"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.
"Wha—what's the matter!" stammered the boy.
"Matter enough. Trying to drown yourself?" growled the cowboy.
"Di—did I fall in?"
"Did you fall in? Where do you think you are?"
"I—I 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 and 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.
The disturbance came after an hour's work. The cowmen had brought some sort of order out of the chaos and were beginning to breathe easier. Stallings rode up to the head of the herd giving orders that the cattle be pointed in and kept in a circle if possible. To do this he called away all the men at the right save Tad Butler and Big-foot Sanders. As it chanced, they were at the danger spot when the trouble came.
Chunky had been awakened by the disturbance in camp, not having fully aroused himself until after the departure of the men, however. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, grumbling about the weather and expressing his opinion of a cowpuncher's life in no uncertain terms.
Finding that all had left him, the lad decided to get his pony and follow.
"What's the matter, Pong?" he called, observing the Chinaman up and fixing the curtains about his wagon.
"Allee same likee this," answered Pong hopping about in imitation of an animal running away.
"He's crazy," muttered Chunky, going to his pony and swinging himself into the saddle.
Chunky urged the animal along faster and faster. He could hear the cowboys on beyond him though he was able to see only a few yards ahead of him. However, the boy was becoming used to riding in the dark and did not feel the same uncertainty that he had earlier.
"I'll bet they are getting ready to run away," he decided.
In that, Stacy was right. Before he realized where he was he had driven his pony full into the rear ranks of the restless cattle.
Chunky uttered a yell as he found himself bumping against the sides of the cows and sought to turn his pony about.
The startled steers nearest to him fought desperately to get away from the object that had so suddenly hurled itself against them. Instantly there was a mix-up, with bellowing, plunging steers all about him.
"Help! Help!" shouted the boy.
Now his pony was biting and kicking in an effort to free itself from the animals that were prodding it with horns and buffeting it from side to side.
Only a moment or so of this was necessary to fill the cattle with blind, unreasoning fear. With one common impulse they lunged forward. Those ahead of them felt the impetus of the thrust just as do the cars of a freight train under the sudden jolt of a starting engine.
"What's up?" roared the foreman.
"They're off!" yelled a cowman.
"Head them!"
"Can't. They're started in the center of the herd."
With heads down, the entire herd was now charging straight ahead. Big-foot Sanders and Tad Butler, nearly half a mile ahead, felt the impetus, too.
"Keep your head, boy," warned the cowpuncher. "We are in for a run for our money, now."
It came even as he spoke. With a bellow the cattle started forward at a lively gallop.
"Whoa-oo-ope!" cried Big-foot, riding in front of the plunging leaders.
He might as well have sought to stay the progress of the wind. The leaders swept man and boy aside and dashed on.
"Better keep them straight and not try to stop them, hadn't we?" shouted Tad, with rare generalship.
"That's the trick! Can you hold your side?" roared Big-foot in reply.
"I'll try," answered the boy, riding so close to the leaders that they rubbed sides with his pony. The latter, understanding what was wanted of him, pushed sturdily on holding the cattle with his side, leaning toward them to give the effort the benefit of his entire weight.
One end of Tad's neckerchief had come loose and was streaming straight out behind him, while the broad brim of his sombrero was tipped up by the rushing breeze.
It was a wild and perilous ride. Yet the lad thought nothing of this. His whole thought was centered on the work in hand, that of keeping the cattle headed northward. Tad was unable to tell whether they were going in a straight line or not, but this time he had the big cowman to rely upon.
"Give way a little!" warned Big-foot.
"Right!" answered the lad, pulling his pony to one side, then straightening him again.
"We'll hit the Injun Territory by daylight if we keep on at this gait! You all right?"
"Yes. But I think the herd is spreading out behind me," answered Tad.
"Never mind that. They'll likely follow the leaders."
Off to the rear they could hear the sharp reports of the cowboys' revolvers as they sought to stay the mad rush. Big-foot, however, had thought it best not to resort to shooting tactics. They were making altogether too good headway. If only they were able to keep the cattle headed the way they were going the herd would be none the worse off for the rush and the outfit would be that much further along on the journey. The thundering hoof-beats behind them as the living tide swept down upon them, was not a pleasant sound to hear. Yet Big-foot and Tad were altogether too busy to be greatly disturbed by it.
They had gone on for fully half an hour, after that, with no apparent decrease in the speed of the stampede. The ponies were beginning to show their fatigue. Tad slowed down a little, patting his faithful little animal to encourage it and quiet its nerves.
As he did so, the boy's attention was again called to the fact that a solid wall of cattle had apparently closed in behind him.
"Big-foot!" he shouted.
"Yes?" answered the cowboy, in a far away voice, for some distance now separated the two.
"It looks to me as if they were closing in on us. What do you think?"
"Wait! I'll see."
The cowboy pulled up a little and listened.
"Right you are. They have spread out in a solid wall."
"What shall we do?"
"Ride! Ride for your life!" came the excited reply.
"Where?"
"To your right. Don't let them catch you or you'll be trampled under their feet. They'll never stop, now, till they get to the river."
"Is it near here?"
"Only a few miles ahead. I can hear it roar now. A flood is coming down it. Hurry!"
Tad had barely heard the last word. Already he had swung his pony about and was galloping with all speed to the right in an effort to get free of the herd before they crowded him and his pony into the turbulent, swollen river.
The first light of the morning revealed to Tad Butler the narrow escape he had had. He had barely passed the outer point of the stampeding herd when the cattle rushed by him.
On beyond, less than half a mile away, he made out the river in the faint light. His companion was nowhere to be seen. However, that was not surprising, as the cattle now covered a large area; so large that Tad was unable to see to the other side of the herd.
As the day dawned the cattle began to slacken their speed, and, by the time the leaders reached the river bank, the rush was at an end. Some of the stock plunged into the edge of the stream where they began drinking, while others set to grazing contentedly.
As the light became stronger, the lad made out the figure of Big-foot Sanders approaching him at an easy gallop.
"We did it, didn't we, Big-foot?" exulted Tad Butler.
"That we did, Pinto. And there comes the rest of the bunch now," Big-foot added, pointing to the rear, where others of the cowboys were to be seen riding up.
Stallings was the first to reach them.
"Good job," he grinned. "We are at the river several hours ahead of schedule time. Doesn't look very promising, does it?"
"River's pretty high. Are you thinking of fording it this morning?" asked Big-foot, looking over the swollen stream.
"We might as well. The water will be higher later in the day. We may not be able to get across in several days if we wait too long."
"What do you think started the cattle this time?" asked Tad.
"I don't think. I know what did it."
"Yes?"
"It was that clumsy friend of yours."
"The gopher?" asked Big-foot.
"Allee same, as Pong would say. That boy is the limit. Is he always falling into trouble that way?"
"Yes, or falling off a pony," laughed Tad.
"There he comes, now."
Stacy rode up to them, his face serious and thoughtful.
"Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?" asked the foreman.
"I was going to ask you, sir, where we are going to get our breakfast?"
Stallings glanced at Tad and Big-foot, with a hopeless expression in his eyes.
"Go ask the Chinaman," he answered rather brusquely.
"I can't. He isn't here."
"Well, that's the answer," laughed the foreman, riding to the river bank and surveying the stream critically.
Tad and Big-foot Sanders joined him almost immediately.
"Think we can make it, chief?"
"I think so, Sanders. One of us had better ride over and back to test the current."
"I'll try it for you," said Tad.
"Go ahead. Sanders, you ride back and tell Lumpy to return to camp and bring on the outfit. They can't reach us until late in the afternoon, as it is. I presume that slant-eyed cook is sitting in his wagon waiting for us to come back. Hurry them along, for we shall be hungry by the time we have finished this job."
Tad promptly spurred his pony into the stream. After wading out a little way he slipped off into the water, hanging by the pommel, swimming with one hand to relieve the pony as much as possible.
The boy made the crossing without mishap, Stallings observing the performance to note how far down the stream the pony would drift. Tad landed some five rods lower down. On the return, the drift was not quite so noticeable.
"We'll make it," announced the foreman. "If you want to dry out, ride back and tell the bunch to crowd the cattle in as rapidly as possible. The faster we can force them in the less they will drift down stream."
"Very well, sir," replied the boy, galloping off to deliver his message.
With a great shouting and much yelling the cowboys began their task of urging the cattle into the river. Not being over-thirsty, it was no easy task to induce the animals to enter the water, but when the leaders finally plunged in the rest followed, fairly piling on top of one another in their efforts to follow the pilots of the herd. Above and below, the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged were swimming the river endeavoring to keep the animals from straying one way or another.
Tad Butler and his companions were aiding in this work, shouting from the pure joy of their experience, and, in an hour's time, the last steer had swum the stream and clambered up the sloping bank on the other side.
"There!" announced the foreman. "That's a bad job well done. I wish the trail wagon were here. A cup of hot coffee wouldn't go bad after an hour in the water."
"After several of them, you mean," added Tad. "You know we have been out in the rain all night."
"Yes, and you did a bang-up piece of work, you and Big-foot. How did you happen to lead the cattle straight ahead, instead of turning the leaders?"
"It was the kid's suggestion," answered Big-foot Sanders. "He's got a man's head on his shoulders that more'n makes up for what the gopher hasn't got."
"It does, indeed," agreed Stallings.
"How are we going to get that trail wagon over when it comes up!" asked one of the men.
"That's what's bothering me," answered the foreman. "Perhaps our young friend here can give us a suggestion. His head is pretty full of ideas," added the foreman, more with an intent to compliment Tad than in the expectation of getting valuable suggestions from him.
"What is your usual method?" asked the boy.
"Well, to tell the truth, I've never had quite such a proposition as this on my hands."
"I guess you will have to float it over."
"It won't float. It'll sink."
"You can protect it from that."
"How?" asked the foreman, now keenly interested.
"First take all the stuff out of it. That will save your equipment if anything happens to the wagon. Ferry the equipment over on the backs of the ponies. If it's too heavy, take over what you can."
"Well, what next?" asked Stallings.
"Get some timbers and construct a float under the wagon."
"Where you going to get timber around these parts?" demanded Big-foot.
"I see plenty of trees near the river. Cut down a few and make a raft of them."
"By George, the kid's hit it!" exclaimed Stallings, clapping his thigh vigorously. "That's exactly what we'll do. But we'll have to wait till the wagon gets here. The axes are all in the wagon."
"Mebby I'm particularly thick to-day, but I'd like to inquire how you expect to get the outfit over, after you have the raft under it?" demanded Shorty Savage. "Answer that, if you can?"
"I think that is up to the foreman," smiled Tad. "Were I doing it I think I should hitch ropes to the tongue and have the ponies on the other side draw the wagon across. Of course, you are liable to have an accident. The ropes may break or the current may tip your wagon over. That's your lookout."
"Now will you be good?" grinned the foreman. "You know all about it, and it would be a good idea to let the thought simmer in your thick head for a while. It may come in handy, some day, when you want to get across a river."
Shorty walked away, none too well pleased.
About three o'clock in the afternoon the wagon hove in sight, and the boys rode out to meet it.
It was decided to camp on the river bank until after they had eaten their evening meal, after which there would still be time to ferry over. While the meal was being cooked Stallings sent some of the men out to cut down four small trees and haul them in.
They grumbled considerably at this, but obeyed orders. Tad went along, at the suggestion of the foreman, to pick out such trees as he thought would best serve their purpose.
The trail wagon's teams were used to haul the logs in and by the time the work was finished a steaming hot supper had been spread by the smiling Chinaman.
Professor Zepplin had come along with the wagon. He said he was a little stiff from the wetting he had received, but otherwise was all right.
"Now, young man, I'll let you boss the job," announced Stallings as Tad rose from the table. "I give you a free hand."
With a pleased smile, Tad set about constructing his raft. Ned Rector swam the river with the ropes, and fastened them to trees so they would not be carried away by the current. The wagon was then run down into the water by hand, the ropes made fast, and all was ready for the start.
"What are you going to do about the drift?" asked the foreman, who had been interestedly watching the preparations.
"We are going to tie ropes to the two wheels on the upper side. One is to be held on this side of the river, the other from the opposite side. I think the kitchen will ford the river as straight as you could draw a chalk line," announced Tad.
"I guess it will," answered the foreman, with a suggestive glance at Professor Zepplin.
"All right when you get ready over there," called Tad to the waiting cowboys on the other side.
They had taken firm hold of the ropes with their right hands, their left hands holding to the pommels of their saddles.
"Ready!" came the warning cry from the other side.
"Haul away!" shouted Tad.
The ropes secured to the tongue of the trail wagon straightened, and the wagon began to move out into the stream.
"Be careful. Don't pay out that rope too fast," directed Tad to the man on his side of the stream.
The trail wagon floated out easily on the swiftly moving current. It was greeted by a cheer from the Pony Rider Boys. Those of the cowboys who were not otherwise engaged joined with a will.
"There's that fool Chinaman," growled Stallings, observing the grinning face of Pong peering from the tail of the wagon. "Look out, the dragon will get you, sure, if you fall out!" he warned. "I don't care anything about you, but we can't afford to be without a cook."
"There goes the fool!" cried Big-foot. "Now we sure will starve to death."
As the wagon lurched in the current, the Chinaman had plunged overboard and disappeared beneath the surface.
"Save him, somebody! The fool's fallen overboard!" roared the foreman. "I can't let go this rope!"
Tad had not seen the cook take his plunge, so, for the moment, he did not realize what had occurred.
"Who's overboard," young Butler demanded sharply.
"The cook," answered Stallings excitedly. "Can't any of you slow pokes get busy and fish him out?"
"Pong!" cried Tad as the head of the Chinaman appeared on the surface.
Without an instant's hesitation the lad leaped into his saddle.
"Yip!" he shouted to the pony, accentuating his command by a sharp blow with the quirt.
The pony leaped forward.
"Here, he's not up there; he's in the river I tell you!" shouted the foreman.
Tad had driven his mount straight up the bank behind them. He paid no attention to the warning of the foreman, having already mapped out his own plan of action.
Reaching the top of the sloping bank, Tad pulled his pony to the right and dashed along the bluff, headed down the river.
"Watch your lines or you'll have the wagon overboard, too," he called back. "I'll get Pong out."
Big-foot Sanders scratched his head reflectively.
"Ain't the Pinto the original whirlwind, though?" he grinned. "I never did see the like of him, now. He'll get that heathen out while we are standing here trying to make up our minds what to do."
"Yes, but I'm afraid the Chinaman will drown before Tad gets to him," said the foreman, with a shake of his head. "Here, don't let go of this rope while you are staring at the kid. I can't hold it alone."
Tad drove his pony to its utmost speed until he had reached a point some little distance below where the head of the Chinaman had last been seen.
All at once the lad turned sharply, the supple-limbed pony taking the bank in a cat-like leap, landing in the water with a splash.
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 speculate—not 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 one—on the other side—toss me a rope—as soon as possible. I don't know—whether Pong—is done for—or 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 eyes.
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.
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.
"I—I 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."
"Pardon me, I——"
"Ah, here you are, my dear. I have been looking for you. I wish you to meet Master Thaddeus Butler, who, with three companions and a tutor, is crossing the state with the Miller herd. It is the most unique vacation in these days. Master Butler, this is Mrs. McClure. My daughters will join us in a moment."
Mrs. McClure shook hands cordially with their young guest.
"Welcome to Ox Bow," she smiled. "At first, as your back was turned to me, I took you for one of the men. Instantly you faced me I saw the mistake I had made. Won't you be seated?"
Under her cordial manner Tad Butler was soon at his ease. Almost before he was aware of the fact Mrs. McClure had drawn from him the main facts relating to the journeyings of the Pony Riders.
Mrs. McClure's two daughters, Sadie and Margaret, entered the room soon afterwards, Tad being presented to them. Margaret, the elder of the two, was a fair-haired girl of perhaps nineteen years, while her sister Sadie, who was darker, Tad judged to be about his own age.
Both girls shook hands smilingly with their guest.
"I hope you will pardon me for appearing in such a disreputable condition," begged the lad. "I really am not fit to be seen."
His quaint way of putting it brought forth a general laugh.
"You need make no apology. We are all ranchers here. Even my daughters and my niece ride, and sometimes accompany the foreman on drives from one part of the ranch to another. As for my niece, though brought up in the East, she is a born cattle woman. There is hardly a cowman on the place who can ride better than she."
"Your man tells us that you are the best horseman in your outfit," said Mr. McClure.
"I don't think I quite deserve that compliment, sir," answered Tad. "But I am very fond of horses. I find, by kind treatment, one can do almost anything with them."
"My idea exactly," nodded Mr. McClure approvingly. "The cowpuncher doesn't look at it that way, however. He wouldn't feel at home on a horse that didn't break the monotony by bucking now and then. Did you ever ride a bucker?"
"Once. I expect to break one of the animals I understand we are to get from you."
His host whistled softly.
"You have a large contract on hand, young man. The ponies I am turning off are the worst specimens we ever had on the ranch. Some of them never had a bridle on, for the very good reason that no one ever has been able to get close enough to them to put bridles on. I hope you will not be foolish enough to try to break any of that stock."
"Oh, we'll rope them and get a headstall on, anyway. The rest will come along all right, I think," smiled Tad.
"Ah, my niece, Miss Brayton!" exclaimed the rancher, introducing a young woman who had just entered the room.
"With the Miller outfit?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Tad.
"Who is your foreman?"
"Stallings—Bob Stallings."
Tad thought Miss Brayton one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Yet there was something about her that affected him strangely. Perhaps it was her abrupt manner of speaking. At any rate the lad experienced a sense of uneasiness the moment she entered the room. He did not stop to ask himself why. Tad merely knew that this was true. Miss Brayton had little to say, but her quietness was more than atoned for by the vivacity of Sadie and Margaret.
As Tad was taking his leave the entire family accompanied him out into the yard.
"If your duties will permit we should like to have you and your companions dine with us to-morrow evening," said Colonel McClure.
"Yes; by all means," added Mrs. McClure.
"Yes, Mr. Butler, we should love to have you," added Sadie.
"Besides, we want to meet your friends," said Margaret.
"And I am sure we should enjoy coming. It seems almost an imposition for four of us boys to camp out in your dining room at the same time," laughed Tad.
"I assure you it will be doing us a favor," protested the rancher. "You will bring your Professor, also. We'll have a real family party."
Tad somewhat reluctantly agreed to bring his companions, though he disliked the idea of going to so fine a place for dinner in their rough, weather-beaten clothing.
The boy bade them all good-bye and strode off toward the corral, where the ponies were being roped preparatory to being taken over to the Miller herd.
"Oh, Mr. Butler!"
Tad wheeled sharply. Ruth Brayton was hurrying toward him.
The lad lifted his hat courteously and awaited the young woman's approach.
"Yes, Miss Brayton."
"Tell me again who your foreman is."
"Bob Stallings."
"Stallings—Stallings. Where have I heard that name before?" mused the girl, staring at Tad with vacant eyes.
"Are you sure it isn't Hamilton—Robert Hamilton?"
"Quite sure," smiled the lad.
"Do you know a cowboy or foreman by that name?"
"No, I never heard the name before."
Miss Brayton turned abruptly and hurried away. Tad heard her repeating the name of his foreman as she walked swiftly toward the ranch house.
"My, but that was a job," laughed Tad, after they had reached camp again, with three wild bronchos in tow. They had staked the new ponies down on the plain to think matters over while the cowboys sat down to their noon meal.
"They sure are a bad lot," agreed Big-foot Sanders. "Never seen worse ones. See that fellow, over there, don't even mind the pinch of that hackmore bridle. He's the ugliest brute in the bunch."
"That's the one I'm going to break," decided Tad Butler, his eyes glowing as he observed the wild pitching and snorting of the staked animal.
The pony was running the length of his rope at full speed, coming to a sudden halt when he reached its end, with heels high in the air and head doubled up under him on the ground.
It seemed to the lad like unnecessarily harsh treatment, yet he knew full well the quality of the temper of these animals of the plains.
"I'm afraid he'll break his neck," objected Tad.
"Let him," snapped the foreman. "There's more where he came from."
"By the way," said Tad, speaking to the Pony Riders. "I have an invitation for you fellows. I had forgotten it in the excitement of getting the new ponies to camp."
"Where to!" asked Ned Rector indifferently.
"To take dinner at the home of Colonel McClure."
"That will be fine," glowed Walter.
"But the question is, what are we going to wear?" laughed Tad. "We don't look very beautiful for a drawing room."
"Drawing room?" inquired Ned Rector, with interest. "Did I hear you say drawing room?"
"Yes."
"Huh! There isn't one within a thousand miles of us."
"You will think differently when you see the one at the ranch house."
"Did—did the colonel say what we were going to have to eat?" asked Stacy Brown, in all seriousness.
His question provoked a loud laugh from cowboys and Pony Riders.
"No. Naturally, I didn't ask him. There are some very nice girls at the ranch, too."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Ned. "Will wonders never cease? I'll believe I am not dreaming when I see all this with my own two eyes."
"Yes, Colonel McClure has two daughters, and besides these, there is a niece from the East visiting them. She is considerably older than the daughters, but a very beautiful woman." Tad paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Professor, I presume you will have no objection to our accepting Colonel McClure's invitation? You are invited to join us."
"Not at all, young gentlemen. But perhaps I had better not intrude——"
"Please go," urged Tad.
"Sure. He'll go. You will, won't you, Professor?" demanded Ned.
"Of course, if you really wish me to——" smiled Professor Zepplin good-naturedly.
"Of course we do," chorused the boys.
"Very well, I will think it over. I'm afraid, however, that I do not look altogether presentable."
"No more do we," answered Walter Perkins. "Tad probably told them we did not."
Tad nodded.
"They refused to accept that excuse. So I told them we would come."
The boys were full of anticipation for this promised break in the monotony of their living; and, besides, they looked forward keenly to meeting the young women about whom their companion had told them.
After the meal had been finished Tad asked when they were to begin breaking the new stock.
Stallings looked over the ponies critically.
"I guess we'll let them stay where they are, for an hour or so yet. It will help to break their spirit. Still think you can break one of them in?"
"I am sure of it," answered Tad Butler confidently.
"You shall have the chance. However, I shall not permit you to saddle him. Some of the cowpunchers, who are used to that, had better do it for you the first time. Unless one knows these little brutes he is liable to be kicked to death."
"I am not afraid."
"No, that is the danger of it. Neither is the pony afraid—that is, not until he is blindfolded."
About the middle of the afternoon the foreman announced that they would begin the breaking. The cowmen uttered a shout, for the process promised them much boisterous fun.
"Is the gopher going to break one of the bronchos?" asked Lumpy Bates.
"No, but the Pinto is," replied Curley Adams.
"He'll want to go home right away if he tries it, I reckon," jeered Lumpy.
"Don't you be too sure about that," retorted Curley. "That kid's got the stuff in him. I've been watching him right along. None of them lads is tenderfeet, unless it's the gopher, and he isn't half as bad as he looks."
By this time the foreman had taken hold of the rope that held the most violent of the ponies, and was slowly shortening upon it. As he neared the pony's head a cowboy began whipping a blanket over its back.
While the animal was plunging and kicking, Stallings gripped him by the bridle, after which there was a lively struggle, and in a moment more a broad handkerchief had been tied over the pony's eyes.
"What's that for! Is he going to play blind man's buff?" demanded Chunky.
"Huh! Get out!" growled Big-foot.
"If he does, you'll be it," jeered Ned Rector.
At last the animal crouched down trembling. He had never passed through an experience like that before and could not understand it.
Tad Butler standing near, was observing the operation with keenly inquiring eyes.
All at once the little animal leaped clear of the foreman's grip, its blinder came off and it launched into a series of wild bucks and grunts. The air seemed full of flying hoofs, and for the moment there was a lively scattering of cowpunchers and Pony Riders.
Once more, and with great patience, the foreman went all over the proceeding again. This time the foreman got one hand on the animal's nose and the other in his mane.
All at once something happened. A forty-pound saddle was thrown, not dropped, on the back of the unsuspecting pony.
The broncho's back arched like a bow, and the saddle went skyward. Stacy Brown happened to be in the way of it as it descended, so that boy and saddle went down together in a yelling heap.
The cowpunchers howled with delight as Chunky, covered with dust, wiping the sand from his eyes, staggered angrily to his feet.
"Did he kick me?" he demanded.
"With his back, yes," chuckled Shorty Savage.
Again and again the saddle was shot into the air the instant it touched the pony's back. It was back in place in no time, however. After a time the broncho paused, as if to devise some new method of getting rid of the hated thing.
As he did so, Big-foot Sanders cautiously poked a stick under the animal, pulling the girth toward him. A moment more and he had slipped it through a large buckle, and, with a jerk, made the girth fast.
Again the bucking began, but more violently than before.
The saddle held, though it slipped to one side a little.
"I've got him now," cried Stallings. "The instant he lets up, catch that flank girth and make fast."
"Right," answered Big-foot.
It was accomplished almost before the boys realized it.
Walter and his companions set up a shout.
The pony stood panting, head down, legs braced apart. The blinder had been torn from his eyes. He was waiting for the next move.
"Are you ready for me now?" asked Tad Butler quietly.
The foreman turned his head, glancing at Tad questioningly.
"Think you can stand it?"
"I can't any more than fall off."
Stallings nodded.
Tad slipped to the pony's side. Cautiously placing his left foot in the stirrups, he suddenly flung himself into the saddle.
The next instant Tad Butler was flying through the air over the pony's head.