The Pony Rider Boys in Texas

by Patchin, Frank Gee

  Tad kept his saddle until the pony's feet no longer touched the bottom. Then he dropped off, clinging to the mane with one hand. The cook was nowhere to be seen, but Tad was sure he had headed him off and was watching the water above him with keen eyes.

  "There he is below you!" shouted a voice on shore. "Look out, you'll lose him."

  Tad turned at the same instant, giving the pony's neck a sharp slap to indicate that he wanted the animal to turn with him.

  The lad saw the Chinaman's head above the water. Evidently the latter was now making a desperate effort to keep it there, for his hands were beating the water frantically.

  "Keep your hands and feet going, and hold your breath!" roared Tad. "I'll be"

  Before he could add "there," the lad suddenly discovered that there was something wrong with his pony. It was the latter which was now beating the water and squealing with fear.

  One of the animal's hind hoofs raked Tad's leg, pounding it painfully. Tad released his hold of the mane and grasped the rein.

  Throwing up its head, uttering a snort, the pony sank out of sight, carrying its master under. Tad quickly let go the reins and kicked himself to the surface.

  The pony was gone. What had caused its sudden sinking the lad could not imagine. There was no time to speculatenot an instant to lose if he were to rescue the drowning cook.

  Throwing himself forward, headed downstream, Tad struck out with long, overhand strokes for the Chinaman. Going so much faster than the current, the boy rapidly gained on the victim.

  Yet, just as he was almost within reach of Pong, the latter threw up his hands and went down.

  Tad dived instantly. The swollen stream was so muddy that he could see nothing below the surface. His groping hands grasped nothing except the muddy water. The lad propelled himself to the surface, shaking the water from his eyes.

  There before him he saw the long, yellow arms of the Chinaman protruding above the surface of the river. This time, Tad was determined that the cook should not escape him. Tad made a long, curving dive not unlike that of a porpoise.

  This time the lad's hands reached the drowning man. The long, yellow arms twined themselves about the boy, and Tad felt himself going down.

  With rare presence of mind the boy held his breath, making no effort to wrench himself free from the Chinaman's grip. He knew it would be effort wasted, and, besides, he preferred to save his strength until they reached the surface once more.

  Half a dozen cowpunchers had plunged their ponies into the river, and were swimming toward the spot where Tad had been seen to go down, while the foreman was shouting frantic orders at them. The wagon had been ferried to the other side, and Stallings had run to his pony, on which he was now dashing madly along the river bank.

  "Look out that you don't run them down!" he roared. "Keep your wits about you!"

  "They're both down, already!" shouted a cowboy in reply.

  "We'll lose the whole outfit at this rate," growled another. Yet, not a man was there, unless perhaps it may have been Lumpy Bates, who would not have risked his own life freely to save that of the plucky lad.

  After going down a few feet, Tad began treading water with all his might. This checked their downward course and in a second or so he had the satisfaction of realizing that they were slowly rising. The current, however, was forcing them up at an angle.

  This, to a certain extent, worked to the boy's advantage, for the Chinaman was underneath him, thus giving Tad more freedom than had their positions been reversed.

  "There they are!" cried Big-foot Sanders as the Chinaman and his would-be rescuer popped into sight.

  "Go after them!" commanded Stallings.

  Urging their ponies forward by beating them with their quirts, the cowboys made desperate efforts to reach the two.

  Tad managed to free one arm which he held above his head.

  "The rope! He wants the rope! Rope him, you idiots!" bellowed the foreman.

  Big-foot made a cast. However, from his position in the water, he could not make an accurate throw and the rope fell short.

  Tad saw it. He was struggling furiously now, ducking and parrying the sweep of that long, yellow arm, with which Pong sought to grasp him.

  A quick eddy caught the pair and swept them out into the center of the stream, around a bend where they were caught by the full force of the current. This left their pursuers yards and yards to the rear.

  Tad saw that they would both drown, if he did not resort to desperate measures. Drawing back his arm, the lad drove a blow straight at Pong's head, but a swirl of the current destroyed the boy's aim and his fist barely grazed the cheek of the Chinaman.

  Quick as a flash, Tad Butler launched another blow. This time the Chinaman's head was jolted backwards, Tad's fist having landed squarely on the point of the fellow's jaw.

  But Pong was still struggling, and the lad completed his work by delivering another blow in the same place.

  "I hope I haven't hurt him," gasped the boy.

  Tad threw himself over on his back, breathing heavily and well-nigh exhausted. He kept a firm grip on the cook, however, supporting and keeping the latter's head above water by resting the Chinaman's neck on his arm as they floated with the current.

  In the meantime, Stallings was dashing along the bank roaring out his orders to the cowboys, calling them ashore and driving them in further down. Yet, each time it seemed as though the floating pair drifted farther and farther away.

  But Tad Butler was still cool. Now that he was getting his strength back, he began slowly to kick himself in toward shore, aiding in the process by long windmill strokes of his free arm.

  He did not make the mistake of heading directly for the shore, but sought to make it by a long tack, moving half with the current and half against it. The lad had made up his mind that the cowboys would never reach them and that what was to be done must be done by himself.

  "Can you make it?" called Stallings.

  "Yes. But have some oneon the other sidetoss me a ropeas soon as possible. I don't knowwhether Pongis done foror not," answered the boy in short breaths.

  Stallings plunged his pony into the current and swam for the other side. Reaching there, he galloped at full speed toward the point for which Tad seemed to be aiming.

  The foreman rode into the water until it was up to his saddle and where the pony was obliged to hold its head high to avoid drowning.

  There the foreman waited until the lad had gotten within roping distance.

  "Turn in a little," directed Stallings. "You'll hit that eddy and land out in the middle, if you don't."

  A moment more and the foreman's lariat slipped away from the circle it had formed above his head.

  Tad held an arm aloft, and the loop dropped neatly over it. Stallings pulled it and Tad grasped the rope after the loop had tightened about his arm.

  "Haul away," he directed.

  The foreman turned his pony about and slowly towed cook and boy ashore.

  The cowboys, observing that Tad was being hauled in, headed for the shore. Reaching it, they put spurs to their ponies and came down to the scene at a smashing gait.

  Leaping off, they sprang into the water, picking up Tad and the Chinaman and staggering ashore with them.

  The lad was pale and shivering. They laid him down on the bank. But Tad quickly pulled himself to his feet.

  "I must look after Pong," he said.

  "You let the heathen alone," growled Big-foot Sanders. "Us tenderfeet'll look after him. That's what we are, a bunch of rank tenderfeet. You're the only seasoned, all around, dyed-in-the-wool, genuwine cowpuncher in the whole outfit. That's the truth."

  Tad smiled as he hurried to where the foreman was working over the unconscious cook.

  "Is he dead?" asked the lad, apprehensively.

  "Dead? Huh!" grunted Curley Adams. "Heathen Chinese don't die as easy as that."

  After a few minutes the cook went off into a paroxysm of choking and coughing. Then he opened his eye
s.

  Chunky Brown was standing near, blinking down wisely into the yellow face of Pong.

  "You fell in, didn't you?" he asked solemnly.

  "Allee samee," grinned the yellow man, weakly.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XVII

  MAKING NEW FRIENDS

  Professor Zepplin, fully as wet as the others, met the returning outfit. Everybody was wet. It seemed to have become their normal condition.

  "Did you get the wagon over?" asked Tad.

  "You bet," replied the foreman. "As soon as we get all the water shook out of that heathen we'll set him to making coffee for the outfit. It's too near dark now to do any more work; and, besides, I guess the cattle are bedded down for the night. I think they're ready for a night's rest along with ourselves. What happened to that pony?"

  "I'm sure I don't know," answered Tad. "That was too bad, wasn't it?"

  "Cramps I guess," suggested Big-foot. "They have been known to have 'em in the water. That water must have had an iceberg in it somewhere up the state. Never saw such all-fired cold water in my life. Whew!"

  "That's one pony more we've got to buy, that's all. But I don't care. I'd rather lose the whole bunch of them than have anything happen to the Pinto," announced the foreman.

  "Or the cook," added Tad, with a smile.

  "Yes; it's a very serious matter for an outfit of this kind to lose its cook. We could get along without a foreman very well, but not without a cook."

  "Especially when you have a bunch of hungry boys with you. What about the new ponies?"

  "I'll ride over to Colonel McClure's ranch in the morning and see what we can do. You may go with me if you wish."

  "I should like to very much. Is that where you expect to get the other herd of cattle as well?"

  "Yes. Better take an earlier trick on guard to-night, for we shall start right after breakfast in the morning."

  "Very well," replied Tad. "Guess I'll get my coffee now."

  Big-foot Sanders was already helping himself to the steaming beverage, when Tad reached the chuck wagon.

  "Well, kid, what about it?" greeted the big cowman.

  "What about what?"

  "Trouble."

  Tad smiled broadly.

  "There does seem to be plenty of it."

  "And plenty more coming. You'll see more fun before we are clear of this part of the country."

  "I don't very well see how we can have much more of it. I should imagine we have had our share."

  "Wait. We'll be here three or four days yet and mebby more," warned the cowboy.

  Tad went out with the second guard that night. Contrary to the expectations of Big-foot Sanders and some others, the night passed without incident, the next morning dawning bright and beautiful.

  For some reason the foreman decided, at the last moment, that he would not go to the Ox Bow ranch. Instead, he instructed Big-foot Sanders to take three of the men with him and pick out what ponies they needed from Colonel McClure's stock. They were to bring the animals out to camp where the boys would break them in.

  Tad set out with them, after a hurried breakfast, leaving his young companions to amuse themselves as best they could.

  "How far do we have to ride, Big-foot?" asked the lad after they were in their saddles.

  "Mile or two, I guess. It's been a long time since I was through these parts. There's that church I've been telling you about."

  "Where?"

  "There, near the bedding-down ground. Seems as though the boss might have put the cows further away from the place."

  Tad surveyed the structure with keen interest. The white walls of the old adobe church reflected back the morning light in a whitish glare. About the place he observed a rank growth of weeds and evil cacti, the only touch of life to be seen being the birds that were perched on its crumbling ridges, gayly piping their morning songs.

  "It looks deserted."

  "I reckon it is," answered Big-foot. "Anyway, it ought to be. Ain't fit for human beings to roost in."

  "Humph! I don't believe there is anything spooky about that building. I'm going to investigate, the first time I get the chance. Have we time to stop this morning?"

  "No; we'll have to be getting along. The ponies we are after will have to be hobbled and got back to camp somehow. I expect we'll have a merry circus with them. If we get back in time for supper we'll be lucky."

  "That will be fun," exulted Tad. "Mr. Stallings promised me I might break one of them. My pony having been drowned, I should like to break a fresh one for myself."

  "And break your neck at the same time. I know you've got the sand, but you let that job out, kid. You don't know them bronchos."

  "I thought you said I was no longer a tenderfoot," laughed Tad.

  "Sure thing, but this is different."

  "I'll chance it. You show me the pony I cannot ride, and I will confess that I am a tenderfoot."

  Their arrival at the Ox Bow ranch was the signal for all the dogs on the place to try out their lungs, whereat a dozen cowboys appeared to learn the cause of the uproar. The McClure house stood a little back, nestling under a bluff covered with scant verdure, but well screened from the biting northers of the Texas winter. Further to the south were the ranch buildings, corrals, the cook house and a log cabin, outside of which hung any number of bridles and saddles, some of which the ranchers were mending and polishing when Stalling's men arrived on the scene.

  Big-foot introduced himself and was received with many a shout and handshake. Bill Blake, the foreman of the ranch after greeting the new arrival, turned inquiringly to Tad Butler, who had dismounted.

  "I didn't know you used kids in your business, Big-foot," he grinned.

  Big-foot flushed under the imputation.

  "Mebby you call him a kid, but if you'd see the lad work you'd change your mind mighty quick," answered the big cowman, with a trace of irritation in his voice. He explained to Blake what the boy was doing with the outfit, at the same time relating some of the things that the slender, freckle-faced boy from the East had accomplished.

  "Shake, Pinto," exclaimed Bill Blake cordially. "I reckon Mr. McClure would like to talk with you. Big-foot and I have got some business over in the ranch house, you see," smiled the foreman.

  "I see," replied Tad, though not wholly sure whether he did or not.

  "He's over there talking with his boss wrangler now. Come along and I'll give you a first-class knock-down to him."

  Tad found the ranch owner to be a man of refinement and kindly nature, yet whose keen, quizzical eyes seemed to take the lad in from head to foot in one comprehensive glance.

  "So you are learning the business, eh? That's right, my lad. That's the way to go about it, and there's no place like a drive to learn it, for that's where a man meets about every experience that comes in the life of a cowman."

  Tad explained about the Pony Riders, and that their trip was in the nature of a pleasure jaunt, they being accompanied by Walter Perkins's instructor and that they were with the outfit for a brief trip only.

  Mr. McClure became interested at once.

  "I should like to hear more about your experiences," he said. "Won't you come up to the house with me, while your man talks horse with my foreman?"

  Tad flushed slightly as he glanced down over his own rough, dust-covered clothes.

  "II am afraid I am not fit, sir."

  "Tut, tut. We ranchers learn to take a man for what he is worth, not for what he has on. You have been riding. Naturally you would not be expected to appear in broadcloth. No more do we expect you to. Had I a son, I should feel far better satisfied to see him as you stand before me now, than in the finest of clothes. Come, I want you to meet my family."

  Tad, somewhat reluctantly, followed the rancher to his house. Much to the lad's discomfiture, he was ushered into the drawing-room of the first southern home he had ever entered.

  "Be seated, sir. I will call my daughters. We have so few guests here that the girls seldom see anyone
during the time they are home from school."

  Mr. McClure left the room, and Tad, after choosing a chair that he considered least liable to be soiled by his dusty clothes, sat down, gazing about him curiously. He found himself in a room that was by far the handsomest he had ever seen, while from the walls a long line of family ancestors looked down at him from their gilt frames.

  Tad had found time for only a brief glance about him, when the sound of voices attracted his attention. At first he was unable to decide whence the voices came. They seemed to be in the room with him, yet there was no one there save himself.

  Turning about he discovered that a curtained doorway led directly into another room, and that it was from the adjoining room that the sound had come.

  "You say Ruth is bad again to-day, Margaret?"

  "No, mother, I would not say that exactly. Yet she does not seem to be quite herself, and I thought it best to tell you. I feared that perhaps she was going to have one of her old attacks."

  "Say nothing to her of your suspicions. The last one passed over, I think largely because we appeared to treat her mood lightly. Poor child, she has never ceased to grieve for the man whom her parents refused to permit her to marry. I think your Aunt Jane made a grievous mistake. I told her so plainly when she brought Ruth here to us, hoping she might forget her youthful love affair."

  Tad Butler's cheeks burned.

  That he had unwittingly played eavesdropper troubled him not a little. The boy rose and walking to a window on the further side of the room, stood with hat crumpled in both hands behind him, gazing out.

  The voices ceased. Yet a moment later Tad started and turned sharply.

  "Well, young man, what are you doing here?"

  Before him he saw a woman just short of middle age. He inferred at once that she was the elder of the two women whom he had heard speaking behind the curtain.

  "I am waiting for Mr. McClure," answered Tad, bowing politely, his face flushing under its tan.

  "Does he know that you are here?" she asked in a milder tone.

  "Oh, yes. He asked me to wait here until he returned."