The Pony Rider Boys in Texas (12 page)

"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.

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.

"II 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?"

"NothingI 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!"

"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.

"Whawhat's the matter!" stammered the boy.

"Matter enough. Trying to drown yourself?" growled the cowboy.

"Didid I fall in?"

"Did you fall in? Where do you think you are?"

"II 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.