations were under way for the fall round-up, and Ted had received
letters from several heavy stock buyers that they would be present at
that time to make their selections of such cattle as they desired to
buy.

It had always been the custom at the ranch to have an entertainment of
some sort at the ranch afterward. This was started for the purpose of
amusing the buyers with cowboy tricks and that sort of thing, but it had
developed into something far greater, until now all the world was
invited to the barbecue and the "doings" afterward. No one was barred
who behaved himself.

This year Ben Tremont had charge of the entertainment, and he was not
limited as to expense, for every fellow was on his honor to provide the
best entertainment for the least money.

The manager's plans were generally kept secret from every one except Ted
and Stella, who were the exceptional ones and were in every one's
secrets and confidence.

Ben had declared himself as to the superlative excellence of his show
this year.

"It's going to be hard to beat," said he, in boasting about it. "We've
had some pretty good shows, but nothing like the one I'm getting up
now."

Kit had charge of the cowboy end of it, the races, the bronchobusting,
the roping and tying contests; in fact, all the arena acts.

This year Clay Whipple attended to the inner man, and was to provide a
genuine old Southern barbecue, with trimmings.

The round-up was to begin in less than a week, and the festivities were
to follow immediately.

Invitations had been sent broadcast into Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming,
Idaho, Montana, and the Pacific coast States; everywhere, in fact, where
the boys had friends, and from the responses received an enormous crowd
would be present.

Three days elapsed after the finding of the warning beside the door
before anything more was heard from the Flying Demons.

Then Ted found another message from them near the front door.

It was as follows:

"TED STRONG AND OTHERS: You think you know who committed the
mysterious robberies, but you are on the wrong track. You will
never find out, while your secrets are known to us. This is warning
number two. The third and last will come soon; then look out.

"THE FLYING DEMONS."

"Now, why in the world do they call themselves the Flying Demons?" asked
Ted reflectively, as they were reading the second screed from their
enemies. "It seems to me that there is the secret of the whole thing.
You never can tell what a pack of boys like that are going to do. They
are more to be feared than older criminals, for they have no judgment,
and will rush into the most reckless things just to show off before one
another."

"Pay no attention to them," advised Stella. "That's what I think they
are doing now--showing off. I doubt if they think they can frighten us,
but they are afraid of us."

"Oh, by the way," said Ted, suddenly thinking of something. "You
remember I looked at the watermark on that first warning we received
from these terrible demons. Well, this screed has the same
mark--'Griffin Bond.' When I was in town to-day I went into the bank.
Old man Creviss was behind the counter, and that precious son of his was
beside him. I had a check cashed, and Mr. Creviss asked me why we didn't
keep our bank account there. I told him we had thought something about
it, but I didn't mention that we had decided not to. Then I asked him
for a couple of sheets of paper on which to write a note, and he handed
them to me. I took them to the window and held them up to the light to
see the watermark."

"And what was it?" asked Stella eagerly.

"The griffin."

"Then the paper on which these things were written came from the bank?"

"They certainly did. After I had looked at the watermark I turned to
young Creviss and looked him square in the eye. He turned as white as
chalk, and his lip trembled."

"He's a coward," said Stella positively. "Why didn't he bluff it out?"

"He had nothing to stand on; but, as you say, he's a rank coward, and
it's my opinion that it's only fear of Skip Riley that keeps him at it,
anyway. At all events, I gave him a good scare, for instead of writing
the note I folded up the paper and put it into my pocket. He stepped
forward as if he would interfere and make me give the paper back, not
having used it, but I gave him a glassy glare and walked out."

"Then it was he who wrote the warnings."

"Of course, and he knows that I have him dead to rights. That is another
mark against me with the gang."

"Better watch out."

"They can have me if they can get me."




CHAPTER VII.

SONG SHOOTS A WOLF.


Early one morning the broncho boys were startled out of their beds by
the double explosion of a shotgun, followed by excited yells and screams
of agony.

"That Chinaman has shot somebody," thought Ted, as he rapidly skipped
out of bed and pulled on his trousers.

In the living room he met all the boys, as scantily clad as himself,
hurrying out to see what the noise was all about.

They could hear Song behind the house screaming in Chinese at the top of
his voice, and in an ear-splitting falsetto, which showed that he was
tremendously excited.

Thither they rushed, and for a moment the ludicrous scene far
outbalanced the seriousness of what had happened.

On the ground was a young fellow about seventeen years of age. He was
writhing with pain, and the blood was oozing through his clothes in
fifty places.

"Ha, ha!" shrieked Song. "Me shootee wolf, turnee into man light away.
Ha, ha, me allee same plenty smart man, likee magician."

"Yes, you're a hot magician," said Bud; "You've made this feller second
cousin ter a porous plaster. That's what you've done."

"Who is he, Song?" asked Ted.

"Me no savvy him. Me comee out chicken house getee eggs fo' bleakfast. I
cally gun, shotee plenty wolf all samee Mliss Stella say."

"But this is not a wolf."

"All samee wolf. I open chicken house do'. I see wolf. Plenty glowl at
Song. I no likee gun. Shutee my eye. Pull tligger, an' gun goee off. All
samee wolf no mo' glowlee, him yellee like thundeh. When smokee blow way
wolf gonee, all samee man comee. I plenty magician, I thinkee."

Ted looked in the chicken house, and on the floor lay the dried hide of
a big gray wolf.

Now he understood. The message had come the third time from the Flying
Demons.

"Kit, run around to the front door and see if there is a message there
for us from our friends the Demons."

In a moment Kit was back, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

Ted took it from him, and read it.

It was the third and last warning. It said:

"TED STRONG: We have warned you twice before to leave this part of
the country, but you have made no move to do so. This is the third
warning. If you are not away from here in a week the vengeance will
fall upon you. Beware!

"THE FLYING DEMONS."

"Did you bring this?" asked Ted, of the wretched youth, who still lay
upon the ground groaning from his numerous wounds.

There was no reply. The fellow could only toss his head from side to
side and rub his legs, into which the bulk of the shot had been fired by
the excited Chinaman.

"You won't answer, eh? Well, we'll find a way to make you. I'm glad
you've given us a week," said Ted, laughing. "That will at least give us
time to hold our round-up and festivities."

"Oh, if I live through this I'll never go into anything like it again,"
moaned the youth upon the ground.

"Here, stand up," said Ted to him. "You're not badly hurt. You're only
stung, twice. Get on your feet and we'll see what we can do for you.
You're a long way from dead yet. What's your name?"

"Jack Farley. Oh, if I could only be sure that I wasn't going to die!"
exclaimed the youth.

He was the young fellow Billy Sudden had spoken about.

"We can't tell how badly you are hurt until you get up," said Ted.
"Rise, and we'll go into the house and examine your wounds."

Slowly young Farley got to his feet, but when he tried to walk he
uttered a howl of pain, and sank down again.

"Yellow all through," said Ben, in a tone of disgust.

"Ever have about three ounces of duck shot pumped into yer system
through yer hide?" asked Bud.

"Never had."

"Then yer don't know all ther joys o' life. I've had one ounce shot
inter my leg, an' if ther contents o' two shells gives double ther pain
one does, then excuse me. An' mine wuz only snipe shot, at that."

"Pick him up, boys, and lay him on the lounge in my room," said Ted.
"I'll take a look at him after a while, meantime some of you watch him
to see that he doesn't get away. We need him for evidence."

When Bud and Ben had carried the wounded boy into Ted's room and laid
him on the lounge, Bud stood over him regarding him with interest.

"I sorter envy yer, kid," he said at last.

"You can have 'em, but I don't see why you envy me," said Farley.

"I wuz thinkin' how happy you'll be all through these lonesome winter
evenings, pickin' ther shot out o' yer legs."

When Farley had been carried into the house, Ted called Kit to him and
said:

"Kit, I wish you'd ride over to Suggs' ranch and tell Billy Sudden that
his protege is over here with his hide peppered with bird shot, and ask
him to ride over and take a look at him."

During breakfast they related to Stella the story of Song's wolf hunt in
the chicken house, and the result.

Song was as proud as a peacock, and wore "the smile that won't come off"
as he flitted around the table waiting on every one.

"Say, Missee Stella," he said, "Song all samee one cowbloy now, eh? What
you sayee?"

"Yes, Song, you have certainly followed instructions. You got your wolf
that time, sure. How you likee shootee?"

"No likee, Missee Stella. Makee too much noisee, all samee too much
plenty fiahclackers. Kickee like blazes. Plitty near knockee arm outee
Song."

The boys stripped Farley after breakfast, and found his legs in pretty
bad condition. They looked as if Song's gun had been loaded with
smallpox, and all of it had lodged in the lad's legs.

"Boys, we'll have to take relays in picking the shot from our first
victim," said Ted. "There's too much work here for one man."

"He's a turrible-lookin' demon now with a hide full o' shot. Ther
punctured demon of Demonville! Say, kid, I'd hate ter laugh at yer, but
yer a sight. Why didn't yer fix it so's them two charges o' shot would
hev been distributed among ther gang? Then yer could sit down o'
evenings an' pick shot out o' one another instid o' plottin' agin' ther
whites."

"Let him be, Bud, he's having all he can do to think about these shots,
as it is. The things for us to do now is to pick them out of him."

"We'll let him count 'em ez they come out. That'll help take his mind
off his troubles, but he'll hev ter hev a great head fer figgers."

They went to work on him with their penknives, as most of the shot were
just beneath the skin. But it was painful enough, at that, and every
time a shot came out Farley groaned deeper. While they were engaged in
this, to them, pleasing occupation, Billy Sudden arrived.

"Hello, kid," he said to Farley. "So you got it at last. I could have
told you to keep away from Ted Strong and his bunch. They're bad
medicine for a herd o' mavericks like you to graze with. You tackled the
wrong outfit. They're too many fer you, and if you'll all take a fool's
advice you'll keep away, or else some of you will be looking through a
griddle in a door up at the penitentiary."

Farley made no reply, only hid his face and groaned at every extracted
shot.

"Say, kid, what about this gang you belong to?"

The boy shook his head.

"D'ye mean to say you're not going to tell me about it?"

The boy nodded.

"What's the reason you won't?"

"The oath."

"Slush with the oath. You had no business to take it. What'll the home
folks think when I tell them about this. Shot by a Chinaman in the
chicken house at dawn!"

Billy paused to let the ignominy of it sink in. It did sound pretty bad
and mean and cheap. There were no heroics in this, such as Farley had at
first considered his role.

He hid his face on his arm, and his body shook. Billy had probed deep
into his pride.

"Well, come on," said Billy. "This is no time for a conspirator to do
the baby act. I suppose you thought it was to be a spotlight scene where
you stood in the center doing the heavy stunt, and all the rest sat on
the bleachers and applauded. By gee! Peppered by a Chinaman, and with
snipe shot, at that."

"Oh, quit it!" said Farley. "I know I was a chump for sticking with
those fellows, but I needed the money."

"What money?"

"My share of the--"

"What?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Yes, there is something. What robbery was it you shared in?"

"I didn't steal anything."

"I suppose not. You did the dirty work of being lookout, or something
like that, and they threw you the bone while they kept the meat and fat,
eh?"

"What shall I do with him?" asked Ted.

"Keep him locked up as a hostage. That may bring those young fools to
their senses," said Billy. "I'm disgusted with him for not making a
clean breast of the whole foolish business, and if it wasn't for his
sister, I'd toss him up in the air and forget him."

The rest of the day was spent in picking shot out of Farley, and by
evening he was relieved of the last one.

"We'll put him in that empty room at the corner of the house, and take
turns watching him through the night," said Ted.

Until bedtime Farley sat in the living room with the rest of them, and
they were unusually guarded in their conversation.

When it came time to retire Farley was conducted to the room which was
to be his prison, and it fell to Carl to take the first watch, and to
call Ben at one o'clock.

In the room there was a lounge and a pair of blankets for Farley, a
table and a lamp, and a chair for the watch.

"Whatever you do, don't go to sleep, Carl," said Ted. "The reason I'm
putting you on the first watch is because you're such a sleepyhead."

"Don'd vorry aboud me," said Carl, with a yawn. "I pet you I vas der
sleepinglessness feller in der whole bunch. If he gets avay on my vatch
it vill not be pecause I don'd sleep."

"I guess you mean all right, but I swear I can't understand you. Only
keep awake."

"Oh, yah; I avake keeping all der time."

Carl sat in the chair watching his prisoner, and soon saw Farley's chest
heaving regularly and heard his deep breathing as he slept. Then things
seemed to waver and fade away.

Carl started up at hearing some one beating on the door, and sat rubbing
his eyes. It was broad daylight.

"All right, I'll get up pooty soon yet. Is preakfast retty?"

"Here, open the door. This is Ted."

"Vait a minute."

Carl staggered sleepily to the door and unlocked it.

"Where is your prisoner?" asked Ted, stalking into the room, and looking
at the open window.

"My vat? Ach, Gott in himmel, vat haf I dided? I am schoost coming
avake. He iss gone! I haf slept on vatch. I am foreffer disgraced. Kill
me, Ted! I haf no appetite to live any more alretty," cried Carl.

Ted had been angry at discovering the escape of Farley, for he had
conceived a plan to use him against Creviss. He had risen early, and
when he found that all the boys were in bed except Carl, he immediately
suspected the truth.

But Carl's despairing manner turned him from anger.

"Never mind, Carl," he said. "It was my fault for putting you on watch.
You were not cut out for a watchman. Or, perhaps, you were, according
to the funny papers, but not of prisoners."

During breakfast Carl was compelled to endure the jokes of the boys at
his failure to guard the prisoner, which he did with a lugubrious
countenance; then, at a signal from Ted, the subject was dropped.

About ten o'clock Billy Sudden rode up to the ranch house.

There was something in his manner that betokened news of importance, and
he strode unbidden into the living room, where Ted was sitting at his
desk.

"Where's the kid?" he asked abruptly.

"Who, Farley?" asked Ted, looking up from his work.

"Yes."

"Skipped."

"What?"

"I said skipped."

"Great Scott! I'd give a hundred dollars if he hadn't."

"Why?"

"What time did he get away?"

"Don't know, exactly. Carl was watching him, but he fell asleep almost
as soon as they were in the room together, and didn't wake up until six
o'clock this morning, and Farley was gone. No one knows how he got away
or at what time. It might have been any time. He probably woke up in the
night and saw that Carl was dead to the world, and opened the window,
dropped to the ground, and hit the trail. That's all I know about it.
But what makes you so anxious about it?"

"Then you haven't heard the news?"

"Guess not. What is it?"

"The First National Bank was robbed last night."

"Great guns! Creviss' bank! That's the United States depository!"

"The same."

"What are the details?"

"I rode through town this morning on my way over here to see if being
confined for the night wouldn't make the kid talk, when I saw a bunch of
men standing in front of the bank. I butted in and asked what the
excitement was, and they told me that the bank had been robbed."

"But how?"

"That's what nobody knows. When the cashier, Mr. Henson, got to the bank
this morning everything apparently was all right. The doors and windows
were fastened, and there was no sign anywhere that the bank had been
forcibly entered. Of course, he didn't look at these things first. He
went to the vault and opened it at the proper time and examined its
contents casually. Everything seemed to be as usual. But when, a few
minutes later, he went to get out the currency, it was all gone. He
hadn't counted up when I left there, so no one knows the exact amount,
but it was large."




CHAPTER VIII.

THE BATTLE WITH THE BULL.


The excitement incident to the mysterious robbery of the Creviss bank
was intense.

How had it been done? This was the question that every one was asking
his neighbor. But none could answer it.

The evening before the robbery had taken place the bank had been closed
by the cashier, and by Mr. Creviss himself.

The money, books, and papers, with which the business of the day had
been conducted, had been carried into the vault by the cashier, and Mr.
Creviss, who was an unusually cautious man, looked into the vault after
the cashier came out, to see that everything was in. Then he closed the
vault doors, and turned the handle of the combination, setting the time
lock, thus securing the doors from being opened until nine o'clock the
next morning.

The only way in which it could be opened, and an almost impossible way,
at that, was by blowing it open.

And yet the vault had been robbed, and the vault lock had apparently not
been tampered with.

It had the appearance of necromancy.

Ted rode into town with Billy Sudden, arriving about noon.

Billy rode on to the Dumb-bell Ranch, and Ted stopped at the bank. It
seemed deserted. But as he entered the door he saw a big man, dressed in
the flashy clothes affected by managers of cheap circuses and fake
shows, standing at the end of the counter talking to Wiley Creviss.

"I can't do anything with that check," Ted heard Creviss say. "You'll
have to come in when the cashier is here. The safe is locked, and I
can't get into it, anyway, and all the currency is in it. I'm only
staying here until the cashier gets back from dinner."

"When will that be?" asked the stranger.

"In about half an hour."