BY SHEER GRIT.
Owing to the delay caused by the storm, it was late when they reached
the Lagunitas Rancho. It was too dark for them to form any idea of the
place, but Mr. Reeves, who greeted them warmly, ushered them into a
long, low room hung with skins and trophies of the hunt, and ornamented
at one end by a huge stone fireplace. The boys were surprised to find
the ranch very comfortably furnished, almost luxurious, in fact. Every
comfort of civilization was to be found there, even down to a grand
piano and a phonograph. After a plentiful supper Mr. Reeves entertained
the boys with selections on both of these instruments.
The rancher was married and had three children, but his family was at
the time away on a visit to the East. Mr. Reeves said that while he
was sorry that the boys had not had an opportunity to meet them, he was
glad of their absence in another sense, for times were very troublous
along the Border.
It was decided that the boys were not to go on duty that night, but
would turn in early and spend the next day getting acquainted with the
ranch so that they could ride over it “blindfold,” as Mr. Reeves put
it. He informed them that he had six cowboys on duty, but that two
of them were not very reliable and could not be depended upon in an
emergency.
“I feel much easier in my mind now that I have three of the famous
Texas Rangers to help me out,” he said with a kindly smile.
“I hope we shall be able to live up to what the name stands for,” said
Jack gravely.
“Bravo, my lad; that’s the proper spirit,” declared the rancher warmly.
The boys slept that night in a comfortably furnished bedroom
containing three cots. Before daybreak they were awake and discussing
the coming day. Sunrise found them outside the ranch house, eagerly
inspecting their new surroundings. But, early as they were, Mr. Reeves
had been up before them and was ready to show them around.
“Now, you boys must each pick yourself out a pony,” he said, leading
them toward a big corral in which several ponies were running loose.
“But we have our own,” objected Ralph, who knew what western bronchos
are when they are first taken out of a corral.
“I know that,” responded Mr. Reeves, “but your ponies are pretty well
tuckered out after all they went through yesterday. Fresh mounts will
be very much better.”
“You have some fine ones here, too,” said Jack, who had been inspecting
the twenty or more cayuses in the corral.
“Yes, Lagunitas is famous for its stock,” was the response. “Will you
rope the ones you want for yourselves, or shall I tell a puncher to do
it for you?”
“We’d be fine Rangers if we couldn’t rope our own ponies,” laughed Jack.
So saying, he selected a rope from several which were hanging on the
corral posts. He tried it out and found it a good, pliant bit of
rawhide. In the meantime Walt and Ralph had each taken another “riata”
and were testing them.
So far as Ralph was concerned, his knowledge of lariat throwing was
strictly limited. He had practiced a bit on the Merrill ranch, but he
did not know much about the art—for an art it is to throw a rope with
precision and accuracy.
By this time several of the cow–punchers attached to the ranch had
assembled and watched the boys critically.
“Watch the Tenderfeet throw a rope, Bud,” said one of them, a short,
freckle–faced fellow.
“Waal, I don’t know but that tall one knows how to handle a lariat,”
rejoined Bud, fixing his eyes on Jack as he entered the corral with
his rope trailing behind him, the loop ready for a swing. As soon as
the boys were within the corral they started “milling” the ponies, as
it is called, that is, causing them to run round and round in circles.
In this work they were aided by the shrill whoops and yells of the
cow–punchers, who perched on the fence like a row of buzzards.
A buckskin pony with a white face and pink–rimmed eyes caught Jack’s
fancy, and in a jiffy his rope was swishing through the air. It fell
neatly about the buckskin’s neck, and Jack quickly brought the little
animal up with a round turn on the “snubbing post” in the center of the
corral. Then came Walt’s turn and after some difficulty he succeeded
in lassoing a small but wiry chestnut animal that looked capable of
carrying his weight finely.
Last of all came Ralph. He set his lips firmly and made the best cast
he knew how at a sorrel colt that was galloping past him. The cowboys
set up a jeering yell as they saw the way he handled his rope, and
Ralph flushed crimson with mortification. Again and again he cast his
rope, each time failing to land his animal. At last Mr. Reeves ordered
one of the punchers to catch the pony for him. Ralph, feeling much
humiliated, saw the sorrel caught with neatness and despatch.
“Must have bin practicing ropin’ with yer maw’s clothes line,” grinned
the cowboy who had effected the capture as he handed the pony over to
Ralph.
While this was going on Jack had secured his heavy stock saddle and
approached the buckskin to put it on its back. But the instant the
little brute saw the saddle it began a series of wild buckings,
lashing the air frantically with its hind feet.
“Now look out for fun!” yelled a cow–puncher.
“The kid’s got hold of old Dynamite,” laughed another.
Jack heard this last remark and realized from it that the pony he had
selected was a “bad one.” But he determined to stick it out.
Mr. Reeves came over to his side.
“I wouldn’t try to ride Dynamite, my boy,” he said. “He’s the most
unruly broncho on the ranch. Take a quieter one like your chums have.”
“I like this buckskin, sir, and, if you have no objection, I mean to
ride him,” spoke Jack quietly.
Something in the boy’s eye and the determined set of his mouth and chin
told the ranch owner that it would be useless to argue with Jack.
“At any rate, I’ll send Bud in to help you cinch up,” he volunteered.
“Thank you,” said Jack, keeping his eyes on the buckskin, which had his
ears laid back, and was the very picture of defiance.
Bud, grinning all over, came into the corral swinging a rope. He
skillfully caught the broncho’s legs and threw the refractory animal to
the ground. The instant the pony was down Jack ran forward and put a
blindfold over his eyes.
“Waal, I see you do know something,” admitted Bud grudgingly, “but you
ain’t never goin’ ter ride Dynamite.”
“Why not?”
“Cos there ain’t a puncher on this ranch kin tackle him and I ’low no
bloomin’ Tenderfoot is going ter do what an old vaquero kain’t.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Jack, with a quiet smile.
Having blindfolded the pony, a “hackamore” bridle was slipped over his
head. To this Dynamite offered no resistance. The blindfold made him
quiet and submissive for the time being. When the bridle was in place
he was allowed to rise, and before the pony knew it, almost, Jack had
the saddle on his back and “cinched” up tightly. This done, the boy
threw off his hat, drew on a pair of gloves and adjusted his heavy
plainsman’s spurs with their big, blunt rowels.
“All right?” grinned Bud.
“All right,” rejoined Jack in the same quiet tone he had used hitherto.
To judge from outward appearances, he was as cool as ice; but inwardly
the Border Boy knew that he was in for a big battle.
“Waal, good–bye, kid, we’ll hev yer remains shipped back home,” shouted
a facetious puncher from the group perched on the fence.
“Dynamite ’ull send you so high you’ll get old coming down,” yelled
another.
“Better let the job out, kid,” said Bud. “We don’t want to commit
murder round here.”
“I guess I’m the best judge of that,” spoke Jack quickly. “Get ready to
cut loose that rope when I give the word, and take the lasso off the
snubbing post.”
[Illustration: THEN BEGAN A SERIES OF AMAZING BUCKS.]
This was quickly done and Dynamite stood free, but still blindfolded.
Jack poised on his tip toes and gave a light run forward. His hands
were seen to touch the saddle and the next instant he was in it. He
leaned forward and lifted the blindfold.
For an instant Dynamite stood shivering, his ears laid back, his eyes
rolling viciously. Then, before the broncho knew what had happened,
Jack’s quirt came down on his flank heavily.
“Yip!” yelled the cow–punchers.
“Yip! Yip!” called Jack, and hardly had the words left his mouth before
he was flying through the air over the pony’s head. Dynamite’s first
buck had unseated him. Mr. Reeves ran forward anxiously as Jack plowed
the ground. But his anxiety was needless. By the time he reached the
boy’s side Jack was up again, brushing the dirt of the corral from his
clothing. He was pale but determined.
“You see, I told you it was impossible,” said the ranch owner. “Give it
up.”
“Give it up!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, I’ve only just begun.”
“The kid’s got grit,” exclaimed a cowboy who had heard this last.
“Yep, more grit than sense, I reckon,” chimed another.
Jack picked up his rope once more and recaptured the buckskin, which
was trotting about the corral, apparently feeling that the fight was
over and he had won. Once more Bud held the rope while Jack vaulted
into the saddle.
This time, however, there was no preliminary pause. Dynamite plunged
straight into his program of unseating tactics.
With a vicious squeal the pony’s hind feet shot out and the next
instant as Jack jerked the little animal’s head up it caroomed into the
air, coming down with a stiff–legged jolt that jarred every nerve in
Jack’s body. Then began a series of amazing bucks. It seemed impossible
that anybody, much less a mere boy, could have stuck to the pony’s back
through such an ordeal.
“Wow! Dynamite’s sure steamboatin’ some!” yelled the cow–punchers.
Suddenly Dynamite ceased bucking.
“Look out for a side–jump!” shouted Mr. Reeves; but, even as he spoke,
it came.
The broncho gave a brain–twisting leap to the left, causing Jack to
sway out of his saddle to the right. Luckily he caught the pommel
and cantle just in time to save himself from being thrown. Dynamite
seemed surprised that he had not unseated his rider by his favorite and
oft–tried method. He repeated his famous side–jump. But Jack stuck like
a cockle–burr to a colt’s tail.
All at once the buckskin gave a semi–turn while in the air. It was a
variation of the regular “buck” that would have unseated half the
veteran cowboys perched on the corral fence watching the fight between
boy and broncho.
“Good fer you, kid!” they shouted enthusiastically, as Jack maintained
his seat.
“Stick to it, Jack!” chimed in the voices of Ralph and Walt.
But it is doubtful if Jack heard any of the applause. He was too busy
watching Dynamite’s antics. Suddenly the pony rushed straight at the
corral fence and tore along it as closely as he could without cutting
his hide. His object was to scrape off the hateful human who stuck so
persistently to his back. But Jack was as quick as the buckskin and as
the pony dashed along the fence he had one leg up over the saddle and
out of harm’s way.
All at once Dynamite paused. Then up went his head, his fore feet beat
the air furiously. Straight up he reared till he was standing almost
erect. Then without the slightest warning he toppled over backward.
A shout of alarm went up from the punchers, but Jack did not need it.
As the pony crashed to earth Jack was not there. He had nimbly leaped
from the saddle and to one side.
Before the buckskin could rise again Jack was straddling the saddle. As
the animal sprang up Jack was back in his seat once more with a sadly
perplexed broncho under him. Dynamite had tried everything, and more
too, that he had used on the ranch riders and all had failed to remove
the incubus on his back.
“Good for you, Jack. You’ve finished him!” yelled Walt Phelps.
“Don’t be too sure,” warned Mr. Reeves, who was standing by the boys.
“See the way those ears are set? That means more trouble coming.”
The words had hardly left the ranch owner’s mouth before the “trouble”
came. Dynamite darted off as if he had been impelled from a cannon’s
mouth. Then all at once he set his legs stiff and slid along the
ground, ploughing up dusty furrows with his hoofs in the soft earth of
the corral. Had Jack not been prepared for some such maneuver, he might
have been unseated. But he had guessed that something more was coming
off and so he was prepared. Hardly had Dynamite come to his abrupt stop
before he threw himself on his side and rolled over. If Jack had been
there, he would have been crushed by the pony’s weight—but he wasn’t.
As the pony rolled Jack stepped out of the saddle on the opposite side.
The moment he slipped off he picked up the loose end of the lariat
which was still around the pony’s neck.
“Yip! Get up!” he cried.
Dynamite, not thinking of anything but that he was free at last, was
off like a shot. But, alas! he reckoned without his host. As the
little animal darted off Jack took a swift turn of the rope around the
snubbing post. When Dynamite reached the end of the rope he got the
surprise of his life. His feet were jerked from under him and over he
went in a heap.
Before he could rise Jack was over him. As Dynamite struggled up Jack
resumed his seat in the saddle; but now he rode a different Dynamite
from the unsubdued buckskin he had roped a short time before. Trembling
in every limb, covered with sweat and dirt, and his head hanging down,
Dynamite owned himself defeated.
A great shout of applause went up from the cow–punchers and from Jack’s
chums.
“His name ain’t Dynamite no longer; it’s ‘Sugar Candy’!” shouted an
enthusiastic cow–puncher.
“Wow! but the kiddy is some rider,” yelled another.
“You bet!” came an assenting chorus of approval.
“Splendid work, my boy,” approved Mr. Reeves warmly, coming forward and
shaking Jack’s hand. “It was as fine an exhibition of horsemanship and
courage as ever I saw.”
“Thanks,” laughed Jack lightly. “I’ve got an idea that Dynamite and I
are going to be great chums. Aren’t we, little horse?”
Jack patted the buckskin’s sweating neck and the pony shook his head
as if he agreed with the boy who had conquered his fighting spirit by
sheer grit.