The Pony Rider Boys in Texas

by Patchin, Frank Gee

"I don't know. It's the white steer. He dragged him."

  Stallings thought he understood. He had seen the lad working with the unruly animal only a few moments before.

  "What's the troubledid the boy rope him?" shouted the foreman.

  Ned nodded.

  "He'll be trampled to death!" snapped the foreman, rising high in his stirrups and looking over the herd. There were several white steers in the bunch, but the one in question was so much larger than the others that Stallings thought he would have no difficulty in picking out the animal. Not finding him at once, the foreman fired two shots in the air to attract the attention of the cowboys. Three of them soon were seen working their way in.

  "Open up the herd!" he shouted.

  "Whereabouts?" asked Reddy Davis.

  "Anywhere. Look out for the big, white cow. The boy's roped to him!"

  They understood at once.

  Big-foot Sanders had heard, and began working like an automatic machine. The way the cattle, big and little, fell away before his plunging pony and ready quirt was an object lesson for those of the Pony Riders who were near enough to see his effort.

  In the thick of it was Ned Rector, driving his pony here and there, anxiously watching for the white steer.

  "There he is!" shouted Ned, suddenly espying the animal still dashing about.

  "Where?"

  "There, to the right of you!"

  Forcing his mount through the crowded ranks, Stallings in a moment found himself within reach of the white beast. However, there were three or four cattle between himself and the one he wanted.

  The foreman's rope circled in the air above his head, then the great loop squirmed out over the backs of the cattle, dropping lightly over the horns of the white one.

  The steer felt the touch of the rope and knew the meaning of it. As the animal sprang forward, Stallings took a quick turn about the pommel of his saddle and the pony braced its fore feet. When the shock came, the cattle over whose backs the rope lay felt it even more than did the pony itself. Three of them were forced to their knees bawling with sudden fright and pain.

  The head of the white steer was jerked to one side. A swing of the rope and the steer was thrown heavily.

  "Get in there!" roared Stallings.

  Ned at the moment, chanced to be nearer than were any of the others to the animal, and to him fell the perilous work of holding down the kicking beast.

  He knew exactly what was expected of him, having seen a cowboy hold a steer down for a quick branding that morning.

  Ned spurred in and leaped to the ground.

  Without an instant's hesitation he threw himself on the neck of the struggling animal, whose flying hoofs made the attempt doubly dangerous.

  This act of Ned enabled Stallings to jump from his pony and run to the lad's assistance, leaving the pony braced to hold the line taut.

  The foreman sprang to the rear, where he observed the form of Tad Butler doubled up, lying half under the body of a big, red steer.

  Stallings picked him up, quickly cutting the lariat.

  "Slip the loops off his horns!" he commanded. "Look out that you don't get pinked by them."

  "Is Tad hurt?" called Ned anxiously.

  "Lucky if he ain't dead," answered the foreman, hurrying to his pony, which he mounted taking the boy in his arms. By this time Ned had the ropes and had sprung away from the steer's dangerous horns.

  Tad's form hung limp and lifeless over the saddle. His face, with the sand and dust ground into it, was scarcely recognizable.

  Ned followed the foreman as soon as he could get his pony. By the time Ned reached them, Stallings had laid Tad down and was making a quick examination.

  "Get water! Hurry!" he commanded sharply.

  "Where?" asked Ned, glancing about him, undecided which way to turn.

  "The chuck wagon. Ride, kid! Ride!"

  Ned bounced into his saddle without so much as touching his stirrup. With a sharp yell to the animal he sped away over the plain, urging on the little pony with quirt and spur.

  The way Ned Rector rode that day made those of the cowmen who saw him open their eyes.

  Ned began shouting for water as soon as he came in sight of the wagon, which, by this time, was packed for the start.

  Pong, understanding from the boy's tone that the need was urgent, was filling a jug from the tap barrel by the time Ned rode up beside the wagon. He had less than a minute to wait.

  Grabbing the jug from the hands of the grinning Chinaman, and unheeding Pong's chuckled "allee same," Ned whirled about and raced for the herd.

  The lad struggled to keep back the tears as he realized that, even with all his haste, it might be too late.

  That Tad should come out of that melee of flying hoofs and prodding horns without being at least seriously injured was more than he could hope.

  Faster and faster ran the pony, behind him a rising cloud of yellow dust. Ned's fingers were stiff and numb from carrying the heavy jug, and the lump in his throat was growing larger, it seemed to him, with every leap of the animal under him.

  Now Ned could see the cowmen galloping in and gazing from their ponies. He knew they were looking at Tad. Stallings was bent over him, pouring something down the boy's throat.

  Ned's heart gave a great bound. Tad Butler must be alive or there would be no need for the liquid that the foreman was forcing down his throat.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VII

  THE HERD FORDS THE RIVER

  "Is heis he" asked Ned, weakly, after they had taken the jug of water from his hand.

  "He's alive, if that's what you mean," answered Stallings. "I'm afraid he's got a slight concussion of the brain. He doesn't come around the way I should like to see him."

  "Sure it isn't a fracture!" asked the Professor, who had just arrived on the scene.

  "No, I hardly think so."

  The foreman washed the unconscious boy's face, soaking Tad's head and neck and searching for the seat of the trouble.

  "Huh! Steer kicked him," grunted Stallings. "It was a glancing blow, luckily for the kid."

  They worked over the lad for fully half an hour before he began to show signs of returning consciousness. At last his trembling eyelids struggled apart and he smiled up at them weakly.

  "Ah! He's all right now, I guess," laughed the foreman, with a world of relief in his tone. "Boys, get busy now and cut out the rest of those cows. If the young man is not able to ride we'll put him in the chuck wagon when it comes up. Feel bad anywhere, now?" he asked.

  "Mymy head weighs a ton."

  "I should think it would. Did the white steer kick you?"

  "II don't know. Hello, Professor. I roped him all right, didn't I, Mr. Stallings?"

  "You did. But you got roped yourself, too, I reckon. Think you'll be able to ride in the trail wagon? If not we'll have to send you back to town."

  "That'll be the best place for the tenderfoot," growled Lumpy Bates.

  Stallings turned a stern eye upon him.

  "Lumpy, when I want your opinion I'll let you know. What are you doing here, anyway? Get into that cut out and be mighty quick about it!"

  Lumpy rode away growling.

  "I'll ride in no trail wagon," announced Tad Butler, with emphasis.

  "I guess you will have to, my boy."

  "I'll ride my pony if I have to be tied on," he declared resolutely.

  The foreman laughed heartily.

  "Well, we'll see about that. You boys all have good stuff in you. I see that Master Walter and the gopher are still out there looking after that bunch of cattle."

  "I told them to do so," spoke up Tad.

  "And they are obeying orders. That's the first thing to learn in this business."

  "May I sit up now?"

  "You may try."

  Tad's head spun round when he raised himself up. The lad fought his dizziness pluckily, and mastered it. After a little while they helped him to his feet. Finally feeling himself able to walk he started unstead
ily away from them.

  "Where are you going?" demanded the Professor.

  "Pony," answered Tad.

  "I protest, Tad. You will come back here at once."

  Tad turned obediently.

  "Please, Professor. I'm all right."

  "Let the boy go. He will be all right in a few moments after he has gotten into the saddle," urged the foreman. "Besides, he's too much of a man to be treated like a weakling. He'll get more bumps than that before he leaves this outfit, if I'm any judge."

  The Professor motioned to Tad to go on, which the lad did, petting his pony as he reached him, and then pulling himself into the saddle with considerable effort.

  "I'm ready for business now," he smiled, waving a hand to the foreman.

  "Better look on and let the rest do the work," advised Stallings, mounting his own tough pony and riding into the thick of the cutting out process.

  But Tad Butler could no more sit idly by while the exciting work was going on than could the foreman himself. The first steer that was cut out from the main herd, after Stallings went back, found Tad Butler alongside of it, crowding it toward his own herd farther out. And this work he kept up until all the strangers had been separated from the Diamond D stock.

  "There, I'm glad that job is done," exclaimed Stallings, whipping off his hat and drawing a sleeve across his perspiring brow.

  "Too bad I had to go and upset things so," said Tad.

  "Never mind. It's all in a day's work. On a cattle drive if it isn't one thing it's sure to be another. We have been lucky enough not to have a stampede thus far. That isn't saying we won't, however. If you feel like working you can ride up and join the point men. We'll make five or six miles before it is time to bed down the herd."

  To Tad's companions was left the task of driving the strange cattle a couple of miles to the west and leaving them there.

  The boys could not well lose the main herd; for, no sooner had they started on the trail than a great cloud of dust slowly floated up into the air. Tad, in his position near the head of the line, and well out to one side of it, was free from this annoyance. The longer the lad was in the saddle, the stronger he seemed to feel, and the only trace that was now left of his recent experience among the hoofs of the Mexican steers was a bump on one side of his head almost as large as a hen's egg.

  It was near sundown when the foreman, who had ridden on ahead some time before, came back with the information that a broad stream that was not down on his map lay just ahead of them.

  "There's not more than thirty feet of swimming water there, and I believe I'll make a crossing before we go into camp," he announced briefly.

  "How deep is the water?" asked Big-foot Sanders.

  "In the middle, deep enough to drown, but on the edges it's fordable. The cows will be glad of a drink and a swim after the heat of to-day."

  With this in mind the cowmen were instructed to urge the cattle along at a little stronger pace, that they might all get well over before the night came on.

  The animals seemed to feel the presence of water ahead of them, for they ceased their grazing by the wayside and swung into a rapid pace, such a pace as always gladdens the heart of the cowboy. The steers held it until the rays of the setting sun were reflected on the surface of the broad sluggish stream.

  The Pony Riders dashed forward intent upon reaching the stream first. Tad followed them upon receiving permission from the foreman to do so.

  The banks on each side were high and steep, making it far from an ideal fording place. Stallings, however, thought it better to cross there than to take the time to work the herd further down. Joining the boys, he cast his glance up and down the stream to decide whether his judgment had been correct.

  "I thought we were going to cross the river," said Stacy Brown.

  "That's exactly what we are going to do," replied the foreman.

  "But where's the bridge? I don't see any?" objected the lad.

  "Right there in front of you."

  "Where?"

  "Chunky, there is no bridge," Tad informed him. "We have to wade, just as the cattle will."

  "And swim, too, part of the way," added Stallings.

  "But we'll get wet," wailed Chunky.

  "No doubt about that," roared the foreman.

  "Swim the river with our horses?" exclaimed Ned. "Hurrah! That will be great!"

  "I shall be glad to get some of this dust washed off me," laughed Tad. "Besides, the bump on my head will feel better for it, I think."

  "Spread out, boys. The cattle are coming up on the run. They will push you into the river before you are ready if you happen to be in their way," warned Stallings.

  The riders clucked to their ponies and all galloped up stream some distance that they might be well out of the way of the oncoming herd.

  The thirsty animals plunged into the water with a mighty splash. Some forded until their feet could no longer touch the ground, after which they swam to the other side, while others paused to drink until those behind them forced them out into the stream also.

  In a few moments the stream was alive with swimming cattle, the herd being spread out for a full quarter of a mile up and down the stream. To the rear, yelling cowboys were urging on the stragglers and forcing the herd into the cool waters.

  It was an inspiring sight for the boys.

  Here and there a cowman would ride his pony into the water and turn the leaders, who were straying too far up or down the river.

  After half an hour of watering, the men began to force the cattle to the opposite bank. There was a great scramble when the steers started to climb the steep bluff. The first ones to try it went half way up on a run.

  Losing their footing they came tumbling to the foot of the bluff, knocking a number of the other cattle back into the water.

  There was much bellowing and floundering about, but the relentless forcing from the other side swept the unfortunate ones to the crest of the tide and up the steep bank.

  Now that the loose dirt had slipped down the footing grew more secure, and the animals soon fell into trails of their own making, up which they crept three and four abreast.

  Once on the other side they started to graze as contentedly as if they had not just passed through a most trying experience.

  Two of the cowmen who had forded the stream further down, now appeared opposite the main fording place, to take charge of the cattle.

  "Get across, boys," shouted the foreman.

  With an answering shout Tad and Ned slid their ponies down the sharp bluff, plunging into the water and heading straight across.

  "Slip out of your saddles and hang on!" called the foreman.

  Without an instant's hesitation the two boys slid into the water with a splash, but keeping tight hold on the pommels of their saddles.

  "Let go the reins," directed Stallings. "The ponies know where to go."

  Now the lads were being drawn rapidly through the water, and almost before they knew it their feet rested on the bottom of the shallow stream a short distance from the opposite bank.

  "Hooray!" shouted Tad, waving his water-soaked sombrero. "Come in. The water's great!"

  "Come on, Chunky," called Ned.

  "I'll wait and go over in the wagon," decided Chunky.

  "You'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the foreman. "You will swim, if you get over at all."

  Professor Zepplin, not to be outdone by his young charges, bravely rode his animal into the stream.

  The boys set up a shout of glee when he, too, finally dropped into the river with a great splash. Instead, however, of allowing the pony to tow him, the Professor propelled himself along with long powerful strokes of his left hand, while with the right he clung to the saddle pommel.

  "Three cheers for Professor Zepplin!" cried Tad as the German, dripping but smiling, emerged from the water and scrambled up the bank, leaving his pony to follow along after him.

  The cheers were given with a will.

  Stacy Brown, however,
was still on the other side with the straggling cattle which were coming along in small bunches.

  "Young man, if you expect to get in for supper, you'd better be fording the stream," suggested Big-foot Sanders.

  The mention of supper was all that Stacy needed to start him.

  "Gid-ap!"

  The pony slid down the bank on its haunches, Stacy leaning far back in the saddle that he might not pitch over the animal's head.

  "Chunky would make a good side hill rider, wouldn't he?" jeered Ned.

  "Depends upon whether he were going up or down," decided Tad.

  "Look out! There he goes!" exclaimed Walter.

  The boy's mount had mired one foot in a quicksand pocket and had gone down on its knees. But Chunky kept right on going.

  He hit the water flat on his stomach, arms and legs outspread, clawing and kicking desperately.

  The fat boy opened his mouth to cry out for help.

  As a result Stacy swallowed all the water that came his way. Floundering about like a drowning steer, choking and coughing, he disappeared from sight.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE APPROACH OF THE STORM

  "He's gone down!" cried a voice from the other side of the stream.

  Tad sprang down the bank and leaped in, striking out for the spot where Stacy had last been seen.

  Cattle were scattered here and there and the boy had to keep his eyes open to prevent being run down. He had almost reached the place where he had made up his mind to dive, should Stacy not rise to the surface, when a great shout from the bluff caused Tad to turn.

  "Whawhat is it?" he called.

  "Look! Look!" cried Ned Rector.

  "I don't see anything. Is it Chunky? Is he all right?"

  "Yes. He's driving oxen just now," answered Ned.

  By this time the cowpunchers had joined in the shouting. Tad could see, however, that they were shouting with merriment, though for the life of him he could not understand what there was to laugh about.

  Several steers were between him and the spot on which the glances of the others were fixed.

  "Come on in," called Ned.

  The lad swam shoreward with slow, easy strokes. Then he discovered what they were laughing at.