The horse-hunter and his young companion laid their course at right angles to the reach of the range.
The trail rose slowly to pass between low buttes, leading on under the great spreading Joshua trees that capped the range itself. Off to the east and south of them, plainly exposed to view, lay the yellow stretch of the Ralston Valley that went on and on until it eventually terminated in Death Valley. The dry lake beds in the desert, looked, with the sun shining on them, like great pearls set in the Desert Maze. Tad thought they were water, but Bud Stevens informed him that they were filled with water only after a heavy thunderstorm, or in the early spring.
"You ought to have come down here earlier in the season," he told the lad. "It's a pretty bad time to cross the desert now."
"Yes, we know that. But we are not looking for easy trips," laughed the lad.
As they moved slowly along, the cowboy horse-hunter explained many of the secrets of the trail to his young companion, as well as describing horse-hunts in which he had taken part in the past.
"But I don't understand why they have come all the way across the desert to get into this range?" said Tad. "Why did they not remain on the other side where, I understand, there is plenty of forage?"
"It's a peculiar thing, kiddie, but hosses, wild or tame are like human beings in some ways. They like to get back home."
"What do you mean?"
"Wild horses always will go back to the range where they were born. Sometimes they run away from the range ahead of a storm; sometimes they are captured and taken away. But if they ever get the chance, back they go to the place where they were born. Angel was born in this range, and so were most of the mares and others that have come over with him. When a halfbreed Cherokee came into camp and told us the band of horses was seen stretched out on the mesa on the other side, I knew they were getting ready to hike across the desert, so we prepared to come here."
Tad was listening intently. All this was new to him and much of it not entirely understandable.
"Did you ever notice how animals act before a big storm?" asked Bud.
"No; I can't say that I have."
"Next time you see a lot of horses stretched out on the ground on their sides, heads close to the ground, all looking as if they were asleep, you'll know there's a big storm coming."
"Why do they do that?"
"I don't know, unless it is to rest themselves thoroughly before running away from the storm that they know is coming."
"How do they know a storm is coming, unless they can see it?" marveled the boy.
"Kiddie, you'll have to ask the horses. Bud Stevens don't know—nobody knows. A fellow with whiskers and wearing spectacles one of—of them scientific gents—told me once that it was a kind of wireless telegraph, that newfangled way of sending ghost messages. Said they got it in the air. Mebby they do; I don't know. They get it. Sometimes you'll see the colts running up and down. That's another sign of storm."
"That's strange. I never heard it before," mused the lad.
"And speaking of colts, did you ever know that sometimes a band of horses will take a great fancy to a frisky young colt?"
"No."
"Yes. They'll follow the colt for days, with their eyes big and full of admiration for the awkward critter. And they'll fight for him too. But 'tisn't often necessary, 'cause very few horses will bother a colt. Ever see a hoss fight?"
Tad admitted that he had not.
"Ought to see one. It's the liveliest scrimmage that you ever set eyes on. Beats that one back there on the desert, when you plunked me on my head in a water hole. Jimminy! but you did dump me proper," grinned the cowboy.
"Hope you don't lay it up against me," laughed Tad.
"No. Got all over that. I got what was coming to me—coming on the run. Say, got the trail on your side there? They seem to have shuffled over to the northward a bit."
"Yes, I'm riding on their footprints now."
"That's all right then. Don't want to let it get away from us."
"Where do you think they are heading, Mr. Stevens?"
"For the mesas up the range further. There's plenty of grazing there and there must be water close by. What we want to do, to-day, is to locate them and find out just where they go for their water. Then, when the schooner gets down to your camp, we'll haul our outfit up in the range and build a corral to drive them into."
"Do you always make a capture?"
"Us? No. Sometimes the leaders of the band are too smart for us. They beat us proper. Why, they're sharper than a Goldfield real estate man, and those fellows would make you believe an alkali desert was a pine forest."
"Look there!" interrupted Tad, pointing.
"What is it, kiddie?" demanded the horse-hunter, pulling up sharply.
"One of the horses, I think it must be the leader, seems to have left the trail here and started off at right angles."
Stevens rode over to the other side of Tad, and gazed down, his forehead wrinkling in a frown.
"Yes, that's the Angel. Don't know what he's side-tracked himself here for. He can't see far, so it was not an observation that he was about to take. He's either seen or scented something. Hold my pony while I take a look."
The cowboy dismounted, striding rapidly away with gaze fixed on the trail ahead of him. A few moments later he returned.
"Find anything?" asked Tad.
"The big one scented something, or thought he did."
"But where did he go?"
"Turned just beyond here and followed along the same way the others were going. You'll find his trail joining ours after we get on a piece. I'd like to know what he thought he smelled," mused Bud.
"I didn't know horses could scent a person or thing like that."
"What, horses? Wild horses have got a scent that's keener than a coyote's."
"There's the white stallion's trail again," exclaimed the lad.
Bud nodded. "Told you he'd come back."
For the next hour they rode along without anything of incident occurring, Tad constantly adding to his store of knowledge regarding mountain and plain. The lad was himself a natural plainsman and proved himself an apt pupil.
All at once Bud pulled up his pony sharply and studied the ground.
"What is it?" questioned Tad.
"We've struck luck for sure. Boy, I'll show you something that'll make your eyes stick out so you can hang your hat on them," cried the cowboy exultingly.
"You—you mean we have come upon the wild horses?" asked the lad.
"Yes, and more. Come this way and I'll show you. See this trail?"
Tad nodded.
"Well, it was made by another band of horses."
The announcement did not strike Tad as especially significant.
"They headed for the mesas, too?"
"Looks that way," grinned Bud. "And they're headed for trouble at the same time. There's going to be music in the air pretty soon, kiddie, and you and I want to be on hand to hear the first tune."
Tad gazed at him questioningly.
"This second bunch of horses is led by a big black stallion known to the hunters as Satan. He's up to his name too. He's one of the most vicious cayuses on the open range. Don't you see what this trail means?"
The lad confessed that he did not.
"It means that Satan is on the trail of the Angel. When Satan and the Angel meet there'll be the worst scrap you ever heard of, kiddie."
"Will they fight?"
"Will they fight?" scoffed Bud Stevens. "Guess you never saw two wild stallions mix it up."
"No."
"There's bad blood between Satan and the Angel and there has been for a long time. The black stallion has been on the white one's trail for more than a year. I don't know what it's all about, but I know that, if they come up with each other, there is going to be trouble. If they don't look out we'll bag the whole bunch. I wish our outfit was here. I suppose we ought to hustle back and get ready for the drive, but I'm going to see Satan and the Angel meet, if it's the last thing I ever do. Come on—we'll have to ride fast."
Putting spurs to their ponies, they set off at a fast pace over the uneven, rugged trail.
The trail grew hotter as they advanced.
"See, Satan's running now."
The pursuers increased their speed, although they could not hope to travel as rapidly as the black stallion and his followers. The wild horses' trot had by this time become leaps, as the followers could plainly see from the trail that had been left behind. Satan and his band were traveling in single file, their whole attention being centered on running down the Angel.
"Do you think Satan scented the others?" asked Tad, when they struck a level piece of ground so that they could relax their vigilance a little.
"No doubt of it at all. But he didn't know it was just then. He only knew it was a horse. He knows now that the other bunch is ahead of him."
"How do you know that?" queried Tad.
"By the trail," replied Stevens. "Don't you see, the Angel is going faster. They are both on a run now."
"Then the Angel must be afraid. Is that it?"
"Not much. He wants to find a better place in which to fight. This place is bad medicine for a horse battle. They're all heading for the mesas, just as I thought first."
The cowboy was leaning well forward in his saddle, eyes on the trail, instead of looking ahead. Tad, on the contrary, was straining his eyes, hoping to catch sight of the two bands of fleeing horses; but not a sign of them did he see. Bud was the first to inform him that they were nearing the object of their chase.
"Satan's going slower. He is coming up with the others. Let up a little, and don't talk in a loud tone. We don't want to disturb them nor let either of the bands get an idea they are followed. They might race off to some other part of the range. We want to catch them all later, if we can."
Their ponies were slowed down to a trot, with Bud Stevens leading.
All at once he held up his hand for a halt. Tad pulled up shortly.
"What is it? Do you see them?" he whispered.
Bud shook his head.
"Not yet. We're close to them, though. Jump off and tether your nag. We've got to go on afoot. They'll smell our ponies if we ride any further."
Moving rapidly, the man and the boy, led their mounts in among the trees, where they made them fast with the stake ropes. Then both started on a jog-trot along the trail.
"How far do we have to go do you think?"
"Don't know. Hope it's not far or we're liable to miss the show."
"I can run as fast as you can if you want to go faster."
"Hark! Hear that?" exclaimed Bud.
"Yes, what was it?"
"They're lining up for the battle. That was a stallion's scream of defiance. It is a challenge for battle. There goes the other one. That's the Angel telling Satan to come on and fight. Now Satan's answering him."
It was all just so much noise to Tad Butler. The meaning of the harsh sounds conveyed nothing to him, but to Bud Stevens they were full of meaning.
"Careful, now. We're getting near."
Both men sped along as fast as their feet would carry them, but without making a sound that might have been heard a dozen yards away.
"Hist!" warned Bud, crouching low.
Grasping his companion by the arm, he crept to the right, finally emerging from behind a rise of ground which had shielded their progress.
"Look there," he whispered.
Tad looked. Below him lay a broad, open mesa, its upper end within a stone's throw of where he stood. But that was not what attracted his attention. A band of horses of many colors and sizes stood arrayed on each side of the little plain.
Advanced a few yards from the band on the right, was a magnificent black stallion, pawing the earth and uttering shrill challenges. On the other side of the field was the Angel. He was not pawing the earth. Instead he was standing proudly, his curving neck beautifully arched, his pink nostrils distended and held high.
"What a wonderful animal!" said Tad under his breath. "And that black! I can understand why he is called Satan. What are they going to do?"
"Fight! Don't you understand? They're getting ready to settle their old score, and a merry mix-up it'll be," replied the cowboy in a whisper.
"Yes, yes," breathed Tad, scarcely able to curb his excitement.
"There they go!"
With a wild scream Satan and the Angel bounded into the center of the field. As they neared it each swerved to his right and dashed by, avoiding his opponent.
"Act as if they were afraid of each other," said Tad.
"They're not. They're trying each other out—sparring for an opening as it were. You'll see in a minute."
The fighters returned to the charge. They did not flinch this time. With a rush they came together, rearing in the air, jaws wide apart. Their fore-feet struck out. Both stallions broke, wheeled and kicked viciously.
Neither had landed a blow.
Next time they came at each other walking on their hind feet. They were sparring with their fore feet like fighters in the ring, their hoofs making such rapid thrusts that the eye could scarcely follow them. Satan reached for the head of his antagonist with a quick sweep. The white stallion blocked the blow cleverly.
They Were Sparring with Their Fore Feet like Fighters in the Ring.They Were Sparring with Their Fore Feet like Fighters in the Ring.
They Were Sparring with Their Fore Feet like Fighters in the Ring.They Were Sparring with Their Fore Feet like Fighters in the Ring.
Yet, in doing so, he had left an opening. Satan took instant advantage of it. The black stallion's head shot forward. It reminded Tad of a serpent striking at its victim.
"Ah! He landed!" exclaimed the cowboy.
A fleck of crimson on the creamy neck of the Angel showed where the vicious teeth of the black stallion had reached him. Yet, no sooner had the wound been inflicted than the Angel whirled. It was like a flash of light.
A white hoof shot out catching the black on the side of the head, sending him staggering to his haunches.
The white animal was upon him with a scream of triumph. Just as it seemed that the Angel was about to run him down, the black sprang to his feet, leaping to one side, and as the Angel passed, the hind hoofs of Satan were driven into his side.
The Angel uttered a cry of pain; it was returned by one of triumph from his antagonist.
"Oh, what a pity to see two such magnificent animals seeking to kill each other! Do you think one of them will be killed, Mr. Stevens?"
"They may. You can't tell. Hope there won't be a knock-out, 'cause we want both of those fellows and we'll get them too. I tell you, we're in luck this trip. We'll make a haul that will be worth a few thousand dollars, you bet. There they go again."
Changing their method of attack, the fighters began rushing, whirling, kicking and so timing their blows that their hind feet met with a crash that might have been heard a long distance away. The shiny coat of the black did not show that he had been wounded, but the watchers knew he had, for they had seen the teeth of the white animal buried in his side at least once.
A vicious charge of Satan's, threw the Angel from his feet. He struck the hard ground with a mighty snort, but was on his feet in an instant, returning to the charge, mouth open, feet pawing the air.
The two men could see the eyes of the desperate antagonists fairly blaze, while their shrill cries thrilled Tad through and through. Never in his life had he gazed upon such a scene—two giants of the equine world engaged in mortal combat. It was a scene calculated to make the blood course more rapidly through the veins of the boy, who, himself, possessed so much courage. And it did, in this case, though as a lover of horses his heart was filled with pity for the one who was to lose the battle. As yet there was no indication as to which this would be. They seemed equally matched, and thus far honors had been about even.
"Think the black can whip him?" he asked.
"Don't know, kiddie. I'll make a bet with you; take your choice."
"Thank you, I don't bet," answered the lad. "If I did, I couldn't bring myself to lay a wager on those two beautiful creatures that are trying to kill each other. Ah! There goes the black flat on his back!"
Before Satan could rise, the hoofs of the white one had been driven against him with unerring aim. Yet, the blow while it must have hurt, served to assist Satan to roll over. As a matter of fact he was kicked over, and thus helped to spring to his feet.
Each animal fastened his teeth in the flanks of the other at the same instant, and, when they tore themselves apart, each was limping.
On each side of the field the other members of the two bands of horses, stood stolidly observing the conflict. Neither side made an effort to participate in the battle.
Here and there a colt would break away and gambol out into the field, only to be recalled by a sharp whinny from its mother.
"It's queer they do not take a hand," marveled Tad.
"No; they never do. They look to their leader to fight their battles for them. When the battle is ended you will notice something else that will interest you."
"What?"
"You'll see when the time comes. Now watch them go at it."
And they did. It appeared as if each of the combatants was determined to put a quick end to the conflict. There was no lost time now. It was give and take. Blow after blow resounded from their hoofs. Now, one of the contestants would stagger and fall, only to be up and at his adversary, while their lithe, supple bodies flashed in the bright sunlight till the watchers' eyes were dizzy from following their rapid evolutions.
"I wish the boys might see this," breathed Tad, fascinated by the sight in spite of himself.
"So do I," grinned Bud.
"Did you ever see a battle of this kind?" asked the lad.
"Not like this. I've seen stallions fight, yes, but never such a scrap as this. Looks as if they'd be fighting all day. But they won't."
"Why not? They seem as strong as when they began."
"They are, but they're getting careless. They're taking longer chances every round. First thing you know, one of them will get kicked into the middle of next week. Whoop! That was a dandy!"
The Angel had planted both hind hoofs fairly on the side of Satan's head.
Satan had gone down. But when the white stallion made a leap, with the intention of springing upon his prostrate victim, the black rolled to one side, and in a twinkling had fastened his teeth upon his adversary's leg.
Only for a brief second did he cling there, then throwing himself out of the way sprang to his feet. The two animals met with a terrific crash, head-on.
Biting, kicking, screaming out their wild challenges of defiance the battle waxed hotter, faster and more furious.
The mares in the herds showed signs of uneasiness. They might have been observed tossing their heads and shifting almost nervously on their feet, but making no effort to move away or out into the field.
"Are the mares getting excited?" asked Tad in wonder.
"No. They see one of the stallions is going to get his knock-out in a minute."
"Which one?"
"I don't know."
"But how can they tell that, if we are unable to see either one of them weakening?"
"More ghost telegraphy, I guess," answered Bud, not for an instant removing his gaze from the fascinating scene before him. He, too, was becoming excited. He could scarcely restrain himself.
All at once, despite his caution, Bud Stevens uttered a whoop.
"The black's got him!"
"No, the Angel's got him!" shouted Tad Butler excitedly.
"No, he hasn't! It's the black, I tell you. See! There, he's kicked the Angel halfway across the mesa."
Now it was the Angel's turn to do some kicking. He did, and with terrific effect. Both hind hoofs were planted in the black's abdomen. Not once, but again and again. Yet the black was not thus easily defeated. With the sledge-hammer blows raining all over him, he struggled to his feet, and, with a desperate lunge, fastened himself upon the neck of his adversary.
Back and forth struggled the black and the white now, like a pair of wrestlers.
"Now, who do you think's got him, hey?" laughed Bud. "Why, the black'll eat his head off."
"I said Angel was going to win, and I think he is," retorted Tad. The white with a mighty toss of his powerful neck, threw Satan off, the fore feet of the Angel smiting and knocking Satan down.
Then followed a series of Gatling-gun-like reports as the Angel's hind hoofs beat a tattoo on the head of his prostrate victim.
The black was conquered.
Satan had been knocked out by the Angel, in the greatest equine battle that human eyes ever had gazed on.
"Aren't you glad I don't bet?" laughed Tad, his eyes flashing with the excitement of it all.
"I'd been willing to lose on that fight," grunted the cowboy.
"Is he killed, do you think?" asked the lad.
"No; he's just dizzy after the wallops he got on the head. You'll see him get up in a minute."
The Angel had backed off a few paces and there he stood, head erect, waiting as motionless as a statue until the moment when his fallen adversary should rise, if at all.
Slowly the black pulled himself to his feet. His head came up. He eyed the now calm white stallion half hesitatingly.
The watchers fairly held their breath, for it was a dramatic moment.
"They're going to fight again," muttered Tad.
"He's licked! He's got enough!" exclaimed Bud.
The black turned his back upon the white stallion, and with lowered head, dejection and humiliation apparent in every line, every movement of his body, walked slowly back to his own band.
The Angel followed at a distance, almost to the lines of the enemy. Then he paused, galloped back to the center of the field, and throwing up his head uttered a long, shrill scream of triumph.
One by one the mares of Satan's band detached themselves from his ranks, and, with their colts, trotted across the field to join the Angel's band.
A corral, constructed partially of brush on its wing ends, and of canvas for the corral proper, had been erected in one of the wide sage-covered draws of the San Antonio range. Across the opening of the corral, which resembled a pair of great tongs, the distance was fully half a mile.
Bud Stevens had decided to place the trap for the wild horses here in this open space in preference to laying it in the mountains. There was more room for operations in the open, he said.
Then again, the wild horses, as he knew from personal observation, were strong and full of fight.
"I guess we'll have to tire them all out before we can hope to get them in the corral," he told his men after they had finished their work of preparation.
The wagon with the horse-hunters' outfit had driven in late on the night following the battle of the stallions, and early next morning the horse-hunters, accompanied by the Pony Rider Boys and their own party, started out to make camp in the mountains, where they were to remain while the hunt lasted.
The battle which Tad and Bud had seen furnished a fruitful topic for discussion, and the two were kept busy relating the story of the fight until long after midnight.
But, while watching the battle, Bud Stevens had not lost sight of the object, of his trip into the mountains. He had calculated exactly where the stock had found a mountain spring, and it was from that point that the hunters were to start the animals on their trip to the corral.
The plan of operation was laid out with as much care and attention to details as a general would employ in planning a battle. The Pony Rider Boys were to participate in the chase. They could scarcely wait for the moment to arrive when they would be given an opportunity to show their horsemanship.
In the camp in the mountains they were told with great detail just what they were expected to do.
"I think you had better leave Chunky at home," warned Ned. "He'll stampede the whole bunch just as you are ready to drive them into the corral."
Chunky protested loudly.
"Guess I can stick on a pony as well as you can," he retorted.
"I'll vouch for that," smiled Tom Parry.
"He'll do," decided Bud. "Now, you fellows are all to string out in single file, following me until we have circled the herd. We should have them pretty well surrounded by noon. At that time they'll be at the spring filling up. When I'm ready to close in, I'll fire a shot. Each of you will fire in turn so that every one in line may be notified. If the critters refuse to drive, then we'll have to whip them into a circle and tire them out. But first, we must get them out on the open, no matter which way they go, then work them into the draw as fast as we can."
The horse-hunters nodded. They understood perfectly what they were expected to do. And the boys were to be scattered among the men at intervals instead of traveling together. It seemed very simple to them, but they were to learn that wild-horse hunting was a man's task.
"Are we allowed to rope if we get the chance?" questioned Tad.
"Not during the run. Of course, if you see an animal escaping after we have rounded them up, and you can do so without losing any of the others, rope if you want to. I reckon you'll have your hands full if you try it," concluded the horse-hunter.
"Are you going out, Professor?" smiled the guide.
"No, thank you. I think I shall remain close to camp and collect geological specimens. The boys will get into just as much trouble if I go with them as they would were I to remain at home. I suppose there is more or less peril in these wild hunts?"
"Yes, it's going some," laughed Bud. "But I guess none of them will get very badly knocked out if they obey orders and don't get in the way of a stampede. Those wild critters won't stop for nothing."
A scout came in late with the news that the herd was less than five miles from where the hunters' camp was located.
"That makes it all the easier. We'll start at daylight," said Stevens. "The plans will work out just right. Now you'd better all turn in and be ready for the hurry call in the morning."
Next morning all ate breakfast before the first hot wave trembled over the crest of the mountains across the broad desert. There was bustle and excitement in the camp.
When ponies had been saddled, ropes coiled and final preparations made, Bud Stevens looked his outfit over carefully, nodded his head and mounted.
"You boys don't want to do any shouting after we get out on the trail, you understand," he said. "We have to work quietly until we get them surrounded; then you may make all the racket you want. The more the better."
The Pony Riders nodded their understanding of the orders, and the company of horsemen set out across the mountains.
They made a wide detour so as not to alarm any of the stragglers who might not have followed the main body of horses to the watering place for their noon drink. A careful examination of the trail showed that the Angel and his band, as well as Satan and his few faithful followers, were well within the circle.
"We've got the whole bunch inside," exulted Bud, turning to Tad. "Now, boy, do your prettiest. We want to bag 'em all. If we do, I'll make you a present of any horse in the outfit."
"How about the Angel?" questioned Tad, with a twinkle in his eyes.
Bud hesitated.
"What Bud Stevens says goes," replied the cowboy. "The one who catches the stallion on these hunts, however, usually has the right to keep him if he wants to. If you want the Angel you've got to rope and take him after we get them rounded up."
"No, I wouldn't do anything like that," laughed Tad. "If I catch the Angel I'll make you a present of him."
At twelve o'clock, by the watch, they had completed the circle, or rather three-quarters of a circle, about the band of wild horses, leaving an opening toward the broad draw where the hidden corral had been located to trap the unsuspecting wild animals.
Stevens drew his gun, and, holding it above his head, fired two shots.
The signal was answered, almost instantly, by two shots some distance to their rear. Like the rattle of a skirmish line, guns popped in quick succession, the sounds growing further and further away as they ran down the long, slender line of horsemen to the eastward.
"Close in!" commanded the leader quietly. "Ride straight ahead; never mind me. I shall move further on before I turn. Good luck. Don't try to get in the way of a stampede. You can't stop them if they try it altogether."
"I'll look out," smiled Tad. Then they separated.
Tad could not hear a sound, save the light footfalls of his own pony. The mountain ranges might have been deserted for all the disturbance there was about him.
He had ridden on some distance when a loud snort suddenly called his attention to the right and ahead of him. There stood the Angel, facing him angrily.
Tad was so surprised at the suddenness of the meeting that he pulled his pony up shortly. For a moment they stood facing each other, then the wild animal with a loud scream of alarm, turned and went crashing through the brush. From the sound, a few seconds later, the lad knew that the stallion had gathered his band and that they were sweeping away from him at a lively pace.
"Here's where I must get busy," laughed the lad, the spirit of the chase suddenly taking strong hold upon him.
He touched his pony lightly with the spurs, drawing in on the reins. The little animal leaped away, Tad uttering a shrill yell, to warn any of the other hunters who might be within reach of his voice, that he had started on the trail of the wild band.
He heard a similar cry far off to his right and knew that Bud Stevens had heard and understood.
"I believe they're coming back," said the lad, realizing that the sound of galloping was plainer than it had been a few moments before. "I wonder what I ought to do. I'm going to try to head them off if they come this way," he decided.
All at once he saw the wild horses first from behind a huge rocky pile. Uttering a series of wild yells and whoops, swinging his quirt and sombrero above his head, the lad rode straight at the herd, his pony seeming to enter into the full spirit of the fun.
To Tad's surprise the leader of the herd deflected to the northward, running along a line almost parallel to that which the boy was following. Tad pressed in the rowels of his spurs a little harder, uttering a chorus of shrill yells.
"They mustn't get through," he fairly groaned. "They shan't get through! No, not if I ride my head off!"
Suddenly a volley of shots sounded some distance ahead of him, followed by a series of yells as if the mountains were alive with savage redskins.
It was Bud Stevens. The wild herd had come upon him just as they were about to turn northward and dive into the fastnesses of the mountains. Observing him they turned slightly to the west and continued on their mad course.
"Good boy!" Bud shrieked. "Draw up on 'em! Draw up on 'em!"
Tad did. It was a race, but a most perilous one. To the boy it seemed as if the feet of his pony were off the ground most of the time, his run having merged into a series of long, curving leaps as it reached from rock to rock.
Down a steep slope suddenly plunged the herd. Tad saw the flying pony of Bud Stevens directly abreast of them. The lad, apparently feeling no fear, brought his quirt down sharply on the flanks of his mount. The pony hesitated, rose and took a flying leap fully ten feet down the mountain side before its feet braced sharply and thus saved pony and rider from plunging on over.
Now Tad was yelling at the top of his voice, as that seemed the proper thing to do under the circumstances.
The wild band was heading for the open, just as Bud Stevens had planned. But the fleeing horses were seeking to get out on the open plain where they might soon outdistance their pursuers.
Tad and his pony went down that rugged mountain side as if the pony were a mountain goat. The boy never had experienced such a thrilling ride, and the jolts he got made his head dizzy.
"M-m-my, this is going some!" he gasped.
Tad was shouting for pure joy now. When his mount landed on all fours among the foothills he was not more than two minutes behind Bud Stevens himself.
"Great! Great!" floated back the voice of the horse-hunter, who, turning in his saddle, had observed Tad's leaping, flying descent of the mountain.
Tad admitted to himself that this was riding, and he compared it with the day he first rode his own pony up the main street in Chillicothe, Missouri. That ride, at the time, seemed a very exciting one. Since then he had acquired more skill, else he never would have been able to shoot down the rugged mountain at almost express train speed.
They were now out on the desert prairie. Bud was trying to point the leaders in to send them to the southward. Now that Tad was on level ground he was able to put on more speed. Very slowly, indeed, his pony straightening out to its full length, he drew up on the racing herd.
"Guess I'd better not yell any more till I get abreast of them," he decided, which was good judgment, as Bud Stevens said to him afterwards.
"Lay back a little!" shouted Bud when the boy got too close. "They're liable to dodge behind me at any second and break through our line."
Tad slackened his speed, at which the wild band drew away from him almost as if he were standing still. Then, he put spurs to his mount again, and drew up abreast of the trailers.
At the head of the line the horse-hunter was fighting with the leaders, trying to turn them toward the place where the great corral was hidden.
Suddenly that which Bud Stevens had feared occurred. The white stallion's forefeet plowed the earth. Cowboy and pony shot by him, and the wily stallion slipped behind them. Followed by his band, the Angel headed off across the desert in the very direction that the hunters did not want him to go.
"Nail him!" bellowed Bud.
Tad needed no further command. Already his keen eyes had noted the move. Putting spurs to his pony he raced to the white stallion's side, leaving Bud far to their rear.
The Angel sought, in every way in its power, to shake off the boy who so persistently hung at its side. All at once the stallion reached over, fastening its teeth in the neck of Tad Butler's pony. Tad, however had been quick enough to foresee the move and had jerked his little mount to one side. Yet, he had not done so quickly enough to save the broncho from a slight flesh wound.
Slackening its speed, the Angel then made a vicious lunge at the lad's left leg, biting right through the heavy chaps with which his legs were protected.
The boy swung his quirt, bringing it down again and again on the stallion's pink and white nose, until the beast, unable to stand the punishment longer, uttered a snort, changing its course more to the southward.
"I've turned him! I've turned him!" shouted Tad.
He had accomplished what the leader of the horse-hunters had been unable to do.
Bud Stevens, far to the rear on the desert, tossed his sombrero in the air, uttering a long, far-reaching yell of approval.
Tad replied with an exulting yell.
The band of wild horses was headed toward the corral. Yet they refused to enter, just when they were upon the point of heading in between the hidden wings. Some instinct, it seemed, warned them to beware. The line straightened out, and a few minutes later the animals began racing in a circle four miles wide.
"I'm afraid my pony never'll be able to stand this grilling. But we'll keep going as long as we've got a leg left to stand on," laughed the plucky lad.
"Drop out and let me take a round with them. We've got to tire them out," shouted Bud, putting spurs to his pony and dashing up beside Tad.
The lad regretfully pulled his mount down to a walk, then rode out on the desert some distance, so as to be out of the way when the circle once more came his way.
"Guess it's just as well," he muttered. "The pony couldn't have stood up much longer. My, those wild animals can travel!"
A heavy coating of gray dust covered both boy and horse, except where here and there the gray was furrowed with streaks of perspiration. Tad gave his mount the reins, and sat idly watching the cloud of dust rolling over the desert, showing where Bud Stevens was driving the wild-horse band in an effort to tire them, so that they might be easily headed into the great corral.
They soon swept by Tad, and on out over white alkali desert once more.
On the next round Bud motioned to Tad to take up his end of the relay.
"Give it to 'em. Drive 'em till they can't stand up!" bellowed Bud.
But the lad scarcely heard the horse-hunter's voice. Already he had been swallowed up in the great yellow cloud and was riding hard by the white stallion.
Discovering that he had another rider beside him, the Angel made a desperate effort to run the lad and his pony down that he might break the line and head off to the northwest. Tad beat him over the nose with his quirt again, and the stallion promptly changed its mind, for the pink nose was still tender from the drubbing Tad had given it a short time before.
"The men are lining up for a drive," warned Stevens when the herd thundered by him again. "I'll keep behind you. We're going to try to drive them in this time. They're weakening fast."
"You want me to hold the leader?" asked the boy.
"Yes. Keep him up. Don't give him a second's leeway. The rest will follow him; don't worry about them."
"Where are the other fellows?"
"Over to the east. They're hiding until the herd gets close enough; then they'll appear, raising a big noise. That's the time you and I will have our hands full."
"Strikes me our hands have been pretty full," answered the lad, his face wrinkling into a forced grin.
Bud Stevens slackened the speed of his pony, dropping back and disappearing in the dust cloud.
"After all, I guess the other fellows will have the hardest work," mused the lad. "They've got to stop the rush while all I have to do is to keep on going, following that big, white stallion. I wish I could rope him, but I guess he would have the broncho and myself on our backs in no time."
Tad turned his attention to the work in hand. He did not know just where the other horse-hunters were secreted, but his eyes were fixed on a low-lying butte some distance to the eastward. He saw no other place from which they could carry out the manoeuvre successfully.
Tad grew a bit anxious as the wild horses curved more and more to the eastward. In a few moments they would be too far to the left to permit of heading them toward the hidden corral.
"I guess they must be going to let us drive them around the circle once more," he decided, "No! There they come!"
With a yell, followed by a rattling fire of revolver shots, a dozen ponies shot from behind the low-lying butte. The horse-hunters hurled their bronchos right against the wall of fleeing animals.
Volley after volley was fired into the ground right under the very feet of the wild horses. Here and there a rider was unseated in a sudden collision in the dust cloud with a charging wild horse.
"They've turned them!" bellowed Bud Stevens.
The Pony Rider Boy now began to realize the truth of this, for the Angel came bounding toward him, crowding right up against the side of Tad's pony. Tad was using foot and quirt, yelling like a wild Indian to frighten the big, white stallion into keeping to the left.
So successful were his efforts that the animal did give way a little.
"I've headed him!" shouted the lad in wild glee. Never had he had such an exciting day as this one was proving itself to be. He gave no thought to the danger of the chase. And now that he heard and recognized the shouts of his companions he was spurred to even greater efforts than before. Why this post of honor had been given to him he did not know. But Bud Stevens was not far behind. Bud was ready to stop the stampede that he momentarily expected, but which did not come.
"Give way a little!" came the command.
Tad recognized that he had, in his enthusiasm, been crowding the white stallion a bit too much. He drew off a little, not, however, decreasing his speed.
Already the band of wild horses had entered the wide-spreading wings of the corral, but because of the dust that enveloped him, Tad was unaware of this. He continued at his same terrific pace, with the tough little broncho rising and falling under him as he fairly flew over the uneven ground.
The horse-hunters had fallen into a triangle formation with the apex to the rear. They were driving the wild horses before them, using their guns in what appeared to be a most reckless fashion, shouting as if the whole band had gone suddenly mad.
On down between the brush barriers, that were now apparently rising out of the ground, sped the frightened band of wild horses. The white stallion began to understand that they were trapped.
Angel whirled suddenly and made a desperate effort to take the back trail. Tad and his pony dashing down the slight incline like a projectile, hit the stallion broadside. The collision was so sudden that the lad had a narrow escape from being hurled over the head of his own pony. It was only the convulsive grip of legs to the broncho's side that saved him from a bad spill.
With quick instinct he brought his quirt down on the broad back of the Angel. Smarting under the stinging blow and the surprise of the collision the white stallion whirled about again, heading right into the yawning corral.
The lad was now in the very midst of the crowding, fighting animals. He was battling every whit as desperately as were they. Bud Stevens had fallen back. He knew Tad was somewhere ahead in the mix-up, but he was powerless to get to him at that moment, nor could his voice reach the lad.
It was then that the boy realized where he was.
"I'm in the corral!" he cried, discovering that he was hemmed in by the canvas walls of the main enclosure itself. "And I guess I'm in a mix-up that will be hard to get out of."
The wild horses were charging about, screaming with anger and fear, rearing, biting, kicking, bowling each other over in their desperate efforts to escape. On every side, they found themselves met by the canvas walls, which none thus far had had the courage to assail.
"There's the black stallion—there's Satan," cried Tad in surprise. "I didn't know he was here."
The black's eyes were gleaming with anger. His lost courage was slowly returning to him. Satan was now ready to give battle to man or beast. All at once he dashed straight at the canvas wall, rose to it and cleared it in a long, curving leap, his rear feet ripping the cloth down a short distance as the hoofs caught it.
The keen eyes of the white stallion were upon him. In another instant his glistening body had flashed over the enclosing walls.
"Oh, that's too bad!" groaned Tad.
At that moment half a dozen horsemen appeared in the enclosure; as if by magic they threw themselves across the opening made by the two stallions, and thus made an impassable barrier. Tad had seem them coming, and divined their purpose. A daring plan suddenly flashed into his mind.
With a shrill yell, he dug in the rowels of his spurs. The broncho, understanding what was wanted of him, rose to the canvas well, clearing it without so much as touching it with his hoofs.
But while this was going on another scene was being enacted just outside the barrier. A few horse-hunters had been sent around there to head off just such an attempt at escape as had been made. With them was Stacy Brown. He was sitting on his pony, rope in hand when Satan cleared the wall.
He saw the dark body of the stallion plunge over. Instinctively the fat boy rose in his stirrups. His lariat whirled twice over his head, then shot out.
It sped true to the mark, catching Satan by the left hind foot just as he was finishing his leap.
"Yeow!" yelled Chunky.
The black stallion ploughed the ground with his nose, as the boy took a quick hitch of the rope about his saddle pommel.
That was where Chunky came to grief once more. His pony's feet were jerked out from under it by the mighty lurch of Satan when he went down. Stacy Brown and his broncho were thrown flat on the ground in a twinkling. The lad's right leg was pinned under the pony, but the boy, with great presence of mind, held the rope fast to the pommel.
Ropes flew from all directions, now that the stallion was down. In a moment more they had Satan entangled in a maze of them. The horse-hunters were shouting and yelling in triumph at the fat boy's splendid capture. So busily engaged were they in subduing the black that, for the moment, they lost sight of the fact that the Angel, followed by Tad Butler on his broncho, had cleared the barrier too.
Nor did Tad give heed to them.
With rope unslung he was stretching through the foothills at a breakneck pace, on the trail of the Angel.
"There goes the Angel, with the kid after him!" bellowed a cowboy.
Three men leaped into their saddles and were off like a shot.
Tad Butler slowly, but surely, drew up on the racing stallion. The pursuers saw him unsling his rope, holding the coil easily at his side.
"He's going to cast," cried the cowboys in amazement that the slender lad would undertake alone to capture the powerful animal.
"He'll be dragged to death!" warned one.
"Don't try it, kiddie!" shouted another at the top of his voice.
A chorus of warning yells were hurled after the intrepid Tad, to all of which he gave no heed. His eyes were fixed on the flashing body of the white stallion ahead of him, every nerve tense for the shock that would come a moment later.
All at once the pursuers saw Tad's right arm describe the familiar circle in the air. Then his lariat squirmed out. The Angel, running ahead of the boy could not see the rope in time to dodge it. The loop of the lariat dropped neatly over his head and suddenly drew taut.
The proud stallion which for years had defied the skill of the wild-horse hunters, went down to an inglorious defeat. But he was up like a flash. Then began a battle between the slender Pony Rider Boy and wild stallion that is talked of among the wild-horse hunters of the desert to this day.
Three times had Tad thrown the Angel before the others caught up with him, the lad's arms being well-nigh pulled from his body in the terrific lunges of the fighting Angel.
The ropes of the cowboys reached out for the maddened animal the instant they were within reach.
Such a shout went up as had probably never been heard on the range before when finally they had the white fighter securely roped down.
The Pony Rider Boys had distinguished themselves this day.
Tricing up one of the stallion's forward legs, so that he hobbled along like a lame dog, the hunters started back to the corral, shouting, singing and firing their revolvers, with Tad Butler proudly sitting his broncho at the head of the procession.
Not an animal had escaped from the other hunters. It had been a magnificent round-up.