THRILLING RESCUE OF THE RANCHER
"They're here," breathed the lad. "I wonder what's going to happen."
As if in answer to his question, a volley of pistol shots sounded to
the west of him. Almost instantly following, guns began to pop to
the north and south.
Shouts and yells sounded everywhere.
Startled, half a hundred sheep near him, scrambled to their feet.
"W-h-o-e-e-e," soothed Tad, turning toward them as he remembered
that he had a duty to perform. "Come now, Pink-eye, never mind the
shooting. Just you and I attend to our business. That's what we've
got to do."
Yet Tad regretted that he was not over there in the thick of the
fight. He gave a long whistle, hoping to find some one near him. The
whistle was not answered, therefore he concluded that he was alone
on that side of the herd. But where was Ned? He should be somewhere
near by.
By this time the restless herd required his whole attention. Tad
galloped up and down the line, speaking soothing words to the
frightened sheep, whistling and trying to sing.
"Here, Barker," he cried, discovering that he was not alone in his
efforts. One of the sheep dogs was trotting along by his side,
uttering little encouraging yelps to assist in keeping the lines
well formed. "That's a good dog. I guess you and I can handle this
outfit, can't we, Barker?"
Barker barked as if in approval of the sentiment.
Tad called the animal to him and sent him back the other way, while
he pressed on. The noise of the conflict seemed to be up that way
and it was at that end that there would be more likelihood of
disturbance to the sheep, he thought, urging his pony along a little
faster.
All at once guns began to flash ahead of him.
"I believe they are in the flock already," he cried, putting spurs
to Pink-eye and dashing on at top speed. "Yes, they are shooting
into the flock. I can tell by the flashes of their guns. Oh, if I
had a gun!"
The thought that they were slaughtering the innocent animals roused
all the fighting blood in Tad Butler's nature.
But what could he, single-handed and unarmed, expect to do to stop
the ruthless slaughter?
From the opposite direction, he heard a body of horsemen bearing
down on the sheep killers.
In a moment more they too began to shoot. He noted quickly, however,
that this latter body of men were not shooting down. They were
shooting over the heads of the herd at the men who were killing the
stock.
"Good! Good! Give it to them!" fairly screamed the lad, rising in
his stirrups, waving his hat and continuing his words of
encouragement to the men of Mr. Simms's outfit. What mattered it
whether they could hear him or not? A rattling fire was running
along both lines of men. But the sheep killers, now content to ride
down the sheep, were shooting back at their assailants.
"Somebody will be killed, I know," cried Tad. "Who's there?" he
roared, as he heard the hoof beats of a running pony behind
him.
"It's me, Chunky," came the answer.
"Get out of here, boy. You will be killed."
"I can't. I'm afraid to stay back there in the camp all alone.
Hicks has gone too and----"
"Then get back down the line and help me to hold these sheep. Don't
give anyone a chance to say a Pony Rider Boy is afraid of anything.
How'd you like to be over there where those guns are going off?
Now, brace up. Look cheerful and tend to those sheep the same as
Barker is doing."
Thus admonished, Stacy did brace up.
"All right," he said, pulling himself together and turning his pony
about.
In the meantime the shouting had increased in volume and the
shooting was more rapid. Tad had all he could do to hold the sheep
in place. He knew that up above him they were rushing wildly here
and there, and the wave of terror rolled over those in his immediate
vicinity.
"They're beating them back!" cried the boy. "The cowboys are giving
way. Hooray!"
This proved to be the case. The defense of the sheepmen was a
surprise to the cowboys, where they had thought to surprise the
sheep herders and stampede the herd before any opposition was
offered.
With a yell of triumph the forces under Mr. Simms rode right over
the scurrying sheep in their effort to drive the cowmen off.
At that moment the clouds parted and the full moon shone out,
lighting up the scene brightly. Tad gazed in awe on the rushing
ponies as he pulled his own to a stop. The cowmen, too, seemed to
take courage from the moonlight. Some had started to retreat. These
whirled about and returned to the charge.
"Oh, there goes Mr. Simms!" cried the boy.
He saw the rancher waver in the saddle, throw up his hands and slip
sideways with head and arms hanging down.
"He's shot! He's shot! They don't see him!" shouted Tad. He cried
out at the top of his voice to attract the attention of the
ranchers, but in the uproar, no one heard him. His voice in that mad
melee was a puny thing.
Fortunately the rancher's feet still clung to the stirrups, but his
head was hanging so low that it appeared to be bumping along the
ground with every leap of his pony, which was headed straight for
the lines of the enemy.
"Oh, why won't they see him!" groaned the lad. "I can't stand it to
sit here doing nothing and see a man lose his life that way--if he's
not dead already."
Tad, acting upon a sudden resolve, shook out his reins, gave the
pony a quick pressure with the spurs.
"Hi-yi!" he snapped.
Pink-eye leaped forward, with Tad urging him to renewed efforts by
sharp slaps on the animal's thigh. The boy was not shouting now. He
did not wish to attract attention to himself if it could be
avoided. In order to head off the rancher's pony, Tad was compelled
to follow an oblique direction which, if he continued it, would land
him fairly in the center of the enemy's lines.
"I must beat him out. It's the only way I can do anything. Go,
Pink-eye! Go!" And Pink-eye did go as he had never gone before
since Tad Butler had owned him.
Slowly but surely he was heading off the other horse. They saw him
now and a few scattering shots were sent in his direction, but the
lad heeded them no more than had they been rain drops. His mind was
too fully absorbed with the task he had set for himself.
At last he and the rancher's pony were converging on a single
point. Mr. Simms's pony reached it first with Tad only a few feet
away. They were fairly between the lines now and bullets were flying
about them. Tad could hear their whut! whut! as they sped past him.
He had lost the race. But there still remained one more
resource. His rope was in its place. Tad slipped it from the saddle
horn and made a quick reach for the rancher.
He groaned when he saw that he had missed his aim.
Yet, instead of giving up the battle, the lad was more determined
than ever to rescue the owner of the herd that he had cast his
fortunes with. The rowels were dug into the sides of the pony with a
firmer pressure than before, and Tad began rapidly to haul in the
lariat with one hand. When once he felt the knot at his finger tips
he began whirling the loop over his head, leaning well forward in
his saddle, riding at a tremendous pace on the fleet-footed little
pony.
He cast. This time the loop fell true.
"Steady! steady! Pink-eye," he cautioned, taking a quick turn about
the pommel. To stop too suddenly might throw the other pony on its
side and crush the rancher.
The lariat had dropped over the other animal's neck and was quickly
drawn down. Pinkeye stopped, braced himself as he felt his fellow
slowing down under the pressure of the loop on his neck.
"Whoa!" commanded Tad sharply, leaping from the saddle and taking up
on the lariat as fast as he could.
A shrill yell from the cowmen told him they would be upon him in a
moment. They understood now what he was trying to do.
Tad worked with feverish haste to release Mr. Simms from the
stirrups. Yet when he had finally accomplished this, his work was
not yet half done. He did not know whether the rancher was dead or
alive, nor had he the time to satisfy himself on this point.
Grasping Mr. Simms under the arms, the lad dragged him over to
Pink-eye, and with a strength born of the excitement of the moment,
succeeded in throwing the rancher's body over the back of his own
pony.
The lad was panting in short, quick breaths. He had barely enough
strength left to crawl on Pink-eye's back. Once there, he fairly
fell across Mr. Simms's body, clinging to it with one hand, the
other gripped on the pommel.
Pink-eye seemed to know what was expected of him, for straightway he
got under motion, trotting off toward the lines of the sheepmen.
The cowboys turned their guns on the little outfit, but the sheepmen
now discovering what was going on, gave a mighty yell and swept down
on their enemy.
The cowboys gave way before the resistless rush, and whirling their
ponies, raced for the foothills, with the pursuers shooting and
yelling as they lashed and spurred their ponies after them.
Tad was almost overwhelmed as the sheepmen rushed by him. But he had
saved Mr. Simms and he did not care if the jostling ponies of his
friends had almost run him down in their mad rush.
The lad now gaining in strength, pulled himself to a sitting posture
and hurried Pink-eye along at a little faster gait. They were headed
for the camp, which they reached in a few minutes.
Tenderly the lad lifted the rancher from the saddle, stretching him
out on the grass. His first care was to determine whether the man
were alive or dead.
"He's alive!" cried Tad exultingly. "He's only stunned."
A bullet had grazed the rancher's head, ploughing a little furrow as
it passed, but there was nothing more. Had Tad not reached him in
time no doubt he would have been killed.
Getting water from the chuck wagon, Tad bathed the wound and dashed
water into the rancher's face until signs of returning consciousness
were evident. After a little while Mr. Simms opened his eyes and
asked what had happened.
Tad told him, leaving out his own part in the rescue entirely, save
that he had brought him in.
The lad, after telling Mr. Simms that the cowboys had been driven
off, helped the rancher to his tent and put him to bed, or rather
induced him to lie down on his cot, for Mr. Simms's head was
whirling.
No sooner had Tad done this than he heard a galloping pony rapidly
approaching the camp. The lad stepped out as the horseman pulled
up. It was the foreman. He threw himself from his mount and started
on a run for Mr. Simms's tent.
"Hello!" he exclaimed, bringing up short. "Where's the boss? Is
he hurt? What happened to him?" he demanded excitedly, without
giving Tad a chance to answer between questions.
"I think he is all right, Mr. Larue. He had a close call"----
"Was he shot?"
"A bullet grazed the side of his head, and then his pony ran away. I
guess that came nearer killing him than did the bullet."
"He owes his life to you, and that's no joke," answered the foreman
shortly. "We didn't see that he was in trouble till one of the boys
discovered you chasing his pony. Then we saw you rope the critter
and pack the boss on your own cayuse."
"Was--was anybody killed?" asked Tad hesitatingly.
"No. Mary got a bullet through the calf of his right leg, and Bat
Coyne lost a piece of an ear. Guess that's about all."
"Yes; but what of the others? Were any of the cowmen killed?"
"No such luck," growled the foreman. "We pinked a few of them, but
they're too tough to kill. We come mighty near having a fight,
however," he mused.
"Near!" exploded the boy. "I should say you were right up to it."
"We've lost a lot of sheep, boy; that's of more consequence."
"How many?"
"No telling. Can't tell till morning. It'll take all day to round up
the scattered bunches--those that were not killed."
"Where are the boys--Ned and the rest of them?" asked Tad, suddenly
bethinking himself of his companions.
"Oh, that's what I came back here for--one of the things. They're
all right. That is, they're out there with the bunch, except
Phil. Have you seen him?"
"Phil? No. Where is he?"
"He was with me, but he got away somewhere."
"Phil gone?"
"It seems so."
"Oh, that's too bad. What shall we do?"
"Go hunt for him. Do you want to join me?" asked the foreman, with
sudden energy, leaping into his saddle again.
"Of course I do," answered Tad Butler, running for his own pony and
following the foreman out of camp at a quick gallop.