THE PONY RIDERS JOIN THE OUTFIT
At that instant a man, clad in the dress of a cowboy, leaped from the
sidewalk. He caught the angry cowman by the collar. From the way in
which the newcomer swung the fellow around it was evident that he was
possessed of great strength.
"Stop it!" he thundered.
Tad's assailant turned on the newcomer with an angry snarl, his rage now
beyond all control.
"Let me alone! Let me get at the cub!" he cried, making a vicious pass
at the man.
The cowboy's blow was neatly parried and a mighty fist was planted
squarely between his eyes, sending him to earth in a heap.
"Get up!" commanded the man who had felled him.
The cowboy struggled to his feet, standing sullenly before his
conqueror.
"Look at me, Lumpy! Didn't I tell you that I'd 'fire' you if you got
into any trouble in town to-day?"
The cowboy nodded.
"Is this the way you obey orders? What sort of recommend do you suppose
Boss Miller will give you when I tell him I found you trying to shoot up
a kid?"
"I don't care. I ain't askin' any recommends. Besides, he--he got
in----"
"Never mind what he did. I saw it all. Get your pony and back to the
camp for yours. Let Bert come in your place. You get no more lay-offs
till I see fit to let you. Now, git!"
Thoroughly subdued, but with angry muttered protests, the cowboy, walked
down the street, jerking his pony's head about and swinging himself into
the saddle.
"Don't be rough on the fellow. Let him stay."
The newcomer turned to Tad, glancing up at the boy inquiringly.
"Young fellow, you've got nerve--more nerve than sense."
"Thank you. But I asked you to let the man stay. He won't do it again,"
urged Tad.
"I'm the best judge of that. And as for you, young fellow, I would
advise you to ride your pony away from here. First thing I know you will
be mixing it up with some of the rest of the bunch. I may not be around
to straighten things out then, and you'll get hurt."
"Thank you, sir. I think I have as much right here as anyone else. If
those are your men I should think you might be able to teach them to
respect other people's rights."
"What, teach a cowboy?" laughed the other. "You don't know the breed.
Take my advice and skip."
Tad's rescuer strode away.
The lad's introduction to cowboy life had not been of an encouraging
nature, though it was difficult for him to believe that all cowboys were
like the one he had just encountered.
"Well, you made a nice mess of it, didn't you?" chuckled Ned Rector,
riding up beside his companion a few minutes later. "I didn't see it,
but I heard all about it from Bob Stallings."
"Stallings? Who's he?"
"The foreman of the cowboys with whom we are going."
"And were those the fellows that tried to crowd me off the street?"
"I reckon those were the boys," said Ned Rector quietly.
"Then, I can see a nice time when we join them. They will have no love
for me after what has happened this morning. Where is the camp?"
"I don't know. Professor Zepplin says it's about four miles to the west
of here."
"When do we join them?"
"Some time to-night. The foreman says they are going to start at
daylight. He's over at the hotel talking with the Professor now. He was
telling the Professor about your mix-up with Lumpy Bates. That's the
name of the cowboy who ran into you. And how he did laugh when I told
him you belonged to our crowd," chuckled Ned.
"What did he say?"
"Said he thought you'd do. He says we can't use our ponies on the
drive."
"Why not?" asked Tad, looking up quickly.
"Because they are not trained on cattle work."
"Pshaw! I'm sorry. Have we got to leave them here?"
"No. He says we may turn them in with their herd, and use them for
anything we care to, except around the cattle. We shall have to ride
some of the bronchos when we are on duty."
"I think I see somebody falling off," laughed Tad. "Ever ride one of
them, Ned?"
"No."
"Well, you'll know more about them after you have."
"I think I should like to go over and see Mr. Stallings," declared Tad.
"All right, come along, then."
They found the foreman of the outfit discussing the plans for their
journey with Professor Zepplin, while Stacy Brown and Walter Perkins
were listening with eager attention.
"This is Master Tad Butler, Mr. Stallings," announced the Professor.
"I think I have met the young man before," answered the foreman, with a
peculiar smile.
"Tad, I am surprised that you should involve yourself in trouble so soon
after getting out of my sight. I----"
"The boy was not to blame, Mr. Professor. My cowpunchers were wholly in
the wrong. But you need have no fears of any future trouble. The bunch
will be given to understand that the young gentlemen are to be well
treated. You will find no luxuries, but lots of hard work on a cattle
drive, young men----"
"Do--do we get plenty to eat?" interrupted Stacy Brown apprehensively.
All joined in the laugh at the lad's expense.
"Chunky's appetite is a wonderful thing, Mr. Stallings," said Tad.
"I think we shall be able to satisfy it," laughed the foreman. "Our cook
is a Chinaman. His name is Pong, but he knows how to get up a meal. I
believe, if he had nothing but sage grass and sand, he could make a
palatable dish of them, provided he had the seasoning. Have you boys
brought your slickers with, you?"
"What's a slicker?" demanded Chunky.
"A rubber blanket that----"
"Oh yes. We bought an outfit of those at Austin," answered Tad.
"Anything else that you wish us to get?"
"The boys don't carry guns, do they?"
Professor Zepplin shook his head emphatically.
"Most certainly not. They can get into enough trouble without them. We
have rifles in our kit, but I imagine there will be little use for such
weapons on this trip."
"You can't always tell about that," smiled the foreman. "I remember in
the old days, when we used to have to fight the rustlers, that a rifle
was a pretty good thing to have."
"Who were the rustlers?" asked Walter.
"Fellows who rustled cattle that didn't belong to them. But the old days
have passed. Such a drive as we are making now hasn't been done on so
large a scale in nearly twenty years."
"Why not?" asked Ned.
"The iron trails have put the old cow trails out of business."
"Iron trails?" wondered Tad.
"Railroads. We men of the plains refer to them as the iron trails.
That's what they are in reality. Professor, do you wish the boys to take
their turns on the herd to-night?"
"As you wish, Mr. Stallings. I presume they will be anxious to begin
their life as cowboys. I understand that's an ambition possessed by most
of your American boys."
"All right," laughed the foreman. "I'll send them out as I find I can,
with some of the other cowpunchers, until they learn the ropes. There is
too great a responsibility on a night man to trust the boys alone with
that work now. But they can begin if they wish. I'll see first how the
bunch get back from their celebration of the glorious Fourth. You'll
come out and have supper with us?"
"No, I think not. We shall ride out just after supper, if you will have
some one to show us the way," answered the Professor.
"Sure, I'll send in Big-foot Sanders to pilot you out. You boys need not
be afraid of Big-foot. He's not half so savage as he looks, but he's a
great hand with cows."
Big-foot Sanders rode up to the hotel shortly after six o'clock. Leading
his pony across the sidewalk, he poked his shaggy head just inside the
door of the hotel.
"Ki-yi!" he bellowed, causing everybody within hearing of his voice to
start up in alarm. "Where's that bunch of tenderfeet?"
"Are you Mr. Sanders, from the Miller outfit?" asked the Professor,
stepping toward him.
"Donno about the Mister. I'm Big-foot Sanders. I'm lookin' for a bunch
of yearlings that's going on with the outfit."
"The young gentlemen will join you in a moment, Mr. Sanders. They will
ride their ponies around from the stable and meet you in front of the
house."
"You one of the bunch?"
"I am Professor Zepplin, a sort of companion, you know, for the young
men."
"Huh!" grunted Big-foot. "I reckon you'd better forget the hard boiled
hat you're wearin' or the boys'll be for shooting it full of holes. Take
my advice--drop it, pardner."
"Oh, you mean this," laughed the Professor, removing his derby hat.
"Thank you. I shall profit by your advice, and leave it here when I
start."
"All the bunch got hard boiled ones?"
"Oh, no. The boys have their sombreros," answered the Professor.
Big-foot grunted, but whether in disapproval or approval, Professor
Zepplin did not know. The cowpuncher threw himself into his saddle, on
which he sat, stolidly awaiting the arrival of the Pony Riders.
In a short time they came galloping from the stable at the rear of the
hotel, and pulled up, facing the cowman.
"This, Mr. Sanders, is Tad Butler," announced the Professor.
"Huh!" grunted Big-foot again. "Hello, Pinto!" he said after a sharp
glance into the freckled face. "Who's the gopher over there?"
"That's Stacy Brown, otherwise known as 'Chunky,'" laughed Tad. "This is
Ned Rector, and the young gentleman at your left is Walter Perkins, all
members of the Pony Rider Boys' party. We are ready to start whenever
you are."
For answer, Big-foot touched his pony with a spur, the little animal
springing into a gallop without further command. The Pony Riders
followed immediately, Tad riding up beside the big, muscular looking
cowboy, which position he held for half an hour without having been able
to draw a word from him.
Leaving the town due east of them, the party galloped off across the
country in a straight line until finally the cowman pointed off across
the plain to indicate where their destination lay.
A slow moving mass of red and brown and white met the inquiring gaze of
the boys. At first they were unable to make out what it was.
"Cows," growled the guide, observing that they did not understand.
"What are they doing, Mr. Sanders?" asked Tad.
"Don't 'mister' me. I'm Big-foot. Never had a handle to my name. Never
expect to. They're grazing. Be rounding them up for bed pretty soon.
Ever been on a trail before?"
Tad shook his head.
"We have been up in the Rockies on a hunting trip. This is my first
experience on the plains."
"Huh! Got good and plenty coming to you, then."
"And I am ready for it," answered the lad promptly. "The rougher the
better."
"There's the bunch waiting for us. All of them got back from town. The
foreman don't allow the fellows to hang out nights when they're on a
drive like this."
Now, the rest of the Pony Rider Boys, understanding that they were
nearing the camp of the cowboys, urged their ponies into a brisk gallop
and drew up well into line with Tad and Big-foot. That is, all did save
Stacy Brown, who, as was his habit lagged behind a few rods.
The cowboys were standing about watching the approach of the new
arrivals curiously, but not with any great enthusiasm, for they did not
approve of having a lot of tenderfeet with the outfit on a journey such
as they were taking now. They were bent on grim and serious
business--man's work--the sort of labor that brings out all that is in
him. It was no place for weaklings, and none realized this better than
the cowmen themselves.
Yet, they did not know the mettle that was in these four young American
boys, though they were to realize it fully before the boundaries of the
Lone Star State, had been left behind them.
The Pony Riders dashed up to the waiting cowpunchers with a brave
showing of horsemanship, and sprang from their saddles their eyes
glowing with excitement and anticipation.
Bob Stallings, the foreman, was the first to greet them.
"Fellows, this is the bunch I've been telling you about," was Bob's
introduction. "Where's Lumpy?" he demanded, glancing about him with a
scowl.
"Lumpy's over behind the chuck wagon," answered the cowboy of whom the
question had been asked.
"Lumpy!" bellowed the foreman.
The fellow with whom Tad Butler had had such an unpleasant meeting,
earlier in the day, came forward reluctantly, a sudden scowl on his
face.
"Lumpy, this is Tad Butler. Stick out your fist and shake hands with
him!"
Lumpy did so.
"Howd'y," he growled, but scarcely loud enough for any save Tad to hear.
The lad smiled up at him good-naturedly.
"You and I bumped ponies this morning, I guess," said Tad. "Maybe I was
to blame after all. I'll apologize, anyway, and I hope there will be no
hard feelings."
"Lumpy!" warned Stallings when he noticed that the cowpuncher had made
no reply to Tad's apology.
"No hard feelings," grunted Lumpy Bates.
He was about to turn away and again seek the seclusion of the chuck
wagon, as the cook wagon was called by the cow boys, when Chunky came
rolling along. In the excitement of the meeting the boys had forgotten
all about him. The Pony Riders swung their sombreros and gave three
cheers for Chunky Brown as he dashed up.
Chunky took off his sombrero and waved it at them.
Just then Chunky met with one of those unfortunate accidents that were
always occurring to him. His galloping pony put a forefoot into a gopher
hole, going down in a heap.
Chunky, however, kept on.
When the accident happened he was almost upon the waiting cowboys, his
intention having been to pull his pony up sharply to show off his
horsemanship, then drop off and make them a sweeping bow.
Stacy Brown was possessed of the true dramatic instinct, yet few things
ever came off exactly as he had planned them.
As he shot over the falling pony's head, his body described a half curve
in the air, his own head landing fairly in the pit of Lumpy Bates's
stomach.
Cowboy and Pony Rider went over in a struggling heap, with the Pony
Rider uppermost.
Stacy had introduced himself to the cowboys in a most unusual manner,
and to the utter undoing of one of them, for the boy's head had for the
moment, knocked all the breath out of the surly Lumpy Bates.