The Pony Rider Boys in Texas (6 page)

One big, white fellow gave the lad more trouble than all the rest that he had
cut out, and when once Tad had run him out into the open the perspiration was
dripping from his face.

But his battle was not yet won. The steer, for some reason best known to
itself, did not wish to return to its own herd. It fought every inch of the way,
wearing down pony and rider until they were almost exhausted.

Tad Butler's blood was up, however. He set his jaw stubbornly and plunged
into the work before him.

Bob Stallings, shooting a glance in the boy's direction understood what he
had in hand, for the foreman had made the acquaintance of this same steer
himself, earlier on the drive.

The lad had worried the animal nearly to its own herd, after half an hour's
struggle, when, despite all his efforts, it broke away and dashed back toward
the mixed bunch.

"I'll get him if it's the last thing I ever do," vowed the boy.

A rawhide lariat hung from his saddle bow, and though he had practised with
the rope on other occasions, he did not consider himself an expert with it. He
had watched the cowboys in their use of it and knew how they threw a cow with
the rope.

On the spur of the moment Tad decided to use the lariat.

Lifting it in his right hand and swinging the great loop high above his head,
he dashed up to the running steer, and when near enough to take a cast, let go
of the loop.

It fell over the horns of the white animal as neatly as a cowboy could have
placed it there.

The coil ran out in a flash; yet quick as the boy was, he found himself
unable to take a hitch around the pommel of his saddle with the free end.

The running steer straightened the rope and Tad shot from his saddle still
clinging desperately to the line.

When the freckle-faced boy took his unexpected plunge, it chanced that
neither cowboys nor Pony Riders were looking his way.

No one knew of his plight.

As he felt the line running through his hand, Tad Butler had given it a quick
hitch around his right wrist, so that when the rope drew taut, and the pony
braced itself to meet the shock, the lad fairly flew through the air.

The white steer had been headed for the mixed bunch which the Pony Riders
were guarding. With the stubbornness of its kind, it wheeled about the instant
it felt the tug on the rope and dashed for the main herd, Tad's body ploughing
up the dust as he trailed along at a fearful pace behind the wild animal,
whirling over and over in his rapid flight.

The lad's eyes were so full of sand dust that he was unable to see where he
was going. He had slight realization of the peril that confronted him.

"Look! Look!" cried Walter Perkins.

"What is it?" cried Ned Rector.

"What's that the steer is dragging?"

"I don't know."

"And there's Tad's pony standing out there alone," added Walter. "Youyou
don't think Tad"

"As I'm alive, it is Tad! He is being dragged by the steer. He'll be killed!
Watch this herd, I am going after him!" shouted Ned, putting spurs to his pony
and dashing toward the main herd.

At that moment the white steer, trailing its human burden, rushed in among
the other cattle and was soon lost among them.

Ned did not dare to set up a loud shout of warning for fear of frightening
the cattle. However, he was waving his hat and excitedly trying to attract the
attention of some of the cowmen.

They were too busy to give any heed to him.

Ned drove his pony in among the struggling cattle with no thought of his own
danger.

The cowmen were roping and rushing the stock that did not belong to them. As
it chanced, however, most of them were working at the upper end, or head of the
herd.

The foreman, for some reason, had galloped down the line, casting his eyes
keenly over the herd. Instantly he noticed that something was wrong, though just
what it was, he was unable to decide. Then his eyes caught the figure of Ned
Rector, the center of a sea of moving backs and tossing horns. The boy was
standing in his stirrups still swinging his sombrero above his head.

It took the foreman but an instant to decide what to do. Wheeling his pony,
he fairly dived into the mass of cattle, lashing to the right and left of him
with his ready quirt, the cattle resentfully shaking threatening heads at pony
and rider and making efforts to reach them with their sharp-pointed horns.

"What is it?" shouted Stallings after he had ridden in far enough to make his
voice reach Ned Rector.

"It's Tad!"

"What about him?"

"He's in there," answered Ned, pointing.

"Where? What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's the white steer. He dragged him."

Stallings thought he understood. He had seen the lad working with the unruly
animal only a few moments before.

"What's the troubledid the boy rope him?" shouted the foreman.

Ned nodded.

"He'll be trampled to death!" snapped the foreman, rising high in his
stirrups and looking over the herd. There were several white steers in the
bunch, but the one in question was so much larger than the others that Stallings
thought he would have no difficulty in picking out the animal. Not finding him
at once, the foreman fired two shots in the air to attract the attention of the
cowboys. Three of them soon were seen working their way in.

"Open up the herd!" he shouted.

"Whereabouts?" asked Reddy Davis.

"Anywhere. Look out for the big, white cow. The boy's roped to him!"

They understood at once.

Big-foot Sanders had heard, and began working like an automatic machine. The
way the cattle, big and little, fell away before his plunging pony and ready
quirt was an object lesson for those of the Pony Riders who were near enough to
see his effort.

In the thick of it was Ned Rector, driving his pony here and there, anxiously
watching for the white steer.

"There he is!" shouted Ned, suddenly espying the animal still dashing
about.

"Where?"

"There, to the right of you!"

Forcing his mount through the crowded ranks, Stallings in a moment found
himself within reach of the white beast. However, there were three or four
cattle between himself and the one he wanted.

The foreman's rope circled in the air above his head, then the great loop
squirmed out over the backs of the cattle, dropping lightly over the horns of
the white one.

The steer felt the touch of the rope and knew the meaning of it. As the
animal sprang forward, Stallings took a quick turn about the pommel of his
saddle and the pony braced its fore feet. When the shock came, the cattle over
whose backs the rope lay felt it even more than did the pony itself. Three of
them were forced to their knees bawling with sudden fright and pain.

The head of the white steer was jerked to one side. A swing of the rope and
the steer was thrown heavily.

"Get in there!" roared Stallings.

Ned at the moment, chanced to be nearer than were any of the others to the
animal, and to him fell the perilous work of holding down the kicking beast.

He knew exactly what was expected of him, having seen a cowboy hold a steer
down for a quick branding that morning.

Ned spurred in and leaped to the ground.

Without an instant's hesitation he threw himself on the neck of the
struggling animal, whose flying hoofs made the attempt doubly dangerous.

This act of Ned enabled Stallings to jump from his pony and run to the lad's
assistance, leaving the pony braced to hold the line taut.

The foreman sprang to the rear, where he observed the form of Tad Butler
doubled up, lying half under the body of a big, red steer.

Stallings picked him up, quickly cutting the lariat.

"Slip the loops off his horns!" he commanded. "Look out that you don't get
pinked by them."

"Is Tad hurt?" called Ned anxiously.

"Lucky if he ain't dead," answered the foreman, hurrying to his pony, which
he mounted taking the boy in his arms. By this time Ned had the ropes and had
sprung away from the steer's dangerous horns.

Tad's form hung limp and lifeless over the saddle. His face, with the sand
and dust ground into it, was scarcely recognizable.

Ned followed the foreman as soon as he could get his pony. By the time Ned
reached them, Stallings had laid Tad down and was making a quick
examination.

"Get water! Hurry!" he commanded sharply.

"Where?" asked Ned, glancing about him, undecided which way to turn.

"The chuck wagon. Ride, kid! Ride!"

Ned bounced into his saddle without so much as touching his stirrup. With a
sharp yell to the animal he sped away over the plain, urging on the little pony
with quirt and spur.

The way Ned Rector rode that day made those of the cowmen who saw him open
their eyes.

Ned began shouting for water as soon as he came in sight of the wagon, which,
by this time, was packed for the start.

Pong, understanding from the boy's tone that the need was urgent, was filling
a jug from the tap barrel by the time Ned rode up beside the wagon. He had less
than a minute to wait.

Grabbing the jug from the hands of the grinning Chinaman, and unheeding
Pong's chuckled "allee same," Ned whirled about and raced for the herd.

The lad struggled to keep back the tears as he realized that, even with all
his haste, it might be too late.

That Tad should come out of that melee of flying hoofs and prodding horns
without being at least seriously injured was more than he could hope.

Faster and faster ran the pony, behind him a rising cloud of yellow dust.
Ned's fingers were stiff and numb from carrying the heavy jug, and the lump in
his throat was growing larger, it seemed to him, with every leap of the animal
under him.

Now Ned could see the cowmen galloping in and gazing from their ponies. He
knew they were looking at Tad. Stallings was bent over him, pouring something
down the boy's throat.

Ned's heart gave a great bound. Tad Butler must be alive or there would be no
need for the liquid that the foreman was forcing down his throat.

"Is heis he" asked Ned, weakly, after they had taken the jug of water from
his hand.

"He's alive, if that's what you mean," answered Stallings. "I'm afraid he's
got a slight concussion of the brain. He doesn't come around the way I should
like to see him."

"Sure it isn't a fracture!" asked the Professor, who had just arrived on the
scene.

"No, I hardly think so."

The foreman washed the unconscious boy's face, soaking Tad's head and neck
and searching for the seat of the trouble.

"Huh! Steer kicked him," grunted Stallings. "It was a glancing blow, luckily
for the kid."

They worked over the lad for fully half an hour before he began to show signs
of returning consciousness. At last his trembling eyelids struggled apart and he
smiled up at them weakly.

"Ah! He's all right now, I guess," laughed the foreman, with a world of
relief in his tone. "Boys, get busy now and cut out the rest of those cows. If
the young man is not able to ride we'll put him in the chuck wagon when it comes
up. Feel bad anywhere, now?" he asked.

"Mymy head weighs a ton."

"I should think it would. Did the white steer kick you?"

"II don't know. Hello, Professor. I roped him all right, didn't I, Mr.
Stallings?"

"You did. But you got roped yourself, too, I reckon. Think you'll be able to
ride in the trail wagon? If not we'll have to send you back to town."

"That'll be the best place for the tenderfoot," growled Lumpy Bates.

Stallings turned a stern eye upon him.

"Lumpy, when I want your opinion I'll let you know. What are you doing here,
anyway? Get into that cut out and be mighty quick about it!"

Lumpy rode away growling.

"I'll ride in no trail wagon," announced Tad Butler, with emphasis.

"I guess you will have to, my boy."

"I'll ride my pony if I have to be tied on," he declared resolutely.

The foreman laughed heartily.

"Well, we'll see about that. You boys all have good stuff in you. I see that
Master Walter and the gopher are still out there looking after that bunch of
cattle."

"I told them to do so," spoke up Tad.

"And they are obeying orders. That's the first thing to learn in this
business."

"May I sit up now?"

"You may try."

Tad's head spun round when he raised himself up. The lad fought his dizziness
pluckily, and mastered it. After a little while they helped him to his feet.
Finally feeling himself able to walk he started unsteadily away from them.

"Where are you going?" demanded the Professor.

"Pony," answered Tad.

"I protest, Tad. You will come back here at once."

Tad turned obediently.

"Please, Professor. I'm all right."

"Let the boy go. He will be all right in a few moments after he has gotten
into the saddle," urged the foreman. "Besides, he's too much of a man to be
treated like a weakling. He'll get more bumps than that before he leaves this
outfit, if I'm any judge."

The Professor motioned to Tad to go on, which the lad did, petting his pony
as he reached him, and then pulling himself into the saddle with considerable
effort.

"I'm ready for business now," he smiled, waving a hand to the foreman.

"Better look on and let the rest do the work," advised Stallings, mounting
his own tough pony and riding into the thick of the cutting out process.

But Tad Butler could no more sit idly by while the exciting work was going on
than could the foreman himself. The first steer that was cut out from the main
herd, after Stallings went back, found Tad Butler alongside of it, crowding it
toward his own herd farther out. And this work he kept up until all the
strangers had been separated from the Diamond D stock.