The Pony Rider Boys in Texas (3 page)

Chunky took off his sombrero and waved it at them.

Just then Chunky met with one of those unfortunate accidents that were always
occurring to him. His galloping pony put a forefoot into a gopher hole, going
down in a heap.

Chunky, however, kept on.

When the accident happened he was almost upon the waiting cowboys, his
intention having been to pull his pony up sharply to show off his horsemanship,
then drop off and make them a sweeping bow.

Stacy Brown was possessed of the true dramatic instinct, yet few things ever
came off exactly as he had planned them.

As he shot over the falling pony's head, his body described a half curve in
the air, his own head landing fairly in the pit of Lumpy Bates's stomach.

Cowboy and Pony Rider went over in a struggling heap, with the Pony Rider
uppermost.

Stacy had introduced himself to the cowboys in a most unusual manner, and to
the utter undoing of one of them, for the boy's head had for the moment, knocked
all the breath out of the surly Lumpy Bates.

The cowpunchers roared at the funny sight of the fat boy bowling over their
companion.

Stallings, however, fearing for the anger of Lumpy, sprang forward and hauled
the lad back by the collar, while Lumpy was allowed to get up when he got ready.
He did so a few seconds later, sputtering and growling, scarcely able to contain
his rage.

"That's a bad way to get off a pony, young man," laughed the foreman. "I hope
you won't dismount in that fashion around the cattle at night. If you do, you
sure will stampede the herd."

Chunky grinned sheepishly.

"It doesn't take much to start a bunch of cows on the run after dark,"
continued the foreman, "I've known of such a thing as a herd being stampeded
because they were frightened at the rising moon. Haven't you, Big-foot?"

Sanders nodded.

"The gopher'll do it, too; he's a clumsy lout," he answered, referring to
Stacy in a withering tone.

"And now, boys, I will tell you how our watches are divided, after which you
can go out with the cowboys and see them bed down the cows."

"Bed them down?" spoke up Chunky, his curiosity aroused. "That's funny. I
didn't know you had to put cattle to bed."

"You'll see that we do. Boys, the night of the cowman on the march is divided
into four tricks. The first guard goes on at half past eight, coming off at half
past ten. The second guard is on duty from that time till one o'clock in the
morning; the third, from that hour till half past three, while the fourth
remains out until relieved in the morning. He usually wakes up the cook, too.
And, by the way, you boys haven't made the acquaintance of Pong, have you? I'll
call him. Unless you get on the right side of Pong, you will suffer."

"Pong? That's funny. Sounds like ping-pong. I used to play that," interrupted
Stacy.

"Pong is as funny as his name, even if he is a Chinaman," laughed Stallings.
"Pong, come here."

The Chinaman, having heard his name spoken, was peering inquiringly from the
tail of the chuck wagon.

Hopping down, he trotted over to the group, his weazened, yellow face
wreathed in smiles.

"Shake hands with these young gentlemen, Pong. They will be with us for the
next two weeks," said the foreman.

"Allee same likee this," chuckled Pong, clasping his palms together and
gleefully shaking hands with himself.

"That's the Chinaman's idea of shaking hands," laughed Stallings. "He always
shakes hands with himself instead of the other fellow."

Stacy Brown suddenly broke into a loud laugh, attracting all eyes to him.

"Funniest thing I ever heard of," he muttered, abashed by the inquiring looks
directed at him.

"Now watch the heathen while I ask him what he is going to have for
breakfast," said the foreman. "Pong, what are you going to give us out of the
chuck wagon in the morning?"

"Allee same likee this," chattered the Chinaman, quickly turning to his
questioner, at the same time rapidly running through a series of pantomime
gestures.

The Pony Riders looked at each other blankly.

"He says we are going to have fried bacon with hot biscuit and coffee,"
Stallings informed them with a hearty laugh. "Pong is not much of a talker.
That's about as much as you ever will hear him say. He's weak on talk and strong
on motions."

The foreman glanced up at the sky.

"It's time to put the cows to bed. You young gentlemen may ride along on your
own ponies, but keep well back from the cattle. Those of you who go out to-night
will have to ride our ponies. All ready, now."

The entire outfit mounted and set off over the plain to where the cattle were
moving slowly about, but not grazing much. They had had their fill of grass and
water and were now ready for the night.

"Where's their beds?" asked Chunky, gazing about him curiously.

"Right ahead of you," answered Stallings.

The foreman's quick eye already had picked out a nice elevation on which the
old dry grass of the previous summer's growth lay matted like a carpet for the
cattle to bed down on.

"How many of them are there in the herd?" asked Tad.

"About two thousand. That was the first count. Since then we have picked up a
few stray cows. We will be cutting those out in a day or so, when you will see
some real cow work. Perhaps you will be able to help by that time."

Now the cowmen galloped out on the plain, separating widely until they had
practically surrounded the herd. They began circling slowly about the herd, at
the same time gradually closing in on them.

The animals appeared to understand fully what was expected of them, for they
had been on the road several nights already. Besides, having had their fill they
were anxious to turn in for the night.

As they found spots to their liking, the animals began to throw themselves
down.

Tad uttered an exclamation of delight as he watched the steers going to their
knees in hundreds, then dropping on their sides, contentedly chewing their cuds.
It was such a sight as he never before had seen.

"What are those steers on the outside therethose fellows without any horns?"
asked Stacy.

"Those are the muleys. Having no horns, they keep well out of the bunch and
wait until the others have gone to bed as you see," the foreman informed him.
"You will notice after a while that they will lie down outside the circle. If
any of the cows get ugly during the night the muleys will spring up and get out
of the way."

In half an hour the last one of the great herd had "bedded down," and those
of the cowboys who were not on guard, rode leisurely back toward camp.

It had been decided that Tad Butler should go out on the first guard; Walter
Perkins on the second; Ned Rector third and Stacy Brown fourth.

Tad was all eagerness to begin. One of the cowmen exchanged ponies with him,
riding Tad's horse back to camp.

"You see, our ponies understand what is wanted of them," explained Stallings,
who had remained out for a while to give Tad some instruction in the work before
him. "Give the ordinary cow pony his head and he will almost tend a herd by
himself."

Three men ordinarily constituted the guard. In this case Tad Butler made a
fourth. Taking their stations some four rods from the edge of the herd, they
began lazily circling it, part going in one direction and part in another. In
this position it would have been well-nigh impossible for any animal to escape
without being noticed by the riders.

"Now, I guess you will be all right," smiled the foreman. "Make no sudden
moves to frighten the cattle."

"Do they ever run?" asked Tad.

"Run? Well, rather! And I tell you, it takes a long-legged Mexican steer to
set the pace. Those fellows can run faster than a horseat least some of them
can. A stampede is a thing most dreaded by the cowmen."

"Our ponies stampeded in the Rockies. I know something about that," spoke up
Tad.

"Well, compare the stampeding of your four or five ponies with two thousand
head of wild steers and you'll get something like the idea of what it means. In
that case, unless you know your business you had better get out of the way as
fast as hoss-flesh will carry you. Now, Master Tad, I'll bid you good night and
leave you to your first night on the plains."

"How shall I know when to come in?"

"When the second guard comes out. You will hear them. If you should not they
will let you know as they pass you."

With that the foreman walked his pony away from the herd. After some little
time Tad heard him galloping toward camp.

At first Tad took the keenest enjoyment in his surroundings; then the
loneliness of the plains came over him. He began to feel a longing for human
companionship.

A dense mantle of darkness settled down over the scene.

Remembering the advice of the foreman, the lad gave his pony the rein. The
hardy little animal, with nose almost touching the ground, began its monotonous
crawling pace about the herd. It seemed more asleep than awake.

In a short time a sheet of bright light appeared on the eastern horizon. Tad
looked at it inquiringly, then smiled.

"It's the moon," he decided.

The boy felt a great sense of relief in his lonely vigil. Just ahead of him
he saw a pony and rider leisurely approaching.

It proved to be Red Davis, one of the first guard.

Red waved his hand to the boy in passing, but no word was spoken on either
side.

After having circled the herd twice, Tad suddenly discovered a small bunch of
cattle that had just scrambled to their feet and had begun grazing a little way
outside the circle. The rest of the herd were contentedly chewing their cuds in
the moonlight, grunting and blowing over contented stomachs.

The lad was not sure just what he ought to do. His first inclination was to
call to some of the other guards. Then, remembering the injunction placed upon
him by the foreman, he resisted the impulse.

"I am sure those cattle have no business off there," he decided after
watching them for a few moments in silent uncertainty. "I believe I will try to
get them back."

Tightening the grip on his reins and clucking to the pony, Tad headed for the
steers, that were slowly moving off, taking a step with every mouthful or
so.

He steered his pony well outside and headed in toward them.

The pony, with keen intelligence, forced its way up to the leading steer and
sought to nose it around. The animal resisted and swung its sharp horns
perilously near to the side of the horse, which quickly leaped to one side,
almost upsetting its rider.

"Guess I'd better let the pony do it himself. He knows how and I don't,"
muttered Tad, slackening on the reins.

The straying animal was quickly turned and headed toward the herd, after
which the pony whirled and went after one of the others, turning this one, as it
did the others. In a short time the truants were all back in the herd.

"That's the way to do it, young fellow. I told the gang back there that the
Pinto had the stuff in him."

Tad turned sharply to meet the smiling face of Big-foot Sanders, who, sitting
on his pony, had been watching the boy's efforts and nodding an emphatic
approval.

"You'll make a cowman all right," said Big-foot.

The camp-fire was burning brightly when the first guard, having completed its
tour of duty, came galloping in.

In a few moments the sound of singing was borne to the ears of the
campers.

"What's the noise?" demanded Stacy Brown, sitting up with a half scared look
on his face.

"It's the 'Cowboy's Lament,'" laughed Bob Stallings. "Listen."

Off on the plain they heard a rich tenor voice raised in the song of the
cowman.

"I don't call that much of a song," sniffed Chunky contemptuously after a
moment of silence on the part of the group. "Even if I can't sing, I can beat
that."

"Better not try it out on the range," smiled the foreman.

"Not on the range? Why not?" demanded the boy.

"Bob thinks it might stampede the herd," spoke up Big-foot Sanders.

A loud laugh followed at Chunky's expense.

"When you get to be half as good a man on cows as your friend the Pinto,
here, you'll be a full grown man," added Big-foot. "The Pinto rounded up a bunch
of stray cows to-night as well as I could do it myself, and he didn't go about
it with a brass band either."

The foreman nodded, with an approving glance at Tad.

Tad's eyes were sparkling from the experiences of the evening, as well as
from the praise bestowed upon him by the big cowpuncher.

"The pony did most of it," admitted the lad. "I just gave him his head, and
that's all there was to it."

"More than most tenderfeet would have done," growled Big-foot.

Walter had gone out with the second guard, and the others had gathered around
the camp-fire for their nightly story-telling.

"Now, I don't want you fellows sitting up all night," objected the foreman.
"None of you will be fit for duty to-morrow. We've got a hard drive before us,
and every man must be fit as a fiddle. You can enjoy yourselves sleeping just as
well as sitting up."

"Humph!" grunted Curley Adams. "I'll give it as a horseback opinion that the
only way to enjoy such a night as this, is to sit up until you fall asleep with
your boots on. That's the way I'm going to do it, to-night."

The cowboy did this very thing, but within an hour he found himself alone,
the others having turned in one by one.