The Pony Rider Boys in Texas
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Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in Texas
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Ned's heart gave a great bound. Tad Butler must be alive or there would
be no need for the liquid that the foreman was forcing down his throat.
CHAPTER VII
THE HERD FORDS THE RIVER
"Is he--is he----" asked Ned, weakly, after they had taken the jug of
water from his hand.
"He's alive, if that's what you mean," answered Stallings. "I'm afraid
he's got a slight concussion of the brain. He doesn't come around the
way I should like to see him."
"Sure it isn't a fracture!" asked the Professor, who had just arrived on
the scene.
"No, I hardly think so."
The foreman washed the unconscious boy's face, soaking Tad's head and
neck and searching for the seat of the trouble.
"Huh! Steer kicked him," grunted Stallings. "It was a glancing blow,
luckily for the kid."
They worked over the lad for fully half an hour before he began to show
signs of returning consciousness. At last his trembling eyelids
struggled apart and he smiled up at them weakly.
"Ah! He's all right now, I guess," laughed the foreman, with a world of
relief in his tone. "Boys, get busy now and cut out the rest of those
cows. If the young man is not able to ride we'll put him in the chuck
wagon when it comes up. Feel bad anywhere, now?" he asked.
"My--my head weighs a ton."
"I should think it would. Did the white steer kick you?"
"I--I don't know. Hello, Professor. I roped him all right, didn't I, Mr.
Stallings?"
"You did. But you got roped yourself, too, I reckon. Think you'll be
able to ride in the trail wagon? If not we'll have to send you back to
town."
"That'll be the best place for the tenderfoot," growled Lumpy Bates.
Stallings turned a stern eye upon him.
"Lumpy, when I want your opinion I'll let you know. What are you doing
here, anyway? Get into that cut out and be mighty quick about it!"
Lumpy rode away growling.
"I'll ride in no trail wagon," announced Tad Butler, with emphasis.
"I guess you will have to, my boy."
"I'll ride my pony if I have to be tied on," he declared resolutely.
The foreman laughed heartily.
"Well, we'll see about that. You boys all have good stuff in you. I see
that Master Walter and the gopher are still out there looking after that
bunch of cattle."
"I told them to do so," spoke up Tad.
"And they are obeying orders. That's the first thing to learn in this
business."
"May I sit up now?"
"You may try."
Tad's head spun round when he raised himself up. The lad fought his
dizziness pluckily, and mastered it. After a little while they helped
him to his feet. Finally feeling himself able to walk he started
unsteadily away from them.
"Where are you going?" demanded the Professor.
"Pony," answered Tad.
"I protest, Tad. You will come back here at once."
Tad turned obediently.
"Please, Professor. I'm all right."
"Let the boy go. He will be all right in a few moments after he has
gotten into the saddle," urged the foreman. "Besides, he's too much of a
man to be treated like a weakling. He'll get more bumps than that before
he leaves this outfit, if I'm any judge."
The Professor motioned to Tad to go on, which the lad did, petting his
pony as he reached him, and then pulling himself into the saddle with
considerable effort.
"I'm ready for business now," he smiled, waving a hand to the foreman.
"Better look on and let the rest do the work," advised Stallings,
mounting his own tough pony and riding into the thick of the cutting out
process.
But Tad Butler could no more sit idly by while the exciting work was
going on than could the foreman himself. The first steer that was cut
out from the main herd, after Stallings went back, found Tad Butler
alongside of it, crowding it toward his own herd farther out. And this
work he kept up until all the strangers had been separated from the
Diamond D stock.
"There, I'm glad that job is done," exclaimed Stallings, whipping off
his hat and drawing a sleeve across his perspiring brow.
"Too bad I had to go and upset things so," said Tad.
"Never mind. It's all in a day's work. On a cattle drive if it isn't one
thing it's sure to be another. We have been lucky enough not to have a
stampede thus far. That isn't saying we won't, however. If you feel like
working you can ride up and join the point men. We'll make five or six
miles before it is time to bed down the herd."
To Tad's companions was left the task of driving the strange cattle a
couple of miles to the west and leaving them there.
The boys could not well lose the main herd; for, no sooner had they
started on the trail than a great cloud of dust slowly floated up into
the air. Tad, in his position near the head of the line, and well out to
one side of it, was free from this annoyance. The longer the lad was in
the saddle, the stronger he seemed to feel, and the only trace that was
now left of his recent experience among the hoofs of the Mexican steers
was a bump on one side of his head almost as large as a hen's egg.
It was near sundown when the foreman, who had ridden on ahead some time
before, came back with the information that a broad stream that was not
down on his map lay just ahead of them.
"There's not more than thirty feet of swimming water there, and I
believe I'll make a crossing before we go into camp," he announced
briefly.
"How deep is the water?" asked Big-foot Sanders.
"In the middle, deep enough to drown, but on the edges it's fordable.
The cows will be glad of a drink and a swim after the heat of to-day."
With this in mind the cowmen were instructed to urge the cattle along at
a little stronger pace, that they might all get well over before the
night came on.
The animals seemed to feel the presence of water ahead of them, for they
ceased their grazing by the wayside and swung into a rapid pace, such a
pace as always gladdens the heart of the cowboy. The steers held it
until the rays of the setting sun were reflected on the surface of the
broad sluggish stream.
The Pony Riders dashed forward intent upon reaching the stream first.
Tad followed them upon receiving permission from the foreman to do so.
The banks on each side were high and steep, making it far from an ideal
fording place. Stallings, however, thought it better to cross there than
to take the time to work the herd further down. Joining the boys, he
cast his glance up and down the stream to decide whether his judgment
had been correct.
"I thought we were going to cross the river," said Stacy Brown.
"That's exactly what we are going to do," replied the foreman.
"But where's the bridge? I don't see any?" objected the lad.
"Right there in front of you."
"Where?"
"Chunky, there is no bridge," Tad informed him. "We have to wade, just
as the cattle will."
"And swim, too, part of the way," added Stallings.
"But we'll get wet," wailed Chunky.
"No doubt about that," roared the foreman.
"Swim the river with our horses?" exclaimed Ned. "Hurrah! That will be
great!"
"I shall be glad to get some of this dust washed off me," laughed Tad.
"Besides, the bump on my head will feel better for it, I think."
"Spread out, boys. The cattle are coming up on the run. They will push
you into the river before you are ready if you happen to be in their
way," warned Stallings.
The riders clucked to their ponies and all galloped up stream some
distance that they might be well out of the way of the oncoming herd.
The thirsty animals plunged into the water with a mighty splash. Some
forded until their feet could no longer touch the ground, after which
they swam to the other side, while others paused to drink until those
behind them forced them out into the stream also.
In a few moments the stream was alive with swimming cattle, the herd
being spread out for a full quarter of a mile up and down the stream. To
the rear, yelling cowboys were urging on the stragglers and forcing the
herd into the cool waters.
It was an inspiring sight for the boys.
Here and there a cowman would ride his pony into the water and turn the
leaders, who were straying too far up or down the river.
After half an hour of watering, the men began to force the cattle to the
opposite bank. There was a great scramble when the steers started to
climb the steep bluff. The first ones to try it went half way up on a
run.
Losing their footing they came tumbling to the foot of the bluff,
knocking a number of the other cattle back into the water.
There was much bellowing and floundering about, but the relentless
forcing from the other side swept the unfortunate ones to the crest of
the tide and up the steep bank.
Now that the loose dirt had slipped down the footing grew more secure,
and the animals soon fell into trails of their own making, up which they
crept three and four abreast.
Once on the other side they started to graze as contentedly as if they
had not just passed through a most trying experience.
Two of the cowmen who had forded the stream further down, now appeared
opposite the main fording place, to take charge of the cattle.
"Get across, boys," shouted the foreman.
With an answering shout Tad and Ned slid their ponies down the sharp
bluff, plunging into the water and heading straight across.
"Slip out of your saddles and hang on!" called the foreman.
Without an instant's hesitation the two boys slid into the water with a
splash, but keeping tight hold on the pommels of their saddles.
"Let go the reins," directed Stallings. "The ponies know where to go."
Now the lads were being drawn rapidly through the water, and almost
before they knew it their feet rested on the bottom of the shallow
stream a short distance from the opposite bank.
"Hooray!" shouted Tad, waving his water-soaked sombrero. "Come in. The
water's great!"
"Come on, Chunky," called Ned.
"I'll wait and go over in the wagon," decided Chunky.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the foreman. "You will swim, if
you get over at all."
Professor Zepplin, not to be outdone by his young charges, bravely rode
his animal into the stream.
The boys set up a shout of glee when he, too, finally dropped into the
river with a great splash. Instead, however, of allowing the pony to tow
him, the Professor propelled himself along with long powerful strokes of
his left hand, while with the right he clung to the saddle pommel.
"Three cheers for Professor Zepplin!" cried Tad as the German, dripping
but smiling, emerged from the water and scrambled up the bank, leaving
his pony to follow along after him.
The cheers were given with a will.
Stacy Brown, however, was still on the other side with the straggling
cattle which were coming along in small bunches.
"Young man, if you expect to get in for supper, you'd better be fording
the stream," suggested Big-foot Sanders.
The mention of supper was all that Stacy needed to start him.
"Gid-ap!"
The pony slid down the bank on its haunches, Stacy leaning far back in
the saddle that he might not pitch over the animal's head.
"Chunky would make a good side hill rider, wouldn't he?" jeered Ned.
"Depends upon whether he were going up or down," decided Tad.
"Look out! There he goes!" exclaimed Walter.
The boy's mount had mired one foot in a quicksand pocket and had gone
down on its knees. But Chunky kept right on going.
He hit the water flat on his stomach, arms and legs outspread, clawing
and kicking desperately.
The fat boy opened his mouth to cry out for help.
As a result Stacy swallowed all the water that came his way. Floundering
about like a drowning steer, choking and coughing, he disappeared from
sight.
CHAPTER VIII
THE APPROACH OF THE STORM
"He's gone down!" cried a voice from the other side of the stream.
Tad sprang down the bank and leaped in, striking out for the spot where
Stacy had last been seen.
Cattle were scattered here and there and the boy had to keep his eyes
open to prevent being run down. He had almost reached the place where he
had made up his mind to dive, should Stacy not rise to the surface, when
a great shout from the bluff caused Tad to turn.
"Wha--what is it?" he called.
"Look! Look!" cried Ned Rector.
"I don't see anything. Is it Chunky? Is he all right?"
"Yes. He's driving oxen just now," answered Ned.
By this time the cowpunchers had joined in the shouting. Tad could see,
however, that they were shouting with merriment, though for the life of
him he could not understand what there was to laugh about.
Several steers were between him and the spot on which the glances of the
others were fixed.
"Come on in," called Ned.
The lad swam shoreward with slow, easy strokes. Then he discovered what
they were laughing at.
Stacy, grasping desperately as he went down, had caught the tail of a
swimming steer. He had been quickly drawn to the surface, and out
through an opening between the treading animals, appeared the fat boy's
head.
Chunky was not swimming. He was allowing the steer to do that for him,
clinging to its tail with all his strength. The lad's eyes were blinded
for the moment by the water that was in them. He did not release his
hold of the tail when they had reached the shore, but hung on
desperately while the steer, dragging him along through the mire,
scrambled up the bank.
There was no telling how long Stacy might have hung to the animal's
tail, had not Stallings grabbed him by the collar as he rose over the
crest of the bank. Stallings shook him until the water-soaked clothes
sent out a miniature rain storm and the boy had coughed himself back to
his normal condition.
"Well, you are a nice sort of cowboy," laughed the foreman. "When you
are unable to do anything else to interest your friends, you try to
drown yourself. Go, shake yourself!"
Stacy rubbed the water from his eyes.
"I--I fell in, didn't I?" he grinned.
After having ferried the trail wagon over, everybody was ready for
supper. No one seemed to mind the wetting he had gotten. Professor
Zepplin made a joke of his own bedraggled condition, and the boys gave
slight heed to theirs.
The cattle were quickly bedded down and guards placed around them almost
immediately, for the clouds were threatening. Stallings' watchful eyes
told him that a bad night was before them. How bad, perhaps he did not
even dream.
Supper was ready a short time after the arrival of the wagon, and,
laughing and joking, the boys gathered about the spread with a keen zest
for the good things that had been placed before them.
"Do you boys feel like going out on guard to-night?" asked the foreman
while they were eating.
"I do for one," answered Tad.
"And I," chorused the rest of the lads.
"I see your recent wetting has not dampened your spirits any," laughed
Stallings.
"Conditions make a lot of difference in the lives of all of us,"
announced the Professor. "Now, were these boys at home they'd all catch
cold after what they have been through this afternoon. Their clothes, as
it is, will not be dry much before sunrise."
"And perhaps not even then," added the foreman, with an apprehensive
glance at the sky.
"What did you say, Mr. Stallings?"
"I am thinking that it looks like rain."
"What do we do when it rains?" asked Stacy Brown.
"Same as any other time, kid," growled Big-foot Sanders.
"I know; but what do you do?" persisted Chunky.
"Young feller, we usually git wet," snapped Curley Adams, his mouth so
full of potatoes that they could scarcely understand him.
"He means where do we sleep?" spoke up Tad.
"Oh, in the usual place," answered the foreman. "The only difference is
that the bed is not quite so hard as at other times."
"How's that, Mr. Stallings?" inquired Walter.
"Because there's usually a puddle of water under you. I've woke up many
a morning on the plains with only my head out of water. I'd a' been
drowned if I hadn't had the saddle under my head for a pillow. However,
it doesn't matter a great sight. After it has been raining a little
while a fellow can't get any wetter, so what's the odds?"
"That's what I say," added Ned Rector.
Stacy Brown shook his head, disapproval plainly written on his face.
"I don't agree with you. I have never been so wet that I couldn't be
wetter."
"How about when you came out of the river at the end of a cow's tail
this afternoon? Think you could have been any more wet?" jeered Ned.
"Sure thing. I might have drowned; then I'd been wet on the inside as
well as the outside," answered the fat boy, wisely, his reply causing a
ripple of merriment all around the party.
"I guess the gopher scored that time, eh?" grinned Big-foot.
That night Stacy was sent out on the second guard from ten-thirty to one
o'clock. They had found him asleep under the chuck wagon, whence he was
hauled out, feet first, by one of the returning guards.
Tad had turned in early, as he was to be called shortly before one to go
out with the third guard and to remain on duty till half-past three.
For reasons of his own the foreman had given orders that all the ponies
not on actual duty, that night, were to be staked down instead of being
hobbled and turned out to graze.
Tad heard the order given, and noting the foreman's questioning glances
at the heavens, imagined that it had something to do with weather
conditions.
"Do you think Mr. Stallings is worried about the weather?" asked the lad
of Big-foot Sanders, as he rode along beside the big cowman on the way
to the bedding place of the herd.
"I reckon he is," was the brief answer.
"Then you think we are going to have a storm?"
"Ever been through a Texas storm?" asked Big-foot by way of answering
the boy's question.
"No."
"Well, you won't call it a storm after you have. There ain't no name in
the dictionary that exactly fits that kind of a critter. A stampede is a
Sunday in a country village as compared with one of them Texas howlers.
You'll be wishing you had a place to hide, in about a minute after that
kind of a ruction starts."
"Are they so bad as that?"
"Well, almost," answered the cowman. "I've heard tell," he continued,
"that they've been known to blow the horns off a Mexican cow. Why, you
couldn't check one of them things with a three inch rope and a snubbing
post."
Tad laughed at the quaintness of his companion's words. The sky near the
horizon was a dull, leaden hue, though above their heads the stars
twinkled reassuringly.
"It doesn't look very threatening to me," decided Tad Butler, gazing
intently toward the heavens.
"Well, here's where we split," announced the cowboy, riding off to the
left of the herd, Tad taking the right. Shortly after the lad heard the
big cowman break out in song:
"Two little niggers upstairs in bed,
One turned ober to de oder an' said,
How 'bout dat short'nin' bread,
How 'bout dat short'nin' bread?"
Tad pulled up his pony and listened until the song had been finished. It
was the cowpuncher's way of telling the herd that he had arrived and was
on hand to guard them against trouble.
"Big-foot seems to have a new song to-night," mused Tad.
Now the lad noticed that there was an oppressiveness about the air that
had not been present before.
A deep orange glow showed on the southern horizon for an instant, then
settled back into the prairie, leaving the gloom about the young cowboy
even more dense than it had been before.
"Feels spooky," was Tad's comment.
Not being able to sing to his own satisfaction, Tad shoved his hands
deep into his trousers pockets and began whistling "Old Black Joe." It
was the most appropriate tune he could think of.
"Kind of fits the night," he explained to the pony, which was picking
its way slowly about the great herd. Then he resumed his whistling.
The guards passed each other without a word, some being too sleepy;
others too fully occupied with their own thoughts.
The night, by this time, had grown intensely still, even the insects and
night birds having hushed their weird songs.
A flash more brilliant than the first attracted the lad's attention.
"Lightning," he muttered, glancing off to the south. "I guess Mr.
Stallings was right about the storm." Yet, directly overhead the stars
still sparkled. In the distance Tad saw the comforting flicker of the
camp-fire, about which the cowmen were sleeping undisturbed by the
oppressiveness of the night.
"I guess the foreman knew what he was talking about when he said we were
going to have a storm," repeated Tad. "I wonder how the cattle will
behave if things get lively."
As if in answer to his question there came a stir among the animals on
the side nearest him.
Tad began whistling at once and the cows quieted down.
"They must like my whistling. It's the first time anything ever did,"
thought the lad.
Far over on the other side of the herd Big-foot crooned to his charges
the song of the "Two little niggers upstairs in bed."
"Sanders' stock must be walking in their sleep, too. I wonder----"
A brilliant flash lighted the entire heaven, causing Tad Butler to cut
short the remark he was about to make.
A deep rumble of thunder, that seemed to roll across the plain like some
great wave, followed a few seconds later.
The lad shivered slightly.
He was not afraid. Yet he realized that he was lonely, and wished that
some of the other guards might come along to keep him company.
Glancing up, Tad made the discovery that the small spot of clear sky had
disappeared. By now he was unable to see anything. He made no effort to
direct the pony, leaving it to the animal's instinct to keep a proper
distance from the herd and follow its formation.
The thunder gradually became louder and the flashes of lightning more
frequent. The herd was disturbed. He could hear the cattle scrambling to
their feet. Now and then the sound of locking horns reached him as the
beasts crowded their neighbors too closely in their efforts to move
about.
Tad tried to sing, but gave it up and resumed his whistling.
"I'm glad Chunky is not out on this trick," thought the boy aloud. "I am
afraid he would be riding back to camp as fast as his pony could carry
him."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a flash, so brilliant that
it blinded Tad for the moment, lighted up the prairie. A crash which, as
it seemed to him, must have split the earth wide open, followed almost
instantly.
Another roar, different from that caused by the thunder, rose on the
night air, accompanied by the suggestive rattle of meeting horns and the
bellowing of frightened cattle.
By this time Tad had circled around to the west side of the herd. The
instant this strange, startling noise reached him he halted his pony and
listened.
Off to the north of him he saw the flash of a six-shooter. Another
answered it from his rear. Then a succession of shots followed quickly
one after the other.
The lad began slowly to understand.
He could hear the rush and thunder of thousands of hoofs.
"The cattle are stampeding!" cried Tad.
CHAPTER IX
CHASED BY A STAMPEDING HERD
"Whoa-oo-ope! Whoa-oo-ope!"
The long soothing cry echoed from guard to guard.
It was the call of the cowman, in an effort to calm the frightened
animals. Here and there a gun would flash as the guards shot in front of
the stampeding herd, hoping thereby to turn the rush and set the animals
going about more in a circle in order to keep them together until they
could finally be quieted.
It was all a mad chaos of noise and excitement to the lad who sat in his
saddle hesitatingly, not knowing exactly what was expected of him under
the circumstances.
Off toward the camp a succession of flashes like fireflies told the
cowpunchers on guard that their companions were racing to their
assistance as fast as horseflesh could carry them.
The storm had disturbed the herd from the instant of the first flash of
lightning, and, as other flashes followed, the excitement of the animals
increased until, at last, throwing off all restraint, they dashed
blindly for the open prairie.
Desperately as the guards struggled to turn the herd, their efforts had
no more effect than if they had been seeking to beat back the waves of
the sea.
Tad was recalled to a realization of his position when, in a dazzling
flash of lightning, he caught a momentary glimpse of Big-foot Sanders
bearing down on him at a tremendous speed. Tad saw something else,
too--a surging mass of panic-stricken cattle, heads hanging low, horns
glistening and eyes protruding, sweeping toward him.
"Ride! Ride!" shouted Big-foot.
"Wh--where?" asked Tad in as strong a voice as he could command.
"Keep out of their way. Work up to the point as soon as you can and try
to point in the leaders. We've got to keep the herd from scattering.
I'll stay in the center and lead them till the others get here. Bob will
send along some of the fellows to help you as soon as possible."
While delivering his orders Big-foot had turned his pony, and, with Tad,
was riding swiftly in advance of the cattle, in the same direction that
they were traveling. To have paused where they were would have meant
being crushed and trampled beneath the hoofs of the now maddened
animals.
"Now, git!"
Tad pulled his pony slightly to the right.
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