The Pony Rider Boys in Texas (5 page)

Tad Butler, Ned Rector and Walter Perkins were not far behind the cowmen in
reaching their own ponies and leaping into their saddles.

Not so with Chunky. He only paused in his eating long enough to look his
surprise and to direct an inquiring look at the Chinaman, while the others went
dashing across the plain toward the herd.

"Allee same likee this," announced Pong, making a succession of violent
gestures that Stacy did not understand.

But the boy nodded his head wisely and went on with his eating.

Out where the grazing herd had been peacefully eating its noonday meal all
was now excitement and action.

Revolvers were popping, cowboys were yelling and the herd was surging back
and forth, bellowing and dashing in and out, a shifting, confused mass of color
and noise.

The boys did not know what to make of it.

"Yes; they are stampeding," decided Ned, riding alongside of Tad Butler.

"I don't believe it," answered Tad. "It looks to me as if something else were
the trouble."

"What?"

"I don't know. It's an awful mix-up, whatever they may call it."

"Yes; see! They are fighting."

Surely enough, large numbers of the cattle seemed to be arrayed against each
other, sending up great clouds of dust as they ran toward each other, locked
horns and engaged in desperate conflict. It was noticed, however, that the
muleys kept well out of harm's way, standing aloof from the herd and looking on
ready to run at the shake of a horn in their direction.

"Now, look there! What are they doing?" asked Walter.

"They seem to be cutting out a bunch of steers," answered Tad. "That's funny.
I can't imagine what it is all about." Neither could Professor Zepplin, who had
ridden up at a more leisurely pace, explain to the boys the meaning of the scene
they were viewing.

"If we knew, we might turn in and help," suggested Walter.

"That's right," replied Tad. "Suppose we ride up there where the men are at
work. We may find something to do. Anyway, we'll find out what the trouble
is."

Starting up their ponies, the boys galloped up the line, keeping a safe
distance from the herd as they did so, and halting only when they had reached
the trail leaders, as the cattle at the head of the line are called.

"What's the trouble?" shouted Ned as they came within hailing distance of the
perspiring foreman.

"Mixed herd," he called back, curtly, driving his pony into the thick of the
fight and yelling out his orders to the men.

"I know almost as much about it as I did before," announced Ned, disgustedly.
"Got any idea, Tad?"

"Yes; I have."

"For goodness sake, let's have it, then. If I don't find out what's going on
here, pretty soon, I shall jump into the fight in sheer desperation."

"Mr. Stagings said it was a mixed herd. Don't you think that must mean that a
lot of cattle who don't belong there have mixed up with ours?" asked the
freckle-faced boy.

"I guess that's the answer, Tad. But, if so, how can they tell one from the
other?" wondered Walter.

"From the brands. I have learned that much about the business. Every one of
our herd is branded with a capital D in the center of a diamond. That is the
brand of Mr. Miller's ranchthe Diamond D Ranch. Evidently they are cutting out
all that haven't that brand on."

"Hello! There's Chunky. Now, what do you suppose he is up to!" exclaimed
Ned.

Stacy Brown had finished his meal, mounted his pony and was now riding toward
the herd at what was for him a reckless speed.

All at once they saw him pull his mount sharply to the left and drive
straight at a bunch of cattle that the cowboys had separated from the herd a few
moments before.

The boy was too far away, the racket too loud, for their voices to reach him
in a warning shout.

Stacy, having observed the cattle straying away, and having in mind Tad
Butler's achievement in driving back a bunch of stray steers, thought he would
do something on his own account.

"I'll show them I can drive steers as well as anybody," he told himself,
bringing down the quirt about the pony's legs.

The strong-limbed little beast sprang to his work with a will. He understood
perfectly what was wanted of him. A few moments more, and he had headed off the
rapidly moving bunch, effectually turning the leaders, sending them on a gallop
back toward the vast herd fighting and bellowing in the cloud of dust they had
stirred up.

The cowboys were so fully occupied with their task that they had failed to
observe Stacy Brown's action, nor would they have known anything about it had
not Tad, yelling himself hoarse, managed to attract the attention of the
foreman.

Tad pointed off to where Chunky was jumping his pony at the fleeing cattle,
forcing them on with horse and quirt.

They had almost reached the main herd before Tad succeeded in informing the
foreman.

One look was enough for Stallings.

Before he could act, however, the stray herd had once more mingled and merged
with his own. The work of the cowboys had gone for naught.

Stallings fired three shots into the air as a signal to his men to stop their
cutting out.

"Will you young men do me a favor?" he asked.

"Certainly, Mr. Stallings," answered Tad.

"Then ride around the herd and tell the boys not to try any more cutting out
until the herd has quieted down. The dust is so thick that we can't do anything
with the cows, anyway. You have some sense, but that's more than I can say for
your friend, Brown. Of all the idioticoh, what's the use? Tell him to mind his
own business and keep half a mile away from this herd for the rest of the
afternoon."

"All right, sir. Where did those cattle come from?"

"I don't know, Tad. They have broken away from some nearby ranch. Probably
somebody has cut a wire fence and let them out. That's the worst of the wire
fence in the modern cow business. They can get through wire without being seen.
But they can't get by a cowpuncher without his seeing them."

"How many cattle do you think have got mixed with ours?"

"I should imagine there were all of five hundred of them," answered the
foreman.

Tad uttered a long-drawn whistle of astonishment.

"Willwill you ever be able to separate them?" asked Ned.

"We sure will. But it means a hot afternoon's work."

"May we help you, Mr. Stallings?" spoke up Walter.

"Yes; I shall be able to use you boys, some, I guess. It's a wonder to me
that those cows didn't stampede our whole herd. Had it been night, our stock
would have been spread over a dozen miles of territory by this time. Being day,
however, our herd preferred to stay and fight the newcomers. I hope they clean
up the bunch for keeps."

Pleased that they had been given a task to perform, the boys rode away, Tad
and Walter going in one direction, while Ned Rector galloped off in another,
that they might reach the cowmen in the shortest possible time.

The men they found sitting on their horses awaiting orders, though they
understood what was in the mind of the foreman almost as well as if he had told
them by word of mouth.

They found Big-foot and Lumpy Bates expressing their opinion of the mix-up in
voices loud with anger. But, upon discovering the boys, the cowmen quickly
checked their flow of language.

"Did you see what thatthat" bellowed Lumpy as Tad rode up to him.

"Yes; I saw it," laughed Tad.

"You think this is some kind of a joke, eh?" roared Lumpy, starting his pony
toward Tad.

The boy's smile left his face and clucking to his pony he rode slowly forward
toward the angry cowpuncher, meeting the fellow's menacing eyes
unflinchingly.

"Is there anything you wish to say to me, Mr. Bates?" asked the lad
calmly.

Lumpy's emotions were almost too great for speech. He controlled himself with
an effort.

"Noonly this. II'll forget myself some day, and clean up one of you idiotic
tenderfeet."

"Perhaps you would like to begin on me, sir," said Tad steadily. "If you feel
that way I should prefer to have you do that rather than to try it on any of my
companions. Stacy Brown may be indiscreet, but I'd have you understand he is no
idiot."

"Whatwhat"

"You have determined to get square with us ever since we joined out with you
last night, and I knew that you and I would have to have an understanding before
long. We might as well have it now, though there's nothing of enough consequence
to have a quarrel about"

"You threaten me?"

"Nothing of the kind, Mr. Bates. I only wish to tell you that my companions
are the guests of this outfit, and we propose to act like gentlemen. Every other
member of the outfit, not excepting the Chinaman, has given us fine treatment.
You have hung back, hoping you would have a chance to get us run off the
trail."

The cowpuncher's fingers were opening and closing convulsively.

"Youyou run into me. The whole bunch had the laugh on me and"

"If I remember correctly, it was you who ran me down. But we'll drop that.
Will you shake hands and forget your bad temper?" asked the lad, reaching over
and offering a hand to the cowboy.

For an instant the fellow glared at him, then with a snarl he jerked his pony
about and drove in the rowels of the spurs.

"Lumpy's got on the grouch that won't come off," grinned Big-foot. "Better
keep a weather eye on the cayuse. If he gets obstreperous, just you let me
know."

"Thank you," smiled Tad. "I thought I had better say something to him before
it went too far. I knew he meant mischief to us ever since he ran into me
yesterday at San Diego."

Tad then delivered his message and rode on to the next cowpuncher.

For fully an hour the cattle surged and fought, some being killed and
trampled under foot, while others were so seriously wounded that they had to be
shot later in the day.

After a time the battle dwindled down to individual skirmishes, with two or
three animals engaged at a time, until finally the entire herd moved off to the
fresher ground that had not been trodden upon, and began grazing together as
contentedly as if nothing had occurred to disturb them.

All immediate danger of a stampede having passed, Stallings fired a shot as a
signal for the cowmen to join him. This they did on the gallop.

After a conference, during which each man gave his opinion as to whom the
stray herd belonged to, none recognizing the brand, Stallings made up his mind
what to do.

"You will begin at the lower end and cut out as you go through the herd. Cut
the newcomers to the west, which will be starting them back toward where they
came from, wherever that may be. At the same time while we cut, we will be
moving our cows north, which is the direction in which we want them to go."

In the meantime Stacy Brown had ridden up. He was sitting disconsolately on
his pony near where the conference was being held, having been roundly scored by
every cowboy in the outfit.

The foreman motioned him to ride over to him.

"Young man, can you carry a message back to camp and get it straight!"

Stacy thought he could.

"Then go back and tell the heathen to pack up his belongings and come on.
There will be no more eating done in this outfit till we have cut out that new
bunch. Tell the driver to be ready to move when he sees us start. We'll get in a
few miles before dark, yet, if we have good luck."

Stacy rode away full of importance to deliver the foreman's order.

Then the cutting out began. Cowboy after cowboy dashed into the herd coming
out usually with his pony pressing against the side of an unwilling steer and
pushing him along in the right direction by main force.

And here was where the Pony Riders made themselves useful. As an animal was
cut out, the boys would ride in behind it and worry the steer along until they
had gotten it a safe distance to the west of the main herd.

"There's a Diamond D steer in that bunch," Tad informed one of the
cowpunchers as he rushed a big, white steer out.

"Never mind; we'll trim the mixed outfit after we get more of the bunch out,"
answered the cowboy, riding back into the herd.

While doing the cutting out the men also drove out the few cattle that had
strayed into the herd earlier in the journey.

For three hours this grilling work had kept up, the perspiring cowboys
yelling, their ponies squealing under the terrific punishment they were getting
from both riders and steers.

But in the excitement of their own work, the Pony Riders had had little time
in which to observe what the cowmen were doing.

Tad thought of a plan by which he might assist them further. So he galloped
his pony over to the edge of the main herd and waited until the foreman dashed
out with two red, fighting steers, which he gave a lively start on their way to
join the mixed herd.

"Mr. Stallings, may I cut back some of the Diamond D animals in the mixed
herd?" he asked.

"Think you can do it, kid?"

"I can try."

"All right. Go ahead. Be careful that you don't turn back any of the other
brands, though. Above all, look out for yourself."

Tad galloped back to his companions, his face flushed, the dust standing out
on his blue shirt, turning it almost gray.

"Keep this herd up, fellows," he shouted. "I'm going to try my hand at
cutting out."

Fortunately, the pony understood what was wanted of it, and, the moment it
had located an animal which it was desired to cut out, the pony went at the work
with a will. Tad, triumphant and warm, rode out driving a Diamond D steer ahead
of him, applying his quirt vigorously to the animal's rump until he had landed
it safely in the ranks of the main herd.

Again and again had the boy ridden in among the cattle, seemingly taking no
account of the narrow escapes both rider and pony were having from the sharp
horns of the long-legged Mexican cattle.