The Pony Rider Boys in Texas
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Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in Texas
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The cowpuncher's mount went down, its nose burrowing into the turf.
Lumpy was so taken by surprise that he had no time to save himself. He
shot over the pony's neck, landing flat on his back several feet in
advance of the pony's nose.
The watching cowboys set up a jeering yell.
Lumpy scrambled to his feet, his face purple with rage.
"You tenderfoot!" shrieked Curley Adams. "To let the gopher rope you
like a yearling steer!"
Chunky sat on his mount with blanched face, now realizing the enormity
of his act.
"I--I didn't mean to do it," he stammered.
At first Lumpy did not know what had caused his pony to fall. But no
sooner had he gotten to his feet than he comprehended. With a savage
roar he sprang for the fat boy with quirt raised above his head,
prepared to bring it down on Stacy Brown the instant he reached him.
The blow would have been bad enough had it been delivered in the
ordinary way. The cowboy, however, had gasped the quirt by the small end
and was preparing to use the loaded butt on the head of the boy who had
been the cause of his fall.
Tad had halted upon observing the accident, laughing uproariously at the
spectacle of Lumpy Bates being roped by Stacy Brown.
When he saw the quirt in the hands of the cowpuncher, however, and
realized what his purpose was, the laughter died on the lips of Tad
Butler.
"Drop that quirt, Lumpy!" he commanded sternly.
Lumpy gave no heed to the command, but broke into a run for Stacy.
Tad, who was a few rods away, put spurs to his pony, at the same time
slipping off the lariat from the other side of his saddle.
"The Pinto's going to rope him," gasped the cowboys. All were too far
away to be of any assistance. Stallings was with another part of the
herd, else he would have jumped in and interfered before Tad's action
had become necessary.
Tad's pony leaped forward under the pressure of the spurs. The boy began
spinning the noose of the lariat above his head.
The cowboys were watching in breathless suspense.
Tad sent the loop squirming through the air, turning his pony so as to
run parallel with the one on which Stacy was sitting, half paralyzed
with fear, as he gazed into the rage-contorted face of Lumpy Bates.
As the quirt was descending, Tad's rope slipped over the cowboy's head
and under one arm. This time, however, the lad did not cinch the rope
over his saddle pommel. He held it firmly in his hand, with a view to
letting go after it had served its purpose, having no desire to injure
his victim.
Lumpy Bates went over as if he had been bowled over with a club, and
before he had realized the meaning of it he had been dragged several
feet.
Tad jerked his pony up sharply and slowly rode back to where his victim
was desperately struggling to free himself.
"Y-e-e-e-o-ow!" screamed the cowboys, circling about the scene, their
ponies on a dead run, discharging their six-shooters into the air,
giving cat calls and wild war-whoops in the excess of their joy.
Big-foot Sanders, however, had not joined in their merriment. Instead,
he had ridden up within a couple of rods of where Lumpy Bates was lying.
Big-foot sat quietly on his pony, awaiting the outcome.
At last Lumpy tore off the lariat's grip and scrambled to his feet. He
glared about him to see whence had come this last indignity.
"I did it, Lumpy," announced Tad Butler quietly.
"You----"
"Wait a minute before you tell me what you are going to do," commanded
Tad. "Chunky did not mean to throw you. He was trying to rope the steer.
He'll tell you he is sorry. But you were going to hit him because you
were mad. If you'd struck him with the butt of that quirt you might have
killed him. I had to rope you to prevent that. Is there anything you
want to say to me now?"
"I'll show you what I've got to say," snarled the cowboy, starting for
Tad.
"Stop! Lumpy Bates, if you come another foot nearer to me I'll ride you
down!" warned Tad, directing a level gaze at the eyes of his adversary.
The cowboy gazed defiantly at the slender lad for a full moment.
"I'll fix you for that!" he growled, turning away.
At that moment Big-foot Sanders rode in front of him and pulled up his
pony.
"What's that ye say?"
"Nothing--I said I'd be even with that cub."
"I reckon ye'd better not try it, Lumpy. The kid's all right. Big-foot
Sanders is his friend. And that's the truth. Don't let it get away from
you!"
CHAPTER XIV
ON A WILD NIGHT RIDE
"Your fat friend, over there, is making queer noises, Master Tad. Must
be having a bad dream."
Big-foot had reached a ponderous hand from his blankets and shaken Tad
roughly.
"Mebby the gopher's having a fit. Better find out what ails him."
The rain was falling in torrents. The men were soaked to the skin, but
it did not seem to disturb them in the least, judging by the quality of
their snores.
Tad listened. Stacy Brown surely was having trouble of some sort. The
lad threw off his blankets and ran over to where his companion was
lying.
"Chunky's drowning," he exclaimed in a voice full of suppressed
excitement.
Big-foot leaped to his feet, hurrying to the spot.
Stacy was lying in a little depression in the ground, a sort of puddle
having formed about him, and when Tad reached him the lad had turned
over on his face, only the back part of his head showing above the
water. He appeared to be struggling, but unable to free himself from his
unpleasant position.
They jerked him up choking and coughing, shaking him vigorously to get
the water out of him.
"Wha--what's the matter!" stammered the boy.
"Matter enough. Trying to drown yourself?" growled the cowboy.
"Di--did I fall in?"
"Did you fall in? Where do you think you are?"
"I--I thought I fell in the river and I was trying to swim out,"
answered the boy, with a sheepish grin that caused his rescuers to shake
with merriment.
"Guess we'll have to get a life preserver for you," chuckled Big-foot.
"You ain't safe to leave around when the dew is falling."
"Dew? Call this dew? This is a flood."
"Go find a high piece of ground, and go to bed. We haven't got time to
lie awake watching you. Be careful that you don't step on any of the
bunch. They ain't likely to wake up in very good humor a night like
this, and besides, Lumpy Bates is sleeping not more'n a rope's length
from you. You can imagine what would happen if you stepped on his face
to-night."
Chunky shivered slightly. He had had one experience with the ill-natured
cowpuncher that day and did not care for another.
"I'll go to bed," he chattered.
"You'd better. What's that?" exclaimed the cowpuncher sharply, pausing
in a listening attitude.
"Some one coming," answered Tad. "They seem to be in a hurry."
"Yes, I should say they were. I reckon the trouble is coming, kid."
A horseman dashed up to the camp that lay enshrouded in darkness, save
for the lantern that hung at the tail board of the chuck wagon.
"Roll out! Roll out!"
It was the voice of Curley Adams.
The cowpunchers scrambled to their feet with growls of disapproval,
demanding to know what the row was about.
"What is it, a stampede?" called Big-foot, hastily rolling his blankets
and dumping them in the wagon.
"No; but it may be. The boss wants the whole gang to turn out and help
the guard."
"For what?"
"The cows are restless. They're knocking about ready to make a break at
any minute."
"What? Haven't they bedded down yet?" asked Big-foot.
"No, nary one of them. And they ain't going to to-night."
"I knew it," announced the cowman, with emphasis.
"Knew what?" asked Tad.
"That we were in for trouble. And it's coming a-running."
By this time the horse wrangler had rounded up the ponies, and the
cowboys, grumbling and surly, were hurriedly cinching on saddles. A few
moments later the whole party was riding at full gallop toward the herd.
"Where's the gopher?" inquired Big-foot, after they had ridden some
distance. "Did we leave him behind?"
"I guess Chunky is asleep," laughed Tad.
"Best place for him. He'd have the herd on the run in no time if he was
to come out to-night. Never knew a human being who could stir up so much
trouble out of nothing as he can. We're coming up with the herd now. Be
careful where you are riding, too."
All was excitement. The cattle were moving restlessly about, prodding
each other with their horns, while guards were galloping here and there,
talking to them soothingly and whipping into line those that had strayed
from the main herd.
Bunches of fifteen or twenty were continually breaking through the lines
and starting to run. Quirts and ropes were brought into use to check
these individual rushes, the cowmen fearing to use their weapons lest
they alarm the herd and bring on a stampede.
"What's the trouble!" demanded Big-foot as they came up with the
foreman.
"I don't know. Bad weather, I guess. The evil one seems to have gotten
into the critters to-night. Lead your men up to the north end of the
line. We will take care of these fellows down here as best we can."
The men galloped quickly to their stations. Then in the driving rain
that soaked and chilled them the cowmen began their monotonous songs,
interrupted now and then by a shout of command from some one in charge
of a squad.
There was no thunder or lightning this time. The men were thankful for
that; it needed only some sudden disturbance to start the animals going.
The disturbance came after an hour's work. The cowmen had brought some
sort of order out of the chaos and were beginning to breathe easier.
Stallings rode up to the head of the herd giving orders that the cattle
be pointed in and kept in a circle if possible. To do this he called
away all the men at the right save Tad Butler and Big-foot Sanders. As
it chanced, they were at the danger spot when the trouble came.
Chunky had been awakened by the disturbance in camp, not having fully
aroused himself until after the departure of the men, however. He sat
up, rubbing his eyes, grumbling about the weather and expressing his
opinion of a cowpuncher's life in no uncertain terms.
Finding that all had left him, the lad decided to get his pony and
follow.
"What's the matter, Pong?" he called, observing the Chinaman up and
fixing the curtains about his wagon.
"Allee same likee this," answered Pong hopping about in imitation of an
animal running away.
"He's crazy," muttered Chunky, going to his pony and swinging himself
into the saddle.
Chunky urged the animal along faster and faster. He could hear the
cowboys on beyond him though he was able to see only a few yards ahead
of him. However, the boy was becoming used to riding in the dark and did
not feel the same uncertainty that he had earlier.
"I'll bet they are getting ready to run away," he decided.
In that, Stacy was right. Before he realized where he was he had driven
his pony full into the rear ranks of the restless cattle.
Chunky uttered a yell as he found himself bumping against the sides of
the cows and sought to turn his pony about.
The startled steers nearest to him fought desperately to get away from
the object that had so suddenly hurled itself against them. Instantly
there was a mix-up, with bellowing, plunging steers all about him.
"Help! Help!" shouted the boy.
Now his pony was biting and kicking in an effort to free itself from the
animals that were prodding it with horns and buffeting it from side to
side.
Only a moment or so of this was necessary to fill the cattle with blind,
unreasoning fear. With one common impulse they lunged forward. Those
ahead of them felt the impetus of the thrust just as do the cars of a
freight train under the sudden jolt of a starting engine.
"What's up?" roared the foreman.
"They're off!" yelled a cowman.
"Head them!"
"Can't. They're started in the center of the herd."
With heads down, the entire herd was now charging straight ahead.
Big-foot Sanders and Tad Butler, nearly half a mile ahead, felt the
impetus, too.
"Keep your head, boy," warned the cowpuncher. "We are in for a run for
our money, now."
It came even as he spoke. With a bellow the cattle started forward at a
lively gallop.
"Whoa-oo-ope!" cried Big-foot, riding in front of the plunging leaders.
He might as well have sought to stay the progress of the wind. The
leaders swept man and boy aside and dashed on.
"Better keep them straight and not try to stop them, hadn't we?" shouted
Tad, with rare generalship.
"That's the trick! Can you hold your side?" roared Big-foot in reply.
"I'll try," answered the boy, riding so close to the leaders that they
rubbed sides with his pony. The latter, understanding what was wanted of
him, pushed sturdily on holding the cattle with his side, leaning toward
them to give the effort the benefit of his entire weight.
One end of Tad's neckerchief had come loose and was streaming straight
out behind him, while the broad brim of his sombrero was tipped up by
the rushing breeze.
It was a wild and perilous ride. Yet the lad thought nothing of this.
His whole thought was centered on the work in hand, that of keeping the
cattle headed northward. Tad was unable to tell whether they were going
in a straight line or not, but this time he had the big cowman to rely
upon.
"Give way a little!" warned Big-foot.
"Right!" answered the lad, pulling his pony to one side, then
straightening him again.
"We'll hit the Injun Territory by daylight if we keep on at this gait!
You all right?"
"Yes. But I think the herd is spreading out behind me," answered Tad.
"Never mind that. They'll likely follow the leaders."
Off to the rear they could hear the sharp reports of the cowboys'
revolvers as they sought to stay the mad rush. Big-foot, however, had
thought it best not to resort to shooting tactics. They were making
altogether too good headway. If only they were able to keep the cattle
headed the way they were going the herd would be none the worse off for
the rush and the outfit would be that much further along on the journey.
The thundering hoof-beats behind them as the living tide swept down upon
them, was not a pleasant sound to hear. Yet Big-foot and Tad were
altogether too busy to be greatly disturbed by it.
They had gone on for fully half an hour, after that, with no apparent
decrease in the speed of the stampede. The ponies were beginning to show
their fatigue. Tad slowed down a little, patting his faithful little
animal to encourage it and quiet its nerves.
As he did so, the boy's attention was again called to the fact that a
solid wall of cattle had apparently closed in behind him.
"Big-foot!" he shouted.
"Yes?" answered the cowboy, in a far away voice, for some distance now
separated the two.
"It looks to me as if they were closing in on us. What do you think?"
"Wait! I'll see."
The cowboy pulled up a little and listened.
"Right you are. They have spread out in a solid wall."
"What shall we do?"
"Ride! Ride for your life!" came the excited reply.
"Where?"
"To your right. Don't let them catch you or you'll be trampled under
their feet. They'll never stop, now, till they get to the river."
"Is it near here?"
"Only a few miles ahead. I can hear it roar now. A flood is coming down
it. Hurry!"
Tad had barely heard the last word. Already he had swung his pony about
and was galloping with all speed to the right in an effort to get free
of the herd before they crowded him and his pony into the turbulent,
swollen river.
CHAPTER XV
FORDING A SWOLLEN RIVER
The first light of the morning revealed to Tad Butler the narrow escape
he had had. He had barely passed the outer point of the stampeding herd
when the cattle rushed by him.
On beyond, less than half a mile away, he made out the river in the
faint light. His companion was nowhere to be seen. However, that was not
surprising, as the cattle now covered a large area; so large that Tad
was unable to see to the other side of the herd.
As the day dawned the cattle began to slacken their speed, and, by the
time the leaders reached the river bank, the rush was at an end. Some of
the stock plunged into the edge of the stream where they began drinking,
while others set to grazing contentedly.
As the light became stronger, the lad made out the figure of Big-foot
Sanders approaching him at an easy gallop.
"We did it, didn't we, Big-foot?" exulted Tad Butler.
"That we did, Pinto. And there comes the rest of the bunch now,"
Big-foot added, pointing to the rear, where others of the cowboys were
to be seen riding up.
Stallings was the first to reach them.
"Good job," he grinned. "We are at the river several hours ahead of
schedule time. Doesn't look very promising, does it?"
"River's pretty high. Are you thinking of fording it this morning?"
asked Big-foot, looking over the swollen stream.
"We might as well. The water will be higher later in the day. We may not
be able to get across in several days if we wait too long."
"What do you think started the cattle this time?" asked Tad.
"I don't think. I know what did it."
"Yes?"
"It was that clumsy friend of yours."
"The gopher?" asked Big-foot.
"Allee same, as Pong would say. That boy is the limit. Is he always
falling into trouble that way?"
"Yes, or falling off a pony," laughed Tad.
"There he comes, now."
Stacy rode up to them, his face serious and thoughtful.
"Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?" asked the foreman.
"I was going to ask you, sir, where we are going to get our breakfast?"
Stallings glanced at Tad and Big-foot, with a hopeless expression in his
eyes.
"Go ask the Chinaman," he answered rather brusquely.
"I can't. He isn't here."
"Well, that's the answer," laughed the foreman, riding to the river bank
and surveying the stream critically.
Tad and Big-foot Sanders joined him almost immediately.
"Think we can make it, chief?"
"I think so, Sanders. One of us had better ride over and back to test
the current."
"I'll try it for you," said Tad.
"Go ahead. Sanders, you ride back and tell Lumpy to return to camp and
bring on the outfit. They can't reach us until late in the afternoon, as
it is. I presume that slant-eyed cook is sitting in his wagon waiting
for us to come back. Hurry them along, for we shall be hungry by the
time we have finished this job."
Tad promptly spurred his pony into the stream. After wading out a little
way he slipped off into the water, hanging by the pommel, swimming with
one hand to relieve the pony as much as possible.
The boy made the crossing without mishap, Stallings observing the
performance to note how far down the stream the pony would drift. Tad
landed some five rods lower down. On the return, the drift was not quite
so noticeable.
"We'll make it," announced the foreman. "If you want to dry out, ride
back and tell the bunch to crowd the cattle in as rapidly as possible.
The faster we can force them in the less they will drift down stream."
"Very well, sir," replied the boy, galloping off to deliver his message.
With a great shouting and much yelling the cowboys began their task of
urging the cattle into the river. Not being over-thirsty, it was no easy
task to induce the animals to enter the water, but when the leaders
finally plunged in the rest followed, fairly piling on top of one
another in their efforts to follow the pilots of the herd. Above and
below, the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged were swimming the
river endeavoring to keep the animals from straying one way or another.
Tad Butler and his companions were aiding in this work, shouting from
the pure joy of their experience, and, in an hour's time, the last steer
had swum the stream and clambered up the sloping bank on the other side.
"There!" announced the foreman. "That's a bad job well done. I wish the
trail wagon were here. A cup of hot coffee wouldn't go bad after an hour
in the water."
"After several of them, you mean," added Tad. "You know we have been out
in the rain all night."
"Yes, and you did a bang-up piece of work, you and Big-foot. How did you
happen to lead the cattle straight ahead, instead of turning the
leaders?"
"It was the kid's suggestion," answered Big-foot Sanders. "He's got a
man's head on his shoulders that more'n makes up for what the gopher
hasn't got."
"It does, indeed," agreed Stallings.
"How are we going to get that trail wagon over when it comes up!" asked
one of the men.
"That's what's bothering me," answered the foreman. "Perhaps our young
friend here can give us a suggestion. His head is pretty full of ideas,"
added the foreman, more with an intent to compliment Tad than in the
expectation of getting valuable suggestions from him.
"What is your usual method?" asked the boy.
"Well, to tell the truth, I've never had quite such a proposition as
this on my hands."
"I guess you will have to float it over."
"It won't float. It'll sink."
"You can protect it from that."
"How?" asked the foreman, now keenly interested.
"First take all the stuff out of it. That will save your equipment if
anything happens to the wagon. Ferry the equipment over on the backs of
the ponies. If it's too heavy, take over what you can."
"Well, what next?" asked Stallings.
"Get some timbers and construct a float under the wagon."
"Where you going to get timber around these parts?" demanded Big-foot.
"I see plenty of trees near the river. Cut down a few and make a raft of
them."
"By George, the kid's hit it!" exclaimed Stallings, clapping his thigh
vigorously. "That's exactly what we'll do. But we'll have to wait till
the wagon gets here. The axes are all in the wagon."
"Mebby I'm particularly thick to-day, but I'd like to inquire how you
expect to get the outfit over, after you have the raft under it?"
demanded Shorty Savage. "Answer that, if you can?"
"I think that is up to the foreman," smiled Tad. "Were I doing it I
think I should hitch ropes to the tongue and have the ponies on the
other side draw the wagon across. Of course, you are liable to have an
accident. The ropes may break or the current may tip your wagon over.
That's your lookout."
"Now will you be good?" grinned the foreman. "You know all about it, and
it would be a good idea to let the thought simmer in your thick head for
a while. It may come in handy, some day, when you want to get across a
river."
Shorty walked away, none too well pleased.
About three o'clock in the afternoon the wagon hove in sight, and the
boys rode out to meet it.
It was decided to camp on the river bank until after they had eaten
their evening meal, after which there would still be time to ferry over.
While the meal was being cooked Stallings sent some of the men out to
cut down four small trees and haul them in.
They grumbled considerably at this, but obeyed orders. Tad went along,
at the suggestion of the foreman, to pick out such trees as he thought
would best serve their purpose.
The trail wagon's teams were used to haul the logs in and by the time
the work was finished a steaming hot supper had been spread by the
smiling Chinaman.
Professor Zepplin had come along with the wagon. He said he was a little
stiff from the wetting he had received, but otherwise was all right.
"Now, young man, I'll let you boss the job," announced Stallings as Tad
rose from the table. "I give you a free hand."
With a pleased smile, Tad set about constructing his raft. Ned Rector
swam the river with the ropes, and fastened them to trees so they would
not be carried away by the current. The wagon was then run down into the
water by hand, the ropes made fast, and all was ready for the start.
"What are you going to do about the drift?" asked the foreman, who had
been interestedly watching the preparations.
"We are going to tie ropes to the two wheels on the upper side. One is
to be held on this side of the river, the other from the opposite side.
I think the kitchen will ford the river as straight as you could draw a
chalk line," announced Tad.
"I guess it will," answered the foreman, with a suggestive glance at
Professor Zepplin.
"All right when you get ready over there," called Tad to the waiting
cowboys on the other side.
They had taken firm hold of the ropes with their right hands, their left
hands holding to the pommels of their saddles.
"Ready!" came the warning cry from the other side.
"Haul away!" shouted Tad.
The ropes secured to the tongue of the trail wagon straightened, and the
wagon began to move out into the stream.
"Be careful. Don't pay out that rope too fast," directed Tad to the man
on his side of the stream.
The trail wagon floated out easily on the swiftly moving current. It was
greeted by a cheer from the Pony Rider Boys. Those of the cowboys who
were not otherwise engaged joined with a will.
"There's that fool Chinaman," growled Stallings, observing the grinning
face of Pong peering from the tail of the wagon. "Look out, the dragon
will get you, sure, if you fall out!" he warned. "I don't care anything
about you, but we can't afford to be without a cook."
"There goes the fool!" cried Big-foot. "Now we sure will starve to
death."
[Illustration: As the Wagon Lurched Pong Plunged Overboard.]
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