The Pony Rider Boys in Texas

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A speck of dust far to the northwest suddenly attracted his attention.
Stallings halted his pony, and, sitting in his saddle almost motionless,
gazed intently at the tiny point that had come within range of his
vision.

"I wonder what that is," mused the foreman. "It can't be any of our
party, for they would not be likely to be away off there--that is,
unless they have rounded up the bunch."

Stallings, after a while, wheeled his pony and dashed back to camp.

"If any of the men come in, tell them to head northwest and come on as
fast as they can."

"Do you see anything?" asked the Professor anxiously.

"I don't know. I hope I do," answered the foreman, leaping into his
saddle and putting spurs to his mount. "It may be some other herd
crossing the state," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the speck
that was slowly developing into a miniature cloud.

The foreman urged his pony to its best pace, and, in the course of half
an hour he was able to make out a herd of cattle. That was all he could
tell about it. However, it was not long before he discovered a lone
horseman working up and down the herd.

Stallings was in too great a hurry to use his glasses now. He was
driving his pony straight at the yellow mark off there on the plain,
without swerving or appearing to exert any pressure at all on the bridle
rein.

"It's the Pinto, as I'm alive!" he breathed.

The horseman with the herd saw him now, and rising in his saddle, waved
a hand at the foreman.

In a few moments Stallings came rushing up with a shout of joy.

[Illustration: Good for You, Kid!]

"Good for you, kid! How are you?"

"Baked to a turn," answered Tad hoarsely, but with face lighting up
joyously. "I never was so thirsty in my life."

"What? Haven't you had anything to drink?"

"Not a drop in two days."

"Great heavens, boy! You head that pony for camp mighty quick. Ride for
it! You will have no difficulty in following my trail back. Don't drink
much at a time. Take it in little sips," commanded the foreman in short,
jerky sentences.

"Yes, but what about the herd?" asked Tad Butler.

"Never you mind the herd. I'll see to them. You move!"

Stallings noticed that the boy sat in his saddle very straight, and he
knew well enough the effort it cost him to do so.

"I think I'll stay," answered the lad after a moment of indecision.

"You'll go!"

Tad shook his head.

"I've pulled them through, even if I have had quite a time of it. Now
I'm going to stay with them. I guess I can stand it as well as any of
your men could under similar circumstances. They wouldn't desert the
herd, would they?"

Stallings glanced at him sharply.

"All right," he said. "If you insist upon it. By good rights I ought to
order you in. But I understand just how you feel, kid. Here, take a
drink of this brandy. It will brace you up," said the foreman, producing
a flask from his pocket. "I keep it for emergencies, as the men are not
allowed to use it while on duty."

"Thank you," answered the boy, with an emphatic shake of the head. "I
don't drink."

"I understand. But this is medicine," urged the foreman. "It will set
you right up."

"I haven't the least doubt of it," grinned the boy. "But I don't want to
be set up that way. You'll excuse me, Mr. Stallings. Don't urge me,
please."

The foreman replaced the flask in his pocket, a queer smile flickering
about the corners of his mouth.

"You are the right stuff, kid," he muttered. "If you stayed in this
business you'd be a foreman before you knew it. You are a heap sight
better than a lot of them now. Fall in. I'll ride around on the other
side of the herd, and urge them along from the rear. You ride up to the
right of the line and keep them pointed. Follow our trail. You will make
out the main herd very soon."

With renewed strength, Tad went at his work, though it was with an
effort that he kept his saddle. He was afraid he must collapse before
reaching the camp, and his straining eyes kept searching for the herd
and the white-topped wagon that he knew held what he needed most of all
at that moment--drink and food!

Soon Tad and the foreman made out a rising cloud of dust approaching
them at a rapid rate. Stallings waved his hand toward the cloud and
nodded to Tad, being too far away to call.

The lad shook his head in reply. He understood what the foreman meant.
Men were coming to their assistance and the boy was to push on for camp
alone.

The cowpunchers began to laugh as they rode up and observed the boy's
tattered condition.

"So the Pinto got a dose this time, eh?" jeered Lumpy Bates.

"You shut up!" snarled Big-foot Sanders, turning on him menacingly.
"He's brought them cows back, and I'll bet a new saddle it's more'n you
could have done. Don't you see the kid's near all in? Here you, Pinto,
you hike for camp!" he shouted.

"I'm staying with the cattle," announced Tad, firmly.

"Cattle nothing. It's the camp for yours and mighty quick!"

Without waiting for argument Big-foot grasped the reins of Tad's bridle
and whirling his own mount about, galloped away, fairly dragging Tad
Butler and his tired pony after him.

With no reins in his hands the boy was powerless to interfere. All he
could do was to sit in his saddle and be towed into camp.

"Please don't take me in this way. Let me ride in," he begged as they
neared the camp.

"All right," laughed Big-foot, slacking up and tossing the reins back
over the pony's neck. "It's a terrible thing to be proud, when a
fellow's down and out. But I want to say one thing, kid."

"Yes?"

"There ain't a gamer critter standing on two hoofs than you--bar none.
And that goes."

Tad laughed happily.

"I haven't done anything. I----"

"Haven't done anything?" growled Big-foot, riding close and peering down
into the boy's scarred and grimy face. "Say, don't pass that out to the
bunch. Lumpy'll say you're fishin' for compliments. I don't want to
thump him, but, if he passes out any talk as reflects on what you've
done for this outfit, I'll thrash him proper."

They were now so near to the camp that the Professor and the boys were
able to recognize the horsemen.

They set up a great shout.

"Meet me with a pail of water," yelled Tad. "I'm hot."

Pong heard him and almost immediately emerged from the chuck wagon with
a tin pail full of water.

"Throw it on me, quick," commanded the lad, leaping from his pony.

Pong tipped the pail and was about to dash it over the lad when Big-foot
suddenly freed a foot from the stirrup. He gave the pail a powerful kick
sending it several feet from him, its contents spilling over the ground.

"You idiot! You fool heathen!" roared Big-foot. "The Pinto didn't say he
wanted boiling hot water thrown on him. He said he was hot. If you
wasn't the cook of this outfit, and we'd all starve to death without
you, I'd shoot you plumb full of holes, you blooming idiot of a heathen
Chinee!"

"Allee same," chuckled Pong, showing his gleaming teeth.

"What! You climb into that wagon before I forget you're the cook!" fumed
Big-foot, jumping his pony threateningly toward the Chinaman. Pong
leaped into the protection of his wagon.

"Boys," said the big cowman, "the Pinto has come back with the crazy
steers. He's rounded up the whole bunch and never lost a critter. Look
at him, if you don't believe me. Ain't he a sight?"

Tad smiled proudly as he sipped the water which one of the boys had
brought to him.

"Any man as says he ain't a sight has got a fight on with Big-foot
Sanders. And that goes, too!" announced the cowman, glaring about him.

"Three cheers for Tad Butler, champion cowpuncher!" cried Ned Rector.

"Hooray!" bellowed Big-foot. "Y-e-e-e-o-w!"

"Hip-hip, hooray!" chorused the boys, hurling their sombreros into the
air. Their wild yells and cat calls made the cattle off on the grazing
grounds raise their heads in wonder.

"Allee same likee this," chuckled the grinning Chinaman from the front
end of the chuck wagon, at the same time making motions as if he, too,
were cheering.

The boys roared with laughter.

Big-foot Sanders grunted and turned his back on the grinning face of
Pong.

"One of these days I sure will forget that heathen's the cook," he
growled.

CHAPTER XII

UNDER A STRANGE INFLUENCE

"We will move to-morrow shortly after daybreak," announced the foreman
at supper that night.

"Will you put me on the fourth guard this evening, Mr. Stallings?" asked
Tad Butler.

"You take the fourth guard? A cowpuncher who hasn't had a wink in more
than two days? Why, I wouldn't ask a steer to do that! No kid, you roll
up in your blankets and sleep until the cook routs you out for
breakfast."

"I'll take my trick just the same. I can sleep at home when I get back.
I don't want to miss a minute of this fun," returned Tad.

"Fun--he calls it fun!" grunted Lumpy.

"It's just the beginning of the fun," answered Big-foot. "I knew things
would begin to happen when we got near the Nueces."

"Why?" asked Ned Rector.

"I don't know. There seems to be some queer influence at work round
these parts. Last time I was over this part of the trail we had a
stampede almost every night for a week. Two months ago I heard of an
outfit that lost more'n half its stock."

"How about it, Mr. Stallings?" laughed Tad. "Are you superstitious,
too?"

The boys noted that the foreman frowned and would not answer at once.

"Not exactly. Big-foot means the adobe church of San Miguel."

"What's that?" interrupted Chunky.

"An old Mexican church on the plains. Probably hasn't been used for a
hundred years or more. You boys will have a chance to explore the place.
It's not far from the Ox Bow ranch, where we take in another herd. We
shall be there a couple of days or so until the cattle get acquainted.
Besides, we shall have to buy some fresh ponies. Four of ours broke
their legs in the stampede and had to be shot."

"Oh, that's too bad," answered Tad. "I'm sorry. I don't like to see a
horse get hurt."

"No more do I, Master Tad. But in this business it is bound to happen. I
think we shall be able to get some green bronchos. They usually have a
bunch of them at the Ox Bow ranch. You will see some fun when we break
them in," laughed the foreman.

"I think I should like to take a hand in that myself. But I am anxious
to hear more about the haunted church."

"Who said anything about a haunted church?" demanded Stacy Brown.

"The gopher is right. The church isn't haunted. It just happens that
cowmen fall into a run of hard luck in that neighborhood now and then."

"Do you believe in spooks, Mr. Stallings!" asked Walter.

"Never having seen one, I don't know whether I do or not. Were I to see
one I might believe in them," laughed the foreman.

"I saw a ghost once," began Stacy Brown.

"Never mind explaining about it," objected Ned. "We'll take your word
for it and let it go at that."

Tad Butler had gotten into a fresh change of clothes after having taken
a bath in a wash tub behind the trail wagon. His wounds pained him, and
he was sleepy, so the lad turned in shortly after his supper, and was
soon sound asleep.

Nothing occurred to disturb the camp that night, and when finally Tad
was awakened to take his watch, it seemed as if he had been asleep only
a few minutes. However, he sprang up wide awake and ready for the work
ahead of him. As usual, he went out with Big-foot. A warm friendship had
sprung up between the big cowboy and Tad Butler. They were together much
of the time when their duties permitted.

"Is there any truth in that spook story?" asked Tad, as the two rode
slowly out to where the herd was bedded down.

Big-foot hesitated.

"You can call it whatever you want to. I only know that things happen to
most every outfit that gets within a hundred miles of the place. Why,
out at the Ox Bow ranch, they have the worst luck of any cattle place in
the state. If it wasn't for the fact that they keep their cows fenced in
with wire fences, they wouldn't have a critter on the place."

"But, I don't understand," protested Tad. "I don't seem to get it
through my head what it is that causes all the trouble you tell me
about."

"No more does anybody else. They just know that hard luck is lying
around waiting for them when they get near and that's all they know
about it."

"When shall we be near there?" asked Tad Butler.

"We are near enough now. Our troubles have begun already. Herd
stampeded. Ponies broke their legs and had to be shot. Nobody knows what
else will break loose before we get a hundred miles further on."

"I am anxious to see the place," commented Tad.

"You won't be after you've been there. I worked on a cow herd near the
place two years ago."

"Yes?"

"Well, I got out after I'd been pitched off my pony and got a broken
leg. That was only one of the things that happened to me, but it was
enough. I got out. And here I am running my head right into trouble
again. Say, kid!"

"Yes."

"You'd better ask the Herr Professor to let you carry a gun. You'll need
it."

"What for--to lay ghosts with?" laughed the boy.

"Well, mebby something of that sort."

"Don't need it. I guess my fists will lay out any kind of a ghost that I
run against. If they won't, no gun will do any good. I don't believe in
a boy's carrying a pistol in his pocket. It will get him into more
trouble than it will get him out of."

"Well, that's some horseback sense," grunted Big-foot. "I never built up
against that idee before, but I reckon it's right. We don't need 'em
much either, except to frighten the cows with when they start on a
stampede, and----"

"It doesn't seem to stop them," retorted Tad, with a little malicious
smile. "It strikes me that a boy without a gun can stop a runaway herd
about as quickly as can a cowboy with one."

"Right again, my little pardner. Scored a bull's-eye that time. I guess
Big-foot Sanders hasn't any call to be arguing with you."

"We were talking about spooks," the boy reminded him. "I am anxious to
see that church. I've wanted to see one all my life----"

"What? A church?"

"No; a spook."

"Oh! Can't promise to show you nothing of the sort. But I'll agree to
stack you up against a run of hard luck that will make you wobbly on
your legs."

"That will be nothing new, Big-foot. I've had that already."

"Sure thing. That's the beginning of the trouble. As I was saying
before, we don't need the guns for any other reason unless it's against
cattle rustlers. Sometimes they steal cattle these days, but not so much
as they did in the early days of the cattle business."

"Think we will meet any rustlers?" asked Tad, with sudden interest.

"Nary a rustler will tackle this herd. First place, we are not yet in
the country where they can work profitably----"

"Where's that?"

"Oh, anywhere where there's mountains for them to hide in. I'll show you
where the rustlers used to work, when we get further along on the trail.
But, as I was saying, there are no rustlers hereabouts."

"Oh," answered Tad Butler, somewhat regretfully.

"You never mind about hunting trouble. Trouble is coming to this outfit
good and plenty, and I reckon a kid like you will be in the middle of
it, too. You ain't the kind that goes sneaking for cover when things are
lively. I saw that the other night. Stallings is going to write to Boss
Miller about the way you stuck to the herd when it ran away."

"What for?"

"I dunno. Guess 'cause he knows it'll make the old man smile. We boys
will come in for an extra fiver at the end of the trip, for saving the
herd, I reckon."

"That's where you have the best of me," laughed Tad. "No fives for me. I
get my pay out of the fun I am having. I think I am overpaid at that.
Well, so long, Big-foot," announced the lad as they finally reached the
herd.

"So long," answered the cowman, turning his pony off to take the
opposite side of the sleeping cattle. In a few moments Tad heard his
strident voice singing to the herd again.

The hours passed more quickly than had been the case the last time Tad
was on guard, for he had much to think of and to wonder over.

Daybreak had arrived almost before he knew it and the call for breakfast
sounded across the plain.

As soon as he had been relieved, Tad Butler galloped back to camp,
bright-eyed and full of anticipation, both for the meal and for the ride
that was before them that day.

Corn cakes were on the bill of fare that morning and the Pony Riders
shouted with glee when they discovered what Pong had prepared for them.

"Bring on the black strap," called Stallings.

Stacy Brown glanced at the foreman suspiciously.

"Why do you want a black strap for breakfast?" he demanded.

"To put on the corn cakes of course, boy," laughed Stallings.

"I've heard of using a black strap to hitch horses with----"

"And to correct unruly boys," added Professor Zepplin.

"But I never did hear of eating it on corn cakes."

Everybody laughed at Chunky's objection.

"You will eat this strap when you see it," answered Stallings, taking a
jug from the hands of the Chinaman and pouring some of its contents over
the cakes on his plate.

"What is it!" asked Ned Rector.

"Molasses. It's what we call black strap. Help yourselves. Never mind
the gopher there. He never eats black straps for breakfast," the foreman
jeered.

"Here, I want some of that," demanded Stacy, half-rising and reaching
for the jug. "My, but it's good!" he decided with his mouth full.

"That's all right," answered Walter. "But please do not forget that
there are some others in this outfit who like cakes and molasses. Please
pass that jug this way."

"Yes, the pony won't be able to carry him to-day if he keeps on for ten
minutes more, at the rate he's been going," laughed Ned Rector. "I never
did have any sort of use for a glutton."

"Neither did I," added Chunky solemnly, at which both Pony Riders and
cowboys roared with laughter.

"Going to be another scorcher," decided the foreman, rising and
surveying the skies critically. "We shall not be able to make very good
time, I fear."

"When do you expect to reach the Nueces River?" asked the Professor.

"I had hoped to get there by to-morrow. However, it doesn't look as if
we should be able to do so if it comes off so hot."

"Is the Nueces a large river?" asked Walter.

"Sometimes. And it is a lively stream when there happens to be a freshet
and both forks are pouring a flood down into it. We will try to bed down
near the river and you boys can have some sport swimming. Do all of you
swim?"

"Yes," they chorused.

"That's good. The cowpunchers will have a time of it, too."

"I can float," Stacy Brown informed him eagerly.

"So could I if I were as fat as you. I could float all day," retorted
Ned Rector. "You couldn't sink if you were to fill your pockets with
stones. There is some advantage in being fat, anyway."

"He didn't seem to float the day he fell in among the steers," said one
of the cowboys.

"That isn't fair," interrupted Stallings. "The steers put the gopher
under, that day. Any of you would have gone down with a mob of cows
piling on top of you."

"The river is near the church you were telling me about, isn't it?"
inquired Tad of Big-foot in a low tone.

Sanders nodded solemnly.

Tad's eyes sparkled eagerly. He finished his breakfast rather hurriedly
and rose from the table. As he walked away he met the horse wrangler
bringing the day ponies. The lad quickly saddled his own mount after a
lively little struggle and much squealing and bucking from the pony.

Tad was eager to reach the river and get sight of the mysterious church
beyond. Yet, he did not dream of the thrilling experiences that were
awaiting them all at the very doors of the church of San Miguel.

CHAPTER XIII

CHUNKY ROPES A COWBOY

"Wow! Help! Help!"

The herd had been moving on for several hours, grazing comfortably along
the trail, when the sudden yell startled the entire outfit.

The cowboys reined in their ponies and grasped their quirts firmly,
fully expecting that another stampede was before them.

Instead, they saw Stacy Brown riding away from the herd, urging his pony
to its best speed. Right behind him, with lowered head and elevated tail
was a white muley, evidently chasing the lad.

What the boy had done to thus enrage the animal no one seemed to know.
However, it was as pretty a race as they had seen thus far on the drive.

"Point him back! He can't hurt you!" shouted the foreman.

Instead of obeying the command, Stacy brought down his quirt on the
pony, causing the little animal to leap away across the plain in a
straight line.

The cowboys were shouting with laughter at the funny spectacle.

"Somebody get after that steer!" roared the foreman. "The boy never will
stop as long as the critter keeps following him, and we'll have the herd
following them before we know it."

"I'll go, if you wish," said Tad Butler.

"Then go ahead. Got your rope?"

"Yes."

"It'll be good practice for you."

Tad was off like a shot, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

"That boy's got the making of a great cowpuncher in him," said the
foreman, nodding his head approvingly.

Tad's pony was the swifter of the two, and besides, he was riding on an
oblique line toward the runaway outfit.

It was the first opportunity the lad had had to show off his skill as a
cowman, for none had seen his pointing of the herd on the night of the
stampede. He was burning with impatience to get within roping distance
of the steer before they got so far away that the cowmen would be unable
to see the performance.

"Pull up and turn him, Chunky," called Tad.

"I can't."

"Why not? Turn in a half circle, then I shall be able to catch up with
you sooner."

"Can't. The muley won't stop long enough for me to turn around."

Tad laughed aloud. He now saw that it was to be a race between the steer
and his own pony. The odds, however, were in favor of the steer, for
Stacy Brown was pacing him at a lively gait, and Tad was still some
distance behind.

The latter's pony was straining every muscle to overhaul the muley. Tad
finally slipped the lariat from the saddle bow. Swinging the great loop
above his head, he sent it squirming through the air. At that instant
the muley changed its course a little and the rope missed its mark by
several feet. Now it was dragging behind the running pony.

By this time Tad had fallen considerably behind. He took up the race
again with stubborn determination.

Coiling the rope as he rode on, he made another throw.

The noose fell fairly over the head of the muley steer, this time.
Profiting by a previous experience, the lad took a quick turn about the
pommel of the saddle. The pony braced itself, ploughing up the ground
with its little hoofs as it did so.

A jolt followed that nearly threw Tad from his saddle. The muley steer's
head was suddenly jerked to one side and the next instant the animal lay
flat on its back, its heels wildly beating the air.

"Whoop!" shouted Tad in high glee, waving his hat triumphantly to the
watching cowpunchers.

The steer was up in a moment, with Tad Butler watching him narrowly.

"Cast your rope over his head, Chunky."

Chunky made a throw and missed.

The angry steer rose to its feet and charged him.

Stacy Brown held the muleys in wholesome awe, though, having no horns,
they were the least dangerous of the herd.

"Yeow!" shrieked Chunky, putting spurs to his pony and getting quickly
out of harm's way.

The steer was after him at a lively gallop, with Tad Butler and his pony
in tow. Tad had prudently shaken out the reins when he saw the animal
preparing to take up the chase again.

Waiting until the steer had gotten under full headway, the lad watched
his chance, then pulled his pony up sharply.

This time the muley's head was jerked down with such violence that it
turned a partial somersault, landing on its back with a force that must
have knocked the breath out of it.

Again and again did Tad repeat these tactics, the pony seemingly
enjoying the sport fully as much as did the boy himself. After a time he
succeeded in getting the unruly beast headed toward the herd.

Once he had done that he let the animal have its head and they sailed
back over the trail at a speed that made the cowboys laugh. Tad seemed
to be driving the steer, with Stacy Brown riding well up to the animal's
flanks, laying on his quirt to hasten its speed, every time he got a
chance.

As they neared the herd, Tad in attempting to release the rope from the
pommel let it slip through his hands.

The lad was chagrined beyond words.

"Rope him quick, Chunky!" he cried.

Lumpy Bates, observing the mishap, had spurred toward the running steer,
intending to cast a lariat over one of the animal's feet and throw it so
they could remove the lariat from its neck.

Just as the cowboy wheeled his mount in order to reach one of the
steer's hind feet, Chunky clumsily cast his own rope.

Instead of reaching the muley steer, the loop caught the left hind foot
of the cowpuncher's galloping pony.

"Cinch it!" called Tad as the loop followed an undulating course through
the air.

Chunky did cinch it gleefully about his saddle pommel. At the same time
he cinched something else.

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