The Pony Rider Boys in Texas (4 page)

"Where are your beds?" asked Stacy after the foreman had urged the boys to
get to sleep.

"Beds?" grunted Big-foot. "Anywhereeverywhere. Our beds, on the plains, are
wherever we happen to pull our boots off."

"You will find your stuff rolled up under the chuck wagon, boys," said
Stallings. "I had Pong get out the blankets for you, seeing that you have only
your slickers with you."

The lads found that a pair of blankets had been assigned to each of them,
with an ordinary wagon sheet doubled for a tarpaulin. These they spread out on
the ground, using boots wrapped in coats for pillows.

Stacy Brown proved the only grumbler in the lot, declaring that he could not
sleep a wink on such a bed as that.

In floundering about, making up his bunk, the lad had fallen over two cowboys
and stepped full on the face of a third.

Instantly there was a chorus of yells and snarls from the disturbed
cowpunchers, accompanied by dire threats as to what they would do to the gopher
did he ever disturb their rest in that way again.

This effectually quieted the boy for the night, and the camp settled down to
silence and to sleep.

The horses of the outfit, save those that were on night duty and two or three
others that had developed a habit of straying, had been turned loose early in
the evening, for animals on the trail are seldom staked down. For these, a rope
had been strung from a rear wheel of the wagon and another from the end of the
tongue, back to a stake driven in the ground, thus forming a triangular corral.
Besides holding the untrustworthy horses, it afforded a temporary corral for
catching a change of mounts.

In spite of their hard couches the Pony Riders slept soundly, even Professor
Zepplin himself never waking the whole night through. Ned Rector had come up
smiling when awakened for his trick on the third guard. With Stacy Brown,
however, severe measures were necessary when one of the returning guard routed
him out at half-past three in the morning.

Stacy grumbled, turned over and went to sleep again.

The guard chanced to be Lumpy Bates, and he administered, what to him, was a
gentle kick, to hurry the boy along.

"Ouch!" yelled Chunky, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Keep still, you baby!" growled the cowman. "Do you want to wake up the whole
outfit? There'll be a lively muss about the time you do, I reckon, and you'll
wish you hadn't. If you can't keep shut, the boss'll be for making you sleep
under the chuck wagon. If you make a racket there, Pong will dump a pot of
boiling water over you. You won't be so fast to wake up hard working cowboys
after that, I reckon."

"What do you want?" demanded the boy. "What'd you wake me up for?"

"It's your trick. Get a move on you and keep still. There's the pony ready
for you. I wouldn't have saddled it but the boss said I must. I don't take no
stock in tenderfoot kids," growled the cowpuncher.

"Is breakfast ready?" asked the boy, tightening his belt and jamming his
sombrero down over his head.

"Breakfast?" jeered Lumpy. "You're lucky to be alive in this outfit, let
alone filling yourself with grub. Get out!"

Stacy ruefully, and still half asleep, made a wide circle around the sleeping
cowmen that he might not make the mistake of again stepping on any of them.

Lumpy watched him with disapproving eyes.

The lad caught the pony that stood moping in the corral, not appearing to be
aware that his rider was preparing him for the range, Chunky all the time
muttering to himself.

Leading the pony out, the boy gathered up the reins on the right side of the
animal and prepared to mount.

Lumpy Bates came running toward him, not daring to call out for fear of
waking the camp. The cowman was swinging his arms and seeking to attract the
lad's attention. Chunky, however, was too sleepy to see anything so small as a
cowman swinging his arms a rod away.

Placing his right foot in the stirrup, the boy prepared to swing up into the
saddle.

"Hi, there!" hissed Lumpy, filled with indignation that anyone should attempt
to mount a pony from the right side.

His warning came too late. Stacy Brown's left leg swung over the saddle. No
sooner had the pony felt the leather over him than he raised his back straight
up, his head going down almost to the ground.

Stacy shot up into the air as if he had been propelled from a bow gun. He
struck the soft sand several feet in advance of the pony, his face and head
ploughing a little furrow as he drove along on his nose.

He had no more than struck, however, before the irate cowboy had him by the
collar and had jerked the lad to his feet.

"You
tenderfoot
!" he snarled, accenting the words so that they carried
a world of meaning with them. "Don't you know any more than to try to get onto a
broncho from the off side? Say, don't you?"

He shook the lad violently.

"N-n-n-o," gasped Stacy. "D-d-does it m-m-make any difference w-w-h-i-ch side
you get on?"

"Does it make any difference?"

The cowboy jerked his own head up and down as if the words he would utter had
wedged fast in his throat.

"Git out of here before I say something. The boss said the first man he heard
using language while you tenderfeet were with us, would get fired on the
spot."

Without taking the chance of waiting until Stacy had mounted the pony, Lumpy
grabbed the boy and tossed him into the saddle, giving the little animal a sharp
slap on the flank as he did so.

At first the pony began to buck; then, evidently thinking the effort was not
worth while, settled down to a rough trot which soon shook the boy up and
thoroughly awakened him.

The rest of the fourth guard had already gone out, Chunky meeting the
returning members of the third coming in.

"Better hurry up, kid," they chuckled. "The cows'll sleep themselves out of
sight before you get there, if you don't get a move on."

"Where are they?" asked the boy.

"Keep a-going and if you're lucky you'll run plumb into them," was the
jeering answer as the sleepy cowmen spurred their ponies on toward camp,
muttering their disapproval of taking along a bunch of boys on a cattle
drive.

In a few moments they, too, had turned their ponies adrift and had thrown
themselves down beside their companions, pulling their blankets well about them,
for the night had grown chill.

Out on the plains the fourth guard were drowsily crooning the lullaby about
the bull that "came down the hillside, long time ago."

It seemed as if scarcely a minute had passed since the boys turned in before
they were awakened by the strident tones of the foreman.

"Roll out! Roll out!" he roared, bringing the sleepy cowpunchers grumbling to
their feet.

Almost before the echoes of his voice had died away, a shrill voice piped up
from the tail end of the chuck wagon.

"Grub pi-i-i-le! Grub pi-i-i-le!"

It was the Chinaman, Pong, sounding his call for breakfast, in accordance
with the usage of the plains.

"Grub pi-i-i-le!" he finished in a lower tone, after which his head quickly
disappeared under the cover of the wagon.

By the time the cowmen and Pony Riders had refreshed themselves at the spring
near which the outfit had camped, a steaming hot breakfast had been spread on
the ground, with a slicker for a table cloth.

Three cowboys fell to with a will, gulping down their breakfast in a hurry
that they might ride out and relieve the fourth guard on the herd.

"You boys don't have to swallow your food whole," smiled the foreman,
observing that the Pony Riders seemed to think they were expected to hurry
through their meal as well. "Those fellows have to go out. Take your time. The
fourth guard has to eat yet, so there is plenty of time. How did you all
sleep?"

"Fine," chorused the boys.

"And you, Mr. Professor?"

"Surprisingly well. It is astonishing with how little a man can get along
when he has to."

"Who is the wrangler this morning?" asked the foreman, glancing about at his
men.

"I am," spoke up Shorty Savage promptly.

"Wrangler? What's a wrangler?" demanded Stacy, delaying the progress of a
large slice of bacon, which hung suspended from the fork half-way between plate
and mouth.

"A wrangler's a wrangler," answered Big-foot stolidly.

"He's a fellow who's all the time making trouble, isn't he?" asked Stacy
innocently.

"Oh, no, this kind of a wrangler isn't," laughed the foreman. "The trouble is
usually made
for
him, and it's served up hot off the spider. The horse
wrangler is the fellow who goes out and rounds up the ponies. Sometimes he does
it in the middle of the night when the thunder and lightning are smashing about
him like all possessed, and the cattle are on the rampage. He's a trouble-curer,
not a troublemaker, except for himself."

"I guess there are some words that aren't in the dictionary," laughed
Tad.

"I think you will find them all there, Master Tad, if you will consult the
big book," said the Professor.

The meal was soon finished, Pong having stood rubbing his palms, a happy
smile on his face, during the time they were eating.

"A very fine breakfast, sir," announced the Professor, looking up at the
Chinaman.

"He knows what would happen to him if he didn't serve good meals," smiled
Stallings.

"What do you mean?" asked Ned Rector.

"Pong, tell the young gentlemen what would become of you if you were to serve
bad meals to this outfit of cowpunchers."

The Chinaman showed two rows of white teeth in his expansive grin.

"Allee same likee this," he explained.

"How?" asked Tad.

Pong, going through the motions of drawing a gun from his belt, and puffing
out his cheeks, uttered an explosive "pouf!"

"Oh, you mean they would shoot you?" asked Walter. "I hardly think they would
do that, Pong."

"Allee same," grinned the Chinaman.

"I guess we are pretty sure of having real food to eat, then," laughed Tad,
as the boys rose from the table ready for the active work of the day.

"We will now get to work on the herd," announced the foreman. "We had better
start the drive this morning. When we make camp at noon we will cut out the
strays. I trust none of you will be imprudent and get into trouble, for we shall
have other things to look after to-day."

However, the Pony Riders were destined not to pass the day without one or
more exciting adventures.

"Getting ready for rain," announced the foreman, glancing up at the gathering
clouds. "That will mean water for the stock, anyway."

Already the great herd was up and grazing when the cowboys reached them. But
there was no time now for the animals to satisfy their appetites. They were
supposed to have eaten amply since daylight.

The trail was to be taken up again and by the time the steers were bedded
down at night, they should be all of fifteen miles nearer the Diamond D. Ranch
for which they were headed.

The start was a matter of keen interest to the Pony Riders. To set the herd
in motion, cowboys galloped along the sides of the line giving vent to their
shrill, wolf-keyed yell, while others pressed forward directly in the rear.

As soon as the cattle had gotten under way six men were detailed on each
side, and in a short time the herd was strung out over more than a mile of the
trail.

Two riders known as "point men" rode well back from the leaders, and by
riding forward and closing in occasionally, were able to direct the course of
the drive.

Others, known as "swing men," rode well out from the herd, their duty being
to see that none of the cattle dropped out or strayed away. Once started, the
animals required no driving.

This was a matter of considerable interest to the Pony Riders.

"Don't they ever stop to eat?" asked Tad of the foreman.

"Occasionally. When they do, we have to start them along without their
knowing we are doing so. It's a good rule to go by that you never should let
your herd know they are under restraint. Yet always keep them going in the
proper direction."

The trail wagon, carrying the cooking outfit and supplies, was not forgotten.
Drawn by a team of four mules, the party seldom allowed it to get far away from
them, and never, under ordinary circumstances, out of their sight. The driver
walked beside the mules, while the grinning face of Pong was always to be seen
in the front end of the wagon.

He was the only member of the outfit who never seemed to mind the broiling
mid-day heat. He was riding there on this hot forenoon, never leaving his seat
until the foreman, by a gesture, indicated that the herd was soon to be halted
for its noonday meal. While the cattle were grazing, the cowboys would fall to
and satisfy their own appetites.

After the cattle had finally been halted, three men were left on guard while
the others rode back to the rear of the line. In the meantime Pong had been
preparing the dinner, which was ready almost as soon as the men had cast aside
their hats.

"When it comes to cooking for an outfit like this, a Chinaman beats anything
in the world," laughed Stallings. "At least, this Chinaman does."

Pong was too busy to do more than grin at the compliment, even if he fully
grasped the meaning of it.

The meal was nearly half-finished when the cowpunchers were startled by a
volley of revolver shots accompanied by a chorus of shrill yells.

"What's up now?" demanded Ned Rector and Tad in one breath.

Every member of the outfit had sprung to his feet.

"Sounds like a stampede," flung back the foreman, making a flying leap for
his pony.

The other cowboys were up like a flash and into their saddles, uttering sharp
"ki-yis" and driving in the spurs while they laid their quirts mercilessly over
the rumps of the ponies.