ROPED BY ROUGH RIDERS
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.