The Professor had no sooner marched Stacy to his tent to wash the mud from himself and get into a clean suit of clothes, than the sheepmen came galloping back to camp. A few of them had been left out near the foothills in case of a surprise.
"Where's that boy who sent us off on this fool chase?" demanded LukeLarue, riding right into the camp.
Chunky poked his head from the tent, holding the flap about him to cover himself.
"What did you tell us the cowmen were after us for?"
"Who, me?"
"Yes, come out here. I want to talk to you."
"I—I—I can't."
"You'd better or I'll have to fetch you out. Why can't you?" demanded the foreman sternly.
"I—I haven't got any clothes on," stammered the boy.
The foreman slipped from his pony, leaning against a tree with a helpless expression on his face.
Stacy's companions with Mr. Simms and several of the sheepmen rode in at that moment.
"Where's that boy?" demanded the rancher of Larue.
The foreman pointed to the tent. But the lad not yet having finished his toilet, all hands were obliged to stand about waiting for him. They did so with much impatience. Stacy took all the time he needed, apparently not believing that there was any necessity for haste.
At last he sauntered out smiling broadly.
"I think you owe us an explanation, at least," announced Mr. Simms, a peculiar smile playing about the corners of his lips. He had intended to be stern, but the sight of Chunky's good-natured face disarmed him at once, as it did most people.
"'Bout what?" asked the lad.
"Sending us out to the foothills, telling us the cowmen were attacking us."
Stacy's eyes opened widely.
"Never said so."
"What did you say, then?"
"Nothing."
"I guess we are all dreaming," laughed the rancher. "Will you please tell me what did happen then, when you started us away?"
"When I was riding in, you all started up and mounted your ponies. Somebody yelled, 'where are they?' I pointed back to the mountains, and then you rode on," the lad informed him.
It was an unusually long speech for Chunky to make without many halts and pauses. But he did very well with it.
"That is exactly what you did do. When we got there we found not the slightest trace of the cowmen. Where did you see them?"
"I didn't see them," persisted the lad.
"Then why did you tell us you did?"
"I didn't."
Mr. Simms thrust his hands in his pockets and strode back and forth several times.
"Say, young man, did you see anything at all, except what your imagination furnished?"
Chunky nodded emphatically.
"What did you see?"
"Indians."
"Oh, pshaw!" grunted Mr. Simms disgustedly.
"Indians?" interrupted Walter Perkins. "Tell me about it?"
"I was asleep," began Stacy.
"So that's the way you keep watch over our herd is it?" growled Luke. "We were just about to organize a searching party to go after you, when we saw you coming."
"I got tired. I sat down by a rook and—y-a-li—hum——"
"Ho-ho-ho—hum," yawned the foreman.
Within half a minute the whole outfit was yawning lazily, all save Old Hicks, the cook, who with hands thrust into his trousers pockets stood peering at the fat boy out of the corners of his eyes.
"Stop that, d'ye hear!" snapped Ned Rector angrily. "I'll duck you in that water hole, if you don't."
"Just been ducked," answered Stacy lazily. "Got kicked in by a sheep."
"What about the Indians?" asked Tad impatiently. "I guess you dreamed you saw them."
"No, I didn't. I went to sleep by the rock and when I woke up it was daylight. I yawned."
"Of course you did," jeered Ned. "Wouldn't have been you if you hadn't yawned."
"I was rubbing my eyes and trying to make up my mind where I was when—when——"
"When what?" urged Tad.
"When somebody said, 'How?'"
The sheepmen laughed.
"I—I looked around, and there—there stood a lot of Indians——"
"On their heads!" asked Ned.
"No, sitting on their ponies. Then—then I—"
"Then you pitched into them and drove them away," laughed Walter.
"No, I didn't. I yelled and run away. So would you."
Every man and boy of the sheep outfit roared with laughter.
"My boy," said Mr. Simms, "you will have to get used to seeing Indians if you remain with us long. This state is full of them, some bad, some good. But you need not be afraid of them. They dare not interfere with us, so if you see any, just pass the time of day and go on along about your business."
"When I got back here I fell in——" Professor Zepplin here broke into the conversation to explain what had happened to the fat boy, whereupon the outfit once more shouted with merriment.
The camp finally having been restored to its normal state, plans were made for moving on to the north.
"I wish you would ride over to Groveland Corners and get me fifty feet of quarter inch rope, Tad," said Mr. Simms. "You will have no trouble in finding the way. I'll show you exactly how to get there and find your way back afterwards. And by the way, you might take Philip with you, if you don't mind. I want him to get all the riding he can stand."
"I'll answer yes to both, requests," smiled Tad. "How far is it to the—the——"
"Corners? Five miles as the crow flies. It will be a slightly longer distance, because you have to go around the Little Butte. The place is situated just behind it on the west side."
"Then, I'm ready now, if Phil is."
The young man was not only ready, but anxious to be off, so without delay, the two lads brought in their ponies and after receiving final instructions as to how to find the new camp, they set off at an easy gallop in the fresh morning air, their spirits rising as they rode over the green mesa that lay sparkling in the morning sunlight.
Groveland Corners was little more than its name implied, consisting of one store that supplied the wants of the half dozen families who inhabited the place, as well as furnishing certain supplies to near-by ranchmen.
A group of cattle men had gathered at the store. They were sitting on the front porch talking earnestly when the two boys rode up. Tad dismounted, hitching his pony, while Phil, shifting to an easy position on his saddle, waited until the purchase of the rope had been made.
The conversation came to a sudden pause as the boys rode up, the cowmen eyeing the newcomers almost suspiciously, Tad thought. However, he paid no attention to them, further than to bid them a pleasant good morning, to which one or two of them gave a grunting reply.
He had noticed one raw-boned mountain boy among the lot who had answered his greeting with a sneering smile and a reply under his breath that Tad had not caught. The lad gave no heed to it, but went about his business. Besides the rope, he made several small purchases for himself. In reply to a question of the storekeeper, Tad informed him that he was with the Simms outfit. One of the cowmen who had entered the store, overhearing this, went outside and informed his companions.
"Hello, kid," greeted one, as the boy left the store. "How's mutton to-day?"
Busily coiling the rope, Tad paid no attention to the taunt; he hung the rope on his saddle horn and then methodically unhitched Pinkeye.
"Going to hang yerself?" jeered another. "That's all a mutton puncher's worth. I guess."
Tad felt his face flush. He paused long enough to turn and look straight into the eyes of the speaker.
"My, but ain't our little boy spunky!" called the fellow in derision.
"If he is, he knows, at least, enough to mind his own business," snapped Tad.
A jeering laugh followed the remark.
"Did ye mean that fer me?" demanded the mountain boy, rising angrily.
"If the coat fits, put it on," answered the freckle-faced boy indifferently, vaulting lightly into the saddle.
"I'll bet that's Boss Simms's kid—the pale-faced dude, eh?" sneered one sharply.
An angry growl answered the suggestion. Tad thinking it was time to be off, turned his pony about and Phil did the same. But no sooner had they headed their mounts toward home, Tad being slightly in the lead, than a rope squirmed through the air.
It dropped over the shoulders of Mr. Simms' delicate young son, tightened about his arms with a jerk.
"Help!" cried the frightened boy.
Tad, glancing back apprehensively saw what had happened. He wheeled his pony like a flash, but not quickly enough to save his companion from falling.
Phil Simms was roped from his pony, landing heavily in the dust of the street.
"Y-e-o-w!" chorused the cowboys.
"Shame! Shame on you!" cried Tad Butler indignantly.
The lad leaped from his pony which he quickly tethered to the hitching bar in front of the store.
This done he ran to his fallen companion, who still lay where the lariat had thrown him. He was half stunned and covered with dust. After jerking him from his pony, however, the cowboys, though continuing their shouts of glee, had made no further effort to molest Philip.
Tad quickly released him.
"I 've had a lot to do with cowboys, but you're the first I ever knew who would do a thing like that. The cowboys I know are gentlemen."
"Then, d'ye mean to say that we ain't, ye miserable cayuse?" demanded one of the number, rising menacingly.
"The fellow who roped that boy is a loafer!" answered Tad bravely, taking a couple of paces forward and facing the crowd. "You wouldn't dare do that to a man, especially if he had a gun as you have. Why didn't you try it on Luke Lame when he was over here?"
"Oh, go back to yer mammy," jeered one.
"I want to know who threw that rope? If he isn't too big a coward, he'll tell me. I guess Mr. Simms will settle with him."
"It's up to you, Bob, I guess," nodded one of them, addressing the angry-faced mountain boy who was one of their number.
The latter rose with what was intended to appear as offended dignity.
"Ye mean me?" he demanded, glaring.
"Yes, if you are the one who did it," answered Tad, looking him squarely in the eyes.
"Then your going to git the alfiredest lickin' you ever had in your life," announced the mountain boy.
Tad held the other with a gaze so steady and unflinching as to cause the mountain boy to pause hesitatingly.
"Phil, jump on your pony and get out of here," directed the lad in a low tone.
"He stays where he is," commanded one of the cowboys.
"Do as I tell you," retorted Tad sharply. "Be quick about it, too."
A cowboy aimed a gun at Phil Simms.
"Try it, if ye want ter git touched up," he warned. "Bob, sail into the fresh kid," he added, nodding his head toward Tad Butler.
"I'm not looking for a fight—I don't want to fight, but if that loafer comes near me I'll have to do the best I can," answered Tad bravely. "I don't expect to get fair play. I'll——"
"You'll git fair play and you'll git more besides," called the previous speaker. "Go to him, Bob."
Bob lowered his head, sticking out his chin and assuming a belligerent attitude with eyes fixed on the slender figure of his opponent.
Tad was observing the mountain boy keenly, measuring him mentally, while young Simms, pale-faced and frightened, was leaning against his pony, which he had caught and was preparing to mount when he was stopped by the gun of the cowboy.
"See, you've got him rattled already, Bob," shouted a cowman triumphantly. "He'll be running in a minute."
"Come away, Tad," begged Philip.
"Keep quiet. Don't speak to me," answered the lad, without turning his head toward his companion. Tad Butler's whole being was centered on the work that he knew was ahead of him.
He was angry. He felt that he had never been more so in his life, but not a trace of his emotion showed in his face or actions. If he ever had need of coolness, it was at this very moment. He did not know whether he would be able to master the raw-boned mountaineer or not.
The lad's training in athletics had been thorough, and his title of champion wrestler of the high school in Chillicothe had been earned by hard work and persistent effort to make himself physically fit.
"He's all of twenty-five pounds heavier than I am," decided the boy. "I've got to try some tricks that he doesn't know about, if I hope to make any kind of showing."
Bob was now approaching him with an ugly grin on his face. Tad's arms hung easily by his side.
"Come on, what are you waiting for?" Tad smiled.
With a bellow of rage, Bob rushed him.
Tad laughed, and stepping quickly to one side, thrust a foot between the bully's legs as he passed. Bob landed flat on his face in the dust of the street.
The cowboys set up a roar of delight. It was sport, no matter who got the worst of it.
"Give them room," shouted some one, as the men closed quickly about the combatants. "Let the kids fight it out."
These tactics were so new to Bob, that he did not know just what had happened to him. And when he had scrambled to his feet, he met the laughing face of Tad Butler, which enraged him past all control. This was exactly what Tad wanted.
Bob with a bellow again charged him. Tad made a pass and missed, but covered his failure by neatly ducking under the upraised arm of the cowboy, whose surprised look when he found that he had been punching the empty air brought forth yells of delight from his companions.
Tad had cast away his hat, that it might not interfere with his movements. No sooner had he done so than his opponent renewed his attack. But Tad skillfully parried the heavy blows, delivered awkwardly and without any great amount of skill. The great danger was that his adversary with his superior strength might beat down the lad's defense and land a blow that would put a sudden end to the fray.
Tad was watching for an opening that would enable him to put in practice a plan that had formed in his brain.
"Look out for the cayuse, Bob. He ain't so big a tenderfoot as he looks," warned a cowboy. But Bob had already discovered this fact. Though his fists were beating a tattoo in the air he seemed unable to land a blow on the body of his elusive adversary, and this only served to anger him the more.
"Ki-yi!" yelled the cowboys as a short arm blow, delivered through the mountaineer's windmill movements, reached his jaw and sent him sprawling.
Tad had not been able to put the force into it that he wanted to, else the battle might have ended then and there.
Bob came back. This time he uttered no taunts. The blow hurt him. His head felt dizzy and his fists did not work with the same speed that they had done before.
All at once Tad's right hand shot out, his fist open instead of being closed. It closed over the left wrist of the cowboy with an audible slap.
Tad's left hand joined his right in closing over his adversary's wrist. He whirled sharply, bringing Bob's left arm over his adversary's shoulder. Then something happened that made the cowmen gasp with astonishment. The slender lad lifted the big mountain boy clear of the ground, hurled him over his head, and still clinging to the wrist, brought him down with a smashing jolt, flat on his back in the middle of the village street. Phil Simms narrowly escaped being struck by the heels of the mountain boy's boots as they described a half circle in the air.
Bob lay perfectly still. And for a moment the cowboys stood speechless with amazement.
"Whoopee!" yelled one. "Who-o-o-p-e-e!" chorused the others, dancing about Tad Butler and his fallen victim in wild delight.
"I'm sorry I had to do it," muttered the boy.
They helped Bob to his feet, pounded him on the back, making jeering remarks about his being whipped by a kid, until his courage gradually was urged back as his strength returned.
Suddenly Bob turned on his assailant, and throwing both arms about him, bore him to earth. The move was so unexpected that the lad had no opportunity to side step out of the way. The weight of the mountaineer was so great that Tad found himself unable to squirm from under.
Bob, with a growl of rage, raised his fist, bringing it down with the same movement that he would wield a meat axe.
Tad never flinched as he saw it coming. His eyes were fixed upon the descending fist, his every nerve centered on the task of watching it.
Just at the instant when fist and face seemed to be meeting, the lad by a mighty effort, jerked his head ever so little to the right.
"Oh!" yelled Bob.
Something snapped.
The pressure released from his body, ever so little, Tad by a supreme muscular effort, threw his opponent slightly to one side, and quickly wormed himself from under. He was on his feet in an instant.
The cowboys did not know what had happened, but they knew that the boy from the Simms ranch had done something to their companion that for the instant had taken all of the fight out of him.
Tad had been only partly responsible for Bob's present condition, however. By jerking his head to one side he had caused the mountain boy's fist to strike the hard roadbed instead of Tad's head.
Bob struggled to his feet, holding the right wrist with the left hand and moaning with pain. The right hung limp. Tad knew what had happened.
"He's broken his wrist. I'm glad I didn't have to do it for him," said the lad.
At first glowering glances were cast in Tad's direction. They were of half a mind to punish him in their own way.
"You said it was to be a fair fight," spoke up the lad. "Has it been?"
There was a momentary silence.
"The kid's right," exclaimed a cowman. "He cleaned up Bob fair and square. I reckon you kin go, now."
"Thank you."
"Hold on a minute. Not so fast, young fellow. I'm kinder curious like to know how ye put Bob over yer head like that!" asked another.
"It was a simple little Japanese wrestling trick," laughed the boy.
"Kin ye do that to me?"
"I don't know."
"Well, yer going ter try and right here and now."
"All right, come over here on the grass where the ground isn't so hard. If I succeed in doing it, though, you must agree not to get mad. I can't fight you, you know. You are too big for me."
The cowman grinned significantly, and strode over to the place indicated by Tad Butler.
"Now what d'ye want me ter do?" he demanded, leering. "Yer see I'm willing?"
"Strike at me, if you wish. I don't care how you go about it," replied Tad.
"Here goes!"
The cowman launched a terrific blow with his right. Tad sprang back laughing.
"If that had ever hit me, you never would have known how the other trick is worked," he said, while the cowboys laughed uproariously at the fellow's surprise when he found that his fist had not landed.
"Guess the kid ain't no slouch, eh, Jim?" jeered one.
Jim let go another, then a third one. The third blow proved his undoing. The next instant Jim's boots were describing a half circle in the air over Tad Butler's head. His revolvers slipping from their holsters in transit, dropped to the ground and Jim landed flat on his back with a mighty grunt.
He was up with a roar, his right hand dropping instinctively to his empty holster.
"Wh-o-o-o-e!" warned the fellow's companions. "No fair, Jim. No fair. He said as he'd do it, and he did. Kid, you'd clean out the whole outfit, give you time, I reckon."
Jim pulled himself together, restored his weapons to their places, and walked over to Tad, extending his hand.
"That was a dizzy wallop ye give me, pardner," he said, with a sheepish grin. "If ye'll show me how it's did, I'll call it square."
Tad laughingly did so.
"I guess I couldn't get even with them any easier than by showing them the trick," he grinned, mounting his pony, and accompanied by Philip rode away. "They'll try that trick till the whole bunch of them get into a battle royal."
They did, as Tad learned next day.
"There's the sheep," announced Tad, after they had ridden on for some time.
"I'm glad," said Phil, "do you know, Tad, I thought those men were going to kill you." Phil's courage had returned, when he realized that they were in sight of friends once more.
Tad laughed.
"They aren't half so bad as they would have us believe. The boy was the worst of the lot. He needed to be taught a lesson, but I wish I hadn't hurt him," he mused.
"He did it himself; you didn't."
"Yes, I know. I had to to save my own face." The lad laughed heartily at his own joke, which Philip, however, failed to catch. "Now we'll find out where the camp is," said Tad, espying a herder off to the north of them.
Having been directed to the new camp, Phil galloped away, Tad remaining to chat with the sheepman a few minutes. Yet he made no mention of his experience at Groveland Corners, not being particularly proud of it, after all. After riding slowly about with, the herder for half an hour, the lad jogged off toward camp, which his companion had reached before him.
Philip had spread the story of Tad's battle with the cowboy. Old Hicks, contrary to his usual practice, had listened with one ear, giving a grunt of satisfaction when the story had been told. As a result there were several persons eagerly awaiting him in the sheep camp when he rode up.
"Who's getting into trouble now?" demanded Stacy, with mock seriousness. "You need a guardian, I guess. I presume Mr. Simms thinks so, too."
"Heard you had two black eyes," jeered Ned Rector.
"Say, Tad, we've agreed that you shall show us how you did it, usingChunky for your model," said Walter Perkins.
Tad smiled good-naturedly, dismounting from the saddle and tethering the pony with his usual care.
"Guess I'd better leave the saddle on. There may be something doing any minute," he mused.
"Mr. Simms wants ye over to his tent," Old Hicks informed Tad.
"Oh, all right," answered the lad, walking briskly to the little tent occupied by the owner of the herd.
The foreman was there awaiting Tad's arrival as well.
"First I want to thank you for having taken Phil's part so splendidly," glowed Mr. Simms. "It is a wonder they did not do you some harm after that."
"Oh, they were not half bad," laughed Tad. "They were ashamed of what they'd done after it was all over."
"No. There's no shame in that crowd. I know them. Phil has told me about it. I know them all, and they shall suffer for roping that boy," went on the rancher angrily.
"One of them has," answered Tad, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Besides, there's going to be a big fight over there. Perhaps they are at it now."
"Fight? I should judge from what I hear that there already has been one. What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing very serious. I taught them the Japanese trick of throwing a man over my head. They were trying it on when I left. Shouldn't be surprised, after they learn how to do the trick, if they got mad and had a real fight."
Luke Larue leaned back, slapping his thighs and laughing uproariously.
"Well, you are a smart one," he exclaimed. "Couldn't lick them all yourself, so you fixed it so they'd sail in and lick each other. Funniest thing I ever heard. I'll have to tell Old Hicks about that. But I won't do it till after dinner, or he'll burn the mutton and spoil our meal. Fighting each other!" Luke indulged in more hilarity.
"You heard nothing, of course—they said nothing about our herd——"
"No, but it was plain that they had no love for you, Mr. Simms. It was the boy who roped Philip, though. I do not think the men would have done anything like that."
"It's all the same. It shows the feeling that exists. Nothing will ever wipe that out except a good whipping. It's coming to them and they are going to get it."
"You think then—you believe they have not given up their plan of attacking the sheep?" asked Tad.
"Given it up? Not they. They have been too well nagged on by your friend of the Rosebud. I wish I knew who he is. I probably never shall, though."
"I'll know him if I see him again."
"You might not. Camp-fire sight is tricky."
"I'll know his voice, sir. I presume you will continue your watch over the herd to-night?"
"Yes, and for many nights to come. We shall keep it up until we get far enough to the north so that we are sure there will be no trouble. I guess you had better go on the late trick to-night. That is the most important. We'll send your friend Chunky out early in the evening. His habit of going to sleep at unusual times is too serious to trust him with the late and dangerous watch. If they strike it will be close to morning, I imagine."
"I hope they won't, for your sake."
"So do I," answered Mr. Simms, with emphasis.
The afternoon was waning. The Pony Riders were all in camp, some reading, others writing letters home, for already much had happened that would make interesting reading to the folks off in the little Missouri town.
Steam was rising from the big kettle, into which Old Hicks was about to drop a quarter of mutton for the evening meal, and an air of perfect peace hovered over the camp of the sheepmen. Under a spreading tree the bell goat of the outfit lay stretched out sound asleep. He had been in that position most of the afternoon, there being nothing special for him to do, as the herd was grazing as it saw fit, without any effort being made to urge it along.
From the other side of the tree the round face of Stacy Brown might have been observed peering to one side of the sleeping goat.
He listened intently. Billy was breathing short, regular breaths, with no thought of the trouble that was in store for him. From the expression of the boy's face it was evident that he was forming some mischievous plan of his own. This was verified when, after dodging back behind the tree, his head appeared once more and a stick was cautiously thrust out. Slowly it was pushed toward Billy's nose, which it gently rubbed and then was withdrawn.
Billy probably thought it was a fly, for one impatient hoof brushed the troubled nose; then the interrupted nap was continued.
Stacy tried it again with equal success. His sides were shaking with laughter, and every little while he would hide himself behind the tree to give vent to his merriment.
The others were too busy to notice what he was doing, though once Old Hicks paused in his work to cast a suspicious glance in that direction.
Stacy had been amusing himself for several minutes and with such success that he grew more bold. He had stepped from behind the tree that he might the better reach his victim. Now the tickling and the sweep of the impatient hoof became more frequent. Billy grunted as if he were having a bad dream, and this amused Stacy so much that he was obliged to retire behind the tree again to laugh.
As he emerged this time, Billy slowly opened a cautious eye, all unobserved by his tormentor. With a hand over his own mouth to keep back the laughter, the lad rubbed the stick gently over the goat's nose. Billy's chin whiskers took an almost imperceptible upward tilt and the observing eye opened a little more widely.
Next time Stacy varied the performance by giving the goat a malicious little dig in the ribs with the sharp end of the stick.
Billy rose up into the air as if hurled there by an explosion beneath him. When he landed on his four feet, it was with head pointed directly toward the foe and with fore legs sloping well back under him ready for a drive with his tough little head.
"Oh!" exclaimed Chunky, rapping the goat smartly over the nose with the stick to drive the animal off.
Billy drove all right, but it was not away from the lad. Stacy was standing with legs apart and Billy dived between them, at the same time lifting his head.
The effect was instantaneous. Chunky was neatly flipped to the goat's back, face down with his legs dangling about the animal's neck. Instinctively he took a quick grip with the legs, locking his feet on the underside of Billy's neck and his hands about the withers.
At that moment the surprised goat gave an excellent imitation of a broncho trying to throw its rider.
"Hel-p!" cried Chunky in a muffled voice.
No one save the cook heard it.
"Whoop!" bellowed Old Hicks, smiting his thigh with a mighty fist and screaming with laughter.
The Pony Riders and everyone else in camp sprang to their feet, not understanding what the commotion was about.
"The kid's riding the goat," yelled Hicks. "He's initiating himself into the order of Know Nuthins. See him buck! See him buck!"
The camp roared.
"Let go, Chunky!" shouted Walter.
"I can't, I'll fall off," answered the boy in a scarcely audible voice.
"I'll help you then. Come on, boys."
They made a concerted rush to rescue their companion. This was the signal for the goat to adopt new tactics. He probably thought it was some new form of torture that they had planned for him.
Billy headed for the tent of the owner of the herd. He went through it like a projectile, upsetting the folding table on which Mr. Simms was writing, and out through the flap at the other end.
By this time the outfit was in an uproar. Even the sheep on the range near by paused in their grazing to gaze curiously campward; the herders off in that direction shaded their eyes against the sun and tried to make out the cause of the disturbance.
"Y-e-o-w!" encouraged the cook, waving a loaf of bread above his head and dancing about with a more pronounced limp than usual.
Jerk, jerk, went Chunky's head until he feared it would be jerked from his body.
"Stay by him, stay by him, kid," encouraged a sheepman.
Mr. Simms rushing from his tent, startled and angry, instantly forgot the words of protest that were on his lips and joined heartily in laughter at the ludicrous sight.
"Look out that you don't lose your stirrups," jeered Ned as goat and rider shot by him with a bleat.
Walter made a grab for Billy with the result that he was pivoting on his own head the next second.
Once they thought Chunky was going to fall off and put a sudden end to their fun, but he soon righted himself, whereupon he tightened the grip of hands and legs.
By this time the goat was mad all through. He seemed bent now upon doing all the damage he could.
"Stop that! Want to run me down!" shouted Ned, grabbing a tree as the outfit swept by him, the goat uttering a sharp bleat and Chunky a howl of protest.
All at once Billy headed for the kitchen department. Old Hicks saw him coming and with a few quick hops got out of the way.
"Hi there, hang you, where you heading?" he roared.
The tinware had been stacked up on a bench to dry out in the sunlight. Perhaps it was the rays of the sun on the bright tin that attracted Billy's attention. At any rate he went through it with a bound, amid the crash of rattling tin and splintering wood.
Old Hicks made a swing at the animal with the long stick he had been using to prod the kettle of mutton. He missed and sat down suddenly, his lame leg refusing to bear the strain that had been put upon it.
It was astonishing the endurance the goat showed, for Chunky was no light weight in any sense of the word. Now and then he would just graze the trunk of a tree, bringing a howl from his rider as the latter's leg was scraped its full length against the bark of the tree.
By this time nearly everyone in camp had laughingly sought places of safety, some in the chuck wagon, others climbing saplings as best they could, for no man knew in what direction Billy might head next.
Old Hicks refused to take the protection that the wagon offered. He stood his ground, stick held firmly in both hands, awaiting a chance to rap the boy or the goat when they next passed.
His opportunity came soon. He had been baking pies for the sheepmen's supper and these he had placed on the tail board of the wagon, which he had removed and laid upon a frame made of sticks stuck into the ground.
Billy finished the pies in one grand charge.
The enraged cook forgot his own danger and boldly striding out into the open began throwing things at the mad goat. It mattered not what he threw. Anything he laid his hands on answered for the purpose—dishpans, small kettles, knives, loaves of bread—all went the same way, some of them reaching Chunky and bringing a howl from him. The goat, however, escaped without being hit once.
Twice more after wrecking the pies, did he charge the kitchen. It was noticed, however, that he avoided the hot stove. Hicks gladly would have lost that for the sake of seeing the goat smash against it and end his career.
After one drive more ferocious than any he had made before, Billy whirled and came back. Old Hicks stood with his back to the kettle, stick held aloft. He was going to get the goat this time, for he saw the animal would pass close to him if he held his present course.
Billy did so until within a few feet of the cook. Then he changed his direction. He changed it more suddenly than the cook had looked for.
Billy's head hit Old Hicks a powerful blow. The cook doubled up with a grunt. When he came down he landed fairly in the kettle of hot mutton. Cook and kettle toppled over, the former yelling for help and struggling desperately to extricate himself.
Chunky too had fared badly in the final charge. The shock had thrown him sideways and he crumpled up not far from the kettle and its human occupant.
They fished Old Hicks from the wreck, fuming and raging and threatening to kill the goat and to chase the "heathen kid" out of the camp.
Chunky was limp and breathless when they picked him up. They dragged the lad away from the vicinity of the cook as quickly as possible. Old Hicks' rage at that moment was a thing to avoid. The goat, Billy, galloped away, the least disturbed of the outfit, but it was observed that he prudently remained out on the range with the sheep that night.
"I didn't fall in that time, did I?" gasped Chunky, after his breath had come back sufficiently to enable him to talk.
"No, but you're going to do so when the cook gets hold of you," warned Ned.
"Hicks? Old Hicks fell into the mutton broth, didn't he?" chuckled the fat boy.
Supper was late in the sheep camp that evening. Old Hicks was in a terrible rage and no one dared protest at the delay, for fear he would get no supper at all. The boys were still discussing Stacy Brown's feat, and every time the subject was referred to all during the evening, it was sure to elicit a roar of laughter.
As night came on, the sky was gradually blotted out by a thin veil of clouds, which seemed to grow more dense as the evening wore on. Chunky had been sent out with Mary Johnson on guard duty, Walter having gone out with the foreman. That left Tad Butler and Ned Rector of the Pony Rider Boys, to take their turn on the late trick.
Tad preferred to sit up rather than to try to sleep for the short time that would intervene before it came his turn to go out.
"Do you think we shall have any trouble tonight?" he asked, looking up as Mr. Simms passed his tent.
"You know as much about that as I do, my boy. Perhaps your courage over at the Corners may scare them off, eh? They may think, if we are all such fighters over here, that it will be a good place to keep away from."
Tad laughed good-naturedly.
"Guess I didn't give them any such fright as that. How is Philip this evening?"
"Sound asleep. It's doing the boy good. He hasn't slept like this since his illness last spring."
"I wish he might go on with us and spend the summer out of doors."
"H-m-m-m," mused Mr. Simms. "I am afraid he would be too great a care. No, Tad, the boy is a little too young. Where are you going next?"
"I am not sure."
"Well, let me know when you find out and we will talk it over. Fine night for a raid of any kind, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tad, glancing up at the black clouds.
"Good luck to you to-night. You and your partner must take care of yourselves. Do not take any unnecessary risk. You will have done your part in using your keen young eyes to see that no one gets near the camp."
"I should feel better if I had a gun," laughed the boy."Somehow—but no, I guess it is not best."
"Certainly not."
Tad turned up the lantern in his tent and sat down to his book, which he had been reading most of the evening. He was not interrupted again until the camp watchmen came around to turn out the second guard.
Ned was asleep and he tumbled out rubbing his eyes, not sure just what was wanted of him.
"Wake up," laughed Tad. "You are getting to be a regular sleepy head."
"Guess I am. Is—is it time to go out?"
"It is. And it is a dark night, too."
"Whew! I should say it is," replied Ned, with an apprehensive glance out beyond the camp. "How are we ever going to find our way about to-night?"
"I don't imagine we shall be moving about much after we get on our station. Mr. Larue will place us there."
"Where are we going to be?"
"He hasn't said. I did hear him say that we were going to watch singly instead of in pairs, in order that he might cover more territory with the men at his disposal."
"Sounds shivery."
"I don't know why it should. It is night, that is the only difference. I am getting used to being out in the night and not knowing where I am," laughed Tad.
Tucking the lunches that had been wrapped for them into their pockets, the two boys walked over to the place where their ponies were tethered. The animals had been left bridled and saddled, the saddle girths having been loosened. These the boys tightened and prepared to mount when Tad happened to think of something.
"Hold my pony, Ned. I want to get something from the tent."
Tad returned a moment later with his lariat, which he coiled carefully and hung to the saddle horn, Ned Rector observing him with an amused smile.
"If you can't shoot them you're going to rope them, eh?"
"A rope is always a good thing to have with you. You don't think so, but it is. Never know what minute you are going to need it badly."
"It wouldn't do me any good, no matter how much I needed it," smiledNed. "I couldn't lasso the side of a barn."
"You do very well. If you will practise every day you will be able to handle it as well as the average cowboy in less than a week. Come along."
As they left the camp, Luke Larue met them to conduct the boys to the places where they were to spend the last half of the night.
"After we leave the herd behind us, it's the frozen tongue for you," he said.
"You mean we are not to speak?" asked Tad.
"Not a word out loud. If you have anything you must say, whisper."
"Oh, all right."
They dropped Ned first. His station was nearer to the herd than that which had been assigned to Tad. The latter went on with the foreman until they were fairly out by the foothills.
"I've given you one of the most responsible stations, you see," whispered the foreman. "It will be lonesome out here. Do you mind?"
"Not at all. Anybody near me?"
"Noisy Cooper is over there to your left about ten rods away. Bat Coyne is to your right here. You're not so close that you can rub elbows, however. Be watchful. It's just the night for a raid. Use your own judgment in case you hear anything suspicious. Above all look out for yourself. You've got a pony that will take you away from trouble pretty fast if you get in a hurry. You know the signal?"
"Yes."
"Then good night and good luck," whispered Luke, reaching out and giving Tad's hand a hearty clasp.
There was something so encouraging—so confident in the grip, that even had Tad Butler's courage been waning, it would have come back to him with a rush after that.
"Good night," he breathed. "I'll be on the spot if anything occurs."
"I know that," answered the foreman. In an instant Luke had been swallowed up in the great shadow and not even the hoof beats of his pony were audible to the listening ears of the boy.
Tad looked about him inquiringly. As his eyes became more used to the darkness he found himself able to make out objects about him, though the darkness distorted them into strange shapes.
"I think I'll get under that tree," he decided. "No one can see me there. They'd pick me out here in a minute. The cowboys have eyes as well as ears. I know that, for I've lived with them."
The lad tightened on the reins ever so little, and the pony pricking up its ears moved away with scarcely a sound, as if realizing that extreme caution were expected of it.
They pulled up under the shadow of the tree. There, Tad found that he could see what lay about him even better than before.
He patted Pink-eye on the neck and a swish of the animal's tail told him that the little attention was appreciated.
"Good boy," soothed the lad, running his fingers through the mane, straightening out a kink here and there.
He had dropped the reins as he finished with the mane, and Pink-eye's head began to droop until his nose was almost on the ground. He had settled himself for the long vigil. Perhaps he would go to sleep in a few moments. The rider hoped he would, for then there would be no movement that a stranger might hear.
It was a lonesome post. There was scarcely a sound, though now and then a bird twittered somewhere in the foliage and once he beard the mournful hoot of an owl far away to his left.
"I wonder if that could have been a signal, or was it a real bird," whispered Tad to himself. "I have heard of a certain band of outlaws that always used the hoot of the owl as their signal to each other."
After an interval of perhaps a minute another owl wailed out its weird cry off to his right.
Tad Butler pricked up his ears.
"Well, if it isn't a signal, those owls are holding a regular wireless conversation. Hark!"
Far back in the foothills there sounded another similar call.
Tad Butler was sure, by this time, that something was going on that would bear watching.
For a long time he heard nothing more, and was beginning to think that perhaps he had drawn on his imagination too far. It might be owls after all.
"I wonder if the others heard that, too? Maybe they know better than I what it means, if it means anything at all. I wish Mr. Larue would happen along now. I'd like to tell him what I think."
He knew, however, that the foreman, like himself was stationed somewhere off there in the blackness, sitting on his pony as immovable as a statue, his straining eyes peering into the night, his ears keyed to catch the slightest sound.
A gentle breeze rippled over the trees, stirring the foliage into a soft murmur. Then the breeze passed on and silence once more settled over the scene.
Tad sighed. Even a little wind was a welcome break in the monotony. He was not afraid, but his nerves were on edge by this time, and Tad made no attempt to deny it.
Something snapped to the left of him. The sound was as if some one had stepped on a dry branch which had crumpled under his weight.
The lad was all attention instantly.
"There certainly is something over there," he whispered. "It may be a man, but I'll bet it's a bear or some other animal. If it's a bear, first thing I know Pink-eye will bolt and then I'll be in a fix."
Tad cautiously gathered up the reins, using care not to disturb the pony, for it was all important that the animal remain absolutely quiet just now.
But, though the boy listened with straining ears, there was no repetition of the sound and this led him to believe that it had been an animal, which perhaps had scented them and was stalking him already.
It was not a comforting thought. Yet Tad never moved. He sat in his saddle rigidly, every nerve and muscle tense. He was determined to be calm no matter what happened.
The lad's head was thrown slightly forward, his chin protruding stubbornly, and as he listened there was borne to his ears another sound. It was as if something was approaching with a soft tread. He could hear it distinctly.
"Whatever that thing is, it has four feet," decided the lad quickly. "It's not a man, that is sure."
Instinctively he permitted his left hand to drop to the pommel of the saddle so that he might not be unseated in case Pink-eye should take sudden alarm and leap to one side. The reins were lightly bunched in the left, Tad's right hanging idly at his side.
The footsteps became more and more pronounced, Tad's curiosity increasing in proportion.
He fully expected to see a bear lumber from the shadows at any second now. If this happened he did not know what he should do. Of course he could ride away, but in doing so he might alarm the watching sheepmen and upset all their plans.
The noise after approaching for some moments, suddenly ceased. Tad's eyes were fairly boring into the shadows. All at once the particular shadow at which he was looking moved.
Tad started violently.
The shadow moved forward a few steps, then halted.
It was a man on horseback. He had ridden right out from the foothills.
"It's here," whispered Tad Butler to himself. The rider moved up a few steps again, this time halting within a few feet of the watching boy.
Tad's hand cautiously stole down to his lariat. He brought it up at arm's length, held it for one brief moment then swung it over his head.
His plan had been conceived in a flash and executed almost as quickly.
The rawhide rope squirmed through the air. He could not be sure of his aim in the darkness, but the stranger was so close that Tad did not believe he could miss. He knew that if he did, he would find himself in a serious predicament.
He heard a sudden startled exclamation.
At that instant, Pink-eye, alarmed by the unusual movement on his back, awakened and leaped lightly to one side.
"I've got him," breathed the boy, feeling the line draw tight under his hand. "I've caught a man I——"
Pink-eye had discovered the presence of strangers now and with a snort he changed his position by again leaping to one side. Tad heard the man strike the ground with a grunt. He took a turn of the lariat around the saddle pommel, drawing it taut.
"Who are you!" demanded the lad.
A snarl of rage and a struggle over there on the ground was his only answer.
"Get up, if you don't want to be dragged. If you make a loud noise it will be the worse for you," announced the boy sternly.
He clucked to the pony, which started forward suddenly, throwing a strain upon the rope.
"Steady, Pink-eye. We don't want to hurt him," he cautioned, slowing the animal down to almost a walk.
"Are you on your feet back there?"
"Y-y-y-yes."
There came a sharp jerk on the line. The boy knew that the man he had roped, pinioning his arms to his side had managed to get his hands up and grasped the line. In a moment he would free himself.
Tad pressed the rowels of his spurs against Pink-eye's sides. The animal sprang forward, but the boy quickly checked him, pulling him down into a jog trot that was not beyond the endurance of a man to follow for a short distance.
"Remember if you allow yourself to fall down I'll drag you the rest of the way in," warned Tad Butler. "I won't hurt you if you behave yourself."
"Le—le—let me go. I—I—I—I—aint't done n-n-nothing."
"We'll decide that when I get you back to camp," answered Tad. "And don't let me hear you raising your voice again or I'll put spurs to the pony. Do you understand?"
"Y-y-y-e-s."
On the soft ground the footfalls of the pony made no sound that could be heard any distance away. On ahead of him the lad saw the dim light of a lantern, which he knew was at the camp and his heart leaped exultantly at the thought of what he had accomplished. He wondered if the others or any of them had done as well.
"Won't Mr. Simms be surprised?" he glowed.
"Wait, I—I—I'm going to drop," came a voice from behind him. It sounded far away and indistinct.
"You'd better not unless you want to go the rest of the way lying on your back," called back the lad. However, he slackened the speed of his pony a little, thinking that perhaps his prisoner might be in distress. Tad was too tender hearted to cause another to suffer, even if it were an enemy.
The lad kept his left hand on the rope. In this way he was able to judge how well the man was following. Now and then a violent jerk told Tad that he was experimenting to see if he could not get away. The fellow might have braced his feet and possibly snapped the line, but he evidently feared to do this lest he be thrown on his face and dragged that way, for the noose of the lariat had, by this time, so tightened about his body as to bind his arms tightly to his side.
Tad uttered a warning whistle.
Instantly he noted figures moving about the camp. His call had been heard. The camp-fire was stirred to give more light, and as its embers flared up, Tad Butler and his prisoner galloped in.
At first they did not observe that he had a man in tow.
Old Hicks hobbled forward with a growl and a demand to know what the row was about.
"What is it, boy? What is it? Are they coming!" exclaimed Mr. Simms, running toward him.
"I've got a man. I can't stop. Grab him!" cried Tad in an excited, triumphant tone.
Mr. Simms saw. The others observed at the same time. They made a concerted rush for the lad's prisoner.
"Stop!" commanded the rancher.
Tad drew up instantly. As he did so three of them grabbed the man at the other end of the lariat, throwing him on the ground flat on his back.
"All right?" sang back Tad.
"Yes."
The boy unwound the rope from his saddle pommel and casting the end from him, rode back and dismounted. Yes, he had caught a cowman, but the fellow sullenly refused to answer a question that was put to him.
The prisoner was glaring up at him with eyes so full of malignant hate that Tad instinctively shrank back.
"Know him!" asked Mr. Simms sharply.
"Not by name. He's one of the men I saw over at the Corners. He was the worst one of the lot, except the boy they called Bob."
No amount of questioning, however, would draw the fellow out. They had bound him hand and foot and straightened up to view their work.
"There's no use in wasting time," decided Mr. Simms. "Drag him over to my tent and throw him in. Did you hear anybody besides this man?"
Tad told him about the owl calls. The rancher pondered a few seconds.
"That sounds to me more like an Indian trick. But I am satisfied we are going to be attacked tonight. You had better go back to your post. Can you find the way?"
"Yes, I think so," answered the lad.
"Boy, you've done a great piece of work. I'll talk with you about it when we have more time. I must hurry out and find Luke. The rest of you stick by the camp until you know that the cowmen are here; then sail in. There'll likely be some shooting."
"Any further instructions?" asked Tad, bunching the reins in his hand preparatory to mounting.
"Nothing. That is, unless you find you can rope some more of these cayuses. I'd like to have them all tied up here for a while. I've got a few things to say to them. They'd have to listen whether they wanted to or not if they were all in the same fix that fellow is," he added with a short, mirthless laugh.
Tad swung himself into the saddle, first having coiled his rope and hung it in its place.
"Good-bye," he sang out, starting out at a gallop and disappearing in the night.
As Tad drew near the scene of his recent experience, he slowed the pony down to a walk, moving on with extreme caution. He did not want to fall into the trap that the cowboy had only a short time before.
After groping about in the darkness some time, he finally came upon the very tree that had sheltered him before.
Tad uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction, once more taking up his position under its spreading branches. He had been there but a short time when the foreman rode up, giving a low whistle so that the boy would know who it was.
"Anything develop?"
"Yes."
"What?"
Tad told him briefly of the capture of the cowboy.
"Good boy," glowed Luke, reaching over and slapping Tad on the back approvingly. "I guess we made no mistake in giving you this post. But there's not likely to be any more of them come through this way. I am going to send you down nearer the center. We are going to have all the fun we want before morning. So I wish you would move down nearer the herd. When the racket begins, if it does, we shall need all the sheepmen to help drive off the raiders. You will relieve one of them and look after the sheep. I have told your friend Ned the same thing. He's down there now."
"Where are the sheep?"
"Head just a little to your left and ride straight, on till you come up with them. But be sure to give the whistle now and then so our men will know who you are if they chance to hear you coming. Did anybody know the fellow you roped?"
"No. I saw him at the store yesterday, though."
"Guess you've made no mistake then. Well, so long."
Tad missed his way in the darkness, and had roamed about for some time before finally coming up with the herd. Even then he was at a part of the line where there seemed to be no one on guard.
He whistled and waited. After a little the signal was answered It was then only a matter of a few moments before he had joined the herder and delivered his message.
The man rode away to take up his new position and Tad settled down to tending sheep. There was little for him to do, the animals being sound asleep, but he rather enjoyed the relief from the strain that he had been under while watching for intruders off yonder under the tree.
Dismounting, the boy sat down on the ground, having stripped the reins over the pony's neck so that he could keep them in his hand. Pinkeye nibbled at the grass a few seconds. It did not seem to satisfy the animal, for the sheep had worked it pretty well down ahead of him. So Pink-eye went to sleep, and Tad found himself nodding so persistently that he forced himself to get up and walk back and forth a few paces each way.
"I am getting to be as much of a sleepy head as Chunky is," he smiled. "That goat ride was the funniest thing I ever saw. I wonder where Billy took himself to. He's a wise goat. I actually believe he had more fun out of putting the camp to the bad than the rest of us experienced in watching him."
Pink-eye woke up and rubbed his nose against the boy's coat sleeve.
A shrill whistle trilled out off to the west. It was followed by another and another, until the air seemed full of them.
Tad paused abruptly in his walk and listened.
A pistol spat viciously. He caught the flash faintly in the distance.
Tad threw the reins over Pink-eye's neck and vaulted into the saddle. Boy and pony were both wide awake now.