The Pony Rider Boys in Texas

by Patchin, Frank Gee

  "And to correct unruly boys," added Professor Zepplin.

  "But I never did hear of eating it on corn cakes."

  Everybody laughed at Chunky's objection.

  "You will eat this strap when you see it," answered Stallings, taking a jug from the hands of the Chinaman and pouring some of its contents over the cakes on his plate.

  "What is it!" asked Ned Rector.

  "Molasses. It's what we call black strap. Help yourselves. Never mind the gopher there. He never eats black straps for breakfast," the foreman jeered.

  "Here, I want some of that," demanded Stacy, half-rising and reaching for the jug. "My, but it's good!" he decided with his mouth full.

  "That's all right," answered Walter. "But please do not forget that there are some others in this outfit who like cakes and molasses. Please pass that jug this way."

  "Yes, the pony won't be able to carry him to-day if he keeps on for ten minutes more, at the rate he's been going," laughed Ned Rector. "I never did have any sort of use for a glutton."

  "Neither did I," added Chunky solemnly, at which both Pony Riders and cowboys roared with laughter.

  "Going to be another scorcher," decided the foreman, rising and surveying the skies critically. "We shall not be able to make very good time, I fear."

  "When do you expect to reach the Nueces River?" asked the Professor.

  "I had hoped to get there by to-morrow. However, it doesn't look as if we should be able to do so if it comes off so hot."

  "Is the Nueces a large river?" asked Walter.

  "Sometimes. And it is a lively stream when there happens to be a freshet and both forks are pouring a flood down into it. We will try to bed down near the river and you boys can have some sport swimming. Do all of you swim?"

  "Yes," they chorused.

  "That's good. The cowpunchers will have a time of it, too."

  "I can float," Stacy Brown informed him eagerly.

  "So could I if I were as fat as you. I could float all day," retorted Ned Rector. "You couldn't sink if you were to fill your pockets with stones. There is some advantage in being fat, anyway."

  "He didn't seem to float the day he fell in among the steers," said one of the cowboys.

  "That isn't fair," interrupted Stallings. "The steers put the gopher under, that day. Any of you would have gone down with a mob of cows piling on top of you."

  "The river is near the church you were telling me about, isn't it?" inquired Tad of Big-foot in a low tone.

  Sanders nodded solemnly.

  Tad's eyes sparkled eagerly. He finished his breakfast rather hurriedly and rose from the table. As he walked away he met the horse wrangler bringing the day ponies. The lad quickly saddled his own mount after a lively little struggle and much squealing and bucking from the pony.

  Tad was eager to reach the river and get sight of the mysterious church beyond. Yet, he did not dream of the thrilling experiences that were awaiting them all at the very doors of the church of San Miguel.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHUNKY ROPES A COWBOY

  "Wow! Help! Help!"

  The herd had been moving on for several hours, grazing comfortably along the trail, when the sudden yell startled the entire outfit.

  The cowboys reined in their ponies and grasped their quirts firmly, fully expecting that another stampede was before them.

  Instead, they saw Stacy Brown riding away from the herd, urging his pony to its best speed. Right behind him, with lowered head and elevated tail was a white muley, evidently chasing the lad.

  What the boy had done to thus enrage the animal no one seemed to know. However, it was as pretty a race as they had seen thus far on the drive.

  "Point him back! He can't hurt you!" shouted the foreman.

  Instead of obeying the command, Stacy brought down his quirt on the pony, causing the little animal to leap away across the plain in a straight line.

  The cowboys were shouting with laughter at the funny spectacle.

  "Somebody get after that steer!" roared the foreman. "The boy never will stop as long as the critter keeps following him, and we'll have the herd following them before we know it."

  "I'll go, if you wish," said Tad Butler.

  "Then go ahead. Got your rope?"

  "Yes."

  "It'll be good practice for you."

  Tad was off like a shot, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

  "That boy's got the making of a great cowpuncher in him," said the foreman, nodding his head approvingly.

  Tad's pony was the swifter of the two, and besides, he was riding on an oblique line toward the runaway outfit.

  It was the first opportunity the lad had had to show off his skill as a cowman, for none had seen his pointing of the herd on the night of the stampede. He was burning with impatience to get within roping distance of the steer before they got so far away that the cowmen would be unable to see the performance.

  "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!"

  * * *

  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.

  "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 an
d 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.