THE JUMPING BUCKER
The bunk-house lamp illuminated the faces of five very much surprised
cow-punchers. Teddy, who was holding the note, turned it over as though
the explanation of its strange arrival might be printed on the back.
“’Pears like we’re a gang of hicks,” Gus drawled. “Nick, why didn’t you
stop that guy? Maybe he could have told us when he was appointed
postman.”
“Why didn’t you stop him yourself?” Nick snorted. “You were as near to
him as I was. He rode by almost on yore feet.”
“Notice anything queer about the way he rode?” came from Pop. The
veteran puncher pulled at his pipe calmly and surveyed the men about
him.
“Sure!” Teddy answered. “He was slouched to the left, like he was aiming
to sweep something up from the ground. Why, say, Roy, he might have
been—”
“He might have been and was,” Roy returned grimly. “I’ll take a bet that
he was the same hombre I saw back on the trail!”
“You mean the waddy you thought was one of the rustlers?” Pop asked
curiously.
“Yes, that’s just what I mean. Of course I didn’t get a very good look
at him as he flashed by, but he sure looked familiar. What was that he
yelled out?”
“Couldn’t get it,” Nick replied. “Don’t matter, anyway. Now about this
note. What’ll we do with it?”
“Give it to Sing Lung to make a stew out of,” Pop suggested ironically.
“Or maybe you’d rather frame it? But unless you want to do that, it
_might_ be a good idea to show it to the boss.”
“Go ahead, ride right on,” Nick growled. “I’m just standin’ here. Roy,
you want to take it in to your dad, an’ see what he thinks of it?”
“Sure. Let’s go, Teddy. Dad’s in his room, I think.”
At that moment a step sounded at the door, and all turned quickly—more
quickly, perhaps, than such an interruption at another time might merit.
“What’s this, a meetin’ of discontented workers?” a voice asked, and
chuckled. “Seems to me you might close the screen unless you _like_
bugs.”
“Boss!” Gus exclaimed. “Hey, take a look at this, boss! Just came. By
pony express, too.”
“Guy rode up, goin’ like a jack-rabbit,” Nick began, “an’ tossed this
here—”
“Just this second,” came from Pop. “I was standin’ by the door, talkin’
to Nick an’ Roy an’ Teddy an’ Gus, an’ I was just sayin’ that these days
ain’t like the old days when I fust came here an’ invented the X Bar X
brand, when all of a sudden, boss, I heered a pony come tearin’
toward—”
“What in thunderation?” demanded Mr. Manley, taking the paper Teddy held
silently out to him. Quickly his eyes ran over the words. As he read his
lips closed together tightly. Then he looked up.
“This ain’t a joke?” he asked.
“Not any!” Teddy exclaimed.
“I’ll tell a maverick it isn’t!” Roy cried. “At least, it doesn’t look
like one. It happened just as Pop said when he started that speech of
his. We were standing at the door, talking, and a rider came out of the
dark and threw this at us, tied to this stick. Then he beat it again
before we could wink.”
For a moment Mr. Manley said nothing. He pulled first one side of his
mustache, then the other. Then he put the paper in his pocket, took out
a corncob pipe, filled, and lit it.
“Regular Wild West stuff,” he remarked slowly, removing the pipe from
his mouth. “Deadeye Bill. Well, let him have his little fun. He don’t
annoy us any.”
“What you goin’ to do?” Pop asked.
“Me?” Mr. Manley turned to the speaker, a surprised look on his face.
“Why, I’m goin’ to hit the hay pretty soon. Gettin’ kind of late. She’s
sure some warm out, ain’t she? We’ll probably have a long Indian summer.
Nick, will you see that General is saddled for me early to-morrow? Want
to take a ride over Hawley way. Got somethin’ I want to tell the
sheriff. Well, I’ll be gettin’ back. Watch out for that door, Gus, or
you’ll have all the gnats an’ millers in the whole state flyin’ around
in here.”
With a glance toward Roy and Teddy, the ranch owner stepped out into the
night. Gus chuckled.
“He’s some worried, ain’t he? They might just as well have written
‘Merry Christmas’ on that note for all the boss cares.”
“The man that tries to buffalo dad has got a mean job on his hands,” Roy
declared, with a grin. “He’ll push that charge now harder than he would
have before. Well, I’ll tell you one thing. Froud didn’t have a hand in
this. He knows dad—and with good reason. He’d never send a note like
this if he really wanted the charge dropped. He’d know it would be the
one sure way of getting dad to force it.”
“You’re right, Roy,” Teddy remarked. “This was written by one of the men
that got away. Wouldn’t be surprised if old Slouch himself did the job.
Must think he’s some hot stuff! Well, he’ll learn. He sure will. He’s
young yet.”
“Check,” Nick agreed, with a laugh. “Teddy, yore dad is one fine man;
you know it? Best boss I ever had. I’m sure glad he’s not gonna be
scared out of puttin’ those rustlers in jail for a long stretch. Yessir,
I’m fer the boss every time.”
“Me too,” came from Gus emphatically. “Ever since that day he went into
Rimor’s place and took a chance on gettin’ plugged in the back just to
get some information about the stolen horses, I knew he was the man for
me. Notice how he took that note? Never batted an eye. They have to come
pretty high to stop him!”
“Sure do,” Teddy assented. Then he laughed. “I knew dad ’ud take it that
way. Now he’ll go over to Hawley in the morning just to tell the sheriff
to convict those rustlers sure.”
“And I’m sure glad of it,” Gus declared. “If I can, I’ll ride over
myself when they get sentenced! The dirty thieves!”
The puncher has small use for rustlers. The labor of raising cows until
they are fit to sell cannot be lightly forgotten and the rustler who
steals them is hated with the vindictiveness of a man who has seen his
hard work go for nothing.
Later, Teddy and Roy strolled back to the ranch house, leaving Pop to
explain to unwilling listeners how the mysterious rider had come and
gone so quickly.
The boys were tired, as well they might be, and sought their beds early.
They roomed together, their beds being in a room facing the east. The
sun was their alarm clock, and the next morning they arose and hurried
down to breakfast with an idea of riding with their father to Hawley.
But they found he had already left.
The business of the ranch occupied the attention of the brothers until
early afternoon, and they had little time to talk of the events of the
preceding night. Four new horses had arrived at the X Bar X, and both
Teddy and Roy were eager to see if they would make good saddle ponies.
Of course the boys were bound to their own mounts by ties of real
affection, but it was necessary that some additional riding broncos be
made ready each year for the fall round-up.
Teddy, upon investigation of the newly arrived animals, declared that
while three seemed fair enough, the fourth had a queer look in his eye.
When Nick saw the bronco, he grunted.
“Bad actor,” he said. “I know them kind. Send him back. Tell Clews we
don’t want no tigers on this ranch. When’d the broncos arrive?”
“Little while ago. I kind of hate to send this pony back, though. Look
at the chest on him, won’t you!”
“Yea, an’ did you take a look at his teeth? Made fer bitin’, they are.
Better send him back than have him take a chunk out of somebody.”
“Think he’d do that?” Roy asked.
“Sure do! If you don’t believe it, just you fork him—only leave word
what kind of flowers you want.”
“Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Teddy said slowly. He walked over
to where the horse stood, rubbing against the bars of the corral, and
peered into his eyes. “He doesn’t look so bad. Nick, I’d like to take a
crack at him. Lend a hand with this cinch, will you?”
“Listen, Teddy,” Nick remonstrated. “Don’t do nothin’ foolish. Even if
he don’t bite, he’s a buckin’ fool. I’m certain sure of that. Why take a
chance?”
“Yes, Teddy, if I were you I’d wait until dad comes back,” Roy added.
“He may want to return the pony. Don’t ride him.”
Teddy did not answer for a moment. Then he took a coin from his pocket.
“Heads I do, tails I don’t,” he said briefly. “Dad won’t want to send
the bronc back without knowing what he’s good for. The only way to find
out, so far as I can see, is to ride him. Here she goes.”
The boy spun the coin in the air. As it landed, both Nick and Roy bent
over it eagerly.
“Heads,” Nick reported. “Now watch your step, Teddy. I know you can
ride, but I don’t want to see you ploughin’ a trench in the dirt. I’ll
get this here cinch strap good an’ tight, so the saddle won’t sway
none.”
In silence the horse was made ready. Teddy stood by his side, and at a
signal from him, Roy and Nick stood away. Teddy vaulted into the saddle.
The animal stood like a statue. Not a muscle moved. Teddy whipped his
hat from his head and “fanned” the pony. And this time he got results.
Straight into the air the animal leaped, landing with legs as stiff as
boards. But Teddy was ready for this maneuver, and took the shock with
his feet firm in the stirrups.
“Stick to him!” Nick yelled. “Watch out that he doesn’t swing his head
on you!”
The warning came not a moment too soon, for the horse flung his head
around savagely and bared his teeth. But these teeth never met in
Teddy’s flesh, for at the same instant the boy sawed fiercely on the
reins, jerking the head straight again.
Now the bronco settled down to the business on hand, and showed the two
breathless watchers some of the finer points of bucking. But Teddy
stuck, and not once did he “go to leather,” as gripping the pommel of
the saddle is called. At the end of several minutes, each of which
seemed an eternity, the pony stopped as suddenly as he began, cocked one
eye at the top rail of the corral fence, and sprang again into action,
this time on a dead run.
“Watch it!” Roy yelled. “He’ll never make it, Teddy! Pull him up! Pull
him up!”
But Teddy had a look in his eyes not unlike the fire that gleamed in the
eyes of the bronco. He was doing no “pulling up.”
“Yeo-o-o-ow!” he shouted. “Go to it! We’re off! Baby, if you clear
that—”
There was no time for more. The horse had reached the rails. Teddy felt
the muscles of his mount contract like steel springs, and then he was
flying through the air, up, up, up—
“He’s over!”
“Man, what a jump!”
The hind feet of the horse had just grazed the top bar. And now he stood
outside the corral, trembling violently, but, somehow, appearing as if
in making the tremendous leap he had proved himself and would henceforth
be content with this. In other words, it seemed as though he had changed
in a second from a “bad actor” to a real saddle horse.
Teddy gently rubbed the sides of the sweating animal.
“All right now, old boy?” he asked. “No more fireworks? Guess he’ll do,
Nick. Some one must have been feeding him on yeast. That was some jump!”
“I’ll tell a maverick it was!” Roy was hurrying toward his brother.
“Boy, you’re lucky! I never thought he’d make it. And with that extra
bar dad put up! That bronc is a _jumper_. What do you say, Nick?”
“Sure is!” Nick approached, and gazed at the horse closely. “Salivate me
if he ain’t as gentle-eyed as a rabbit! Teddy, you cured him. Didn’t
think it could be done. If I know anything about horses, that one’ll
make a fine ridin’ pony.”
Teddy climbed off, stiff legged.
“He put on quite a show for a while, didn’t he? All right, Nick, let
down the bars an’ we’ll bring him in again. I’ll have another look at
him to-morrow. Want to make sure he’s broken.”
A little later the boys were saddling their own mounts, Flash and Star.
The new pony was standing calmly within the corral, and Teddy grinned at
him.
“Dad ought to be back soon,” Roy remarked, and he slid the bit gently
into Star’s mouth.
“Wish we’d gone along with him,” came from Teddy. “Say, we could ride
part of the way to meet him. How about it?”
“Sure,” and Roy grinned. “The 8 X 8 is on the way to Hawley, isn’t it?
Yea, let’s start to meet him. But if we reach Pete Ball’s place, we
won’t stop in. Oh, no!”
“Chuck it,” Teddy replied. “You know you’re anxious to see Nell. Come
on, let’s be on our way.”