TAD TAKES A DESPERATE CHANCE
When the freckle-faced boy took his unexpected plunge, it chanced that
neither cowboys nor Pony Riders were looking his way.
No one knew of his plight.
As he felt the line running through his hand, Tad Butler had given it a
quick hitch around his right wrist, so that when the rope drew taut, and
the pony braced itself to meet the shock, the lad fairly flew through
the air.
The white steer had been headed for the mixed bunch which the Pony
Riders were guarding. With the stubbornness of its kind, it wheeled
about the instant it felt the tug on the rope and dashed for the main
herd, Tad's body ploughing up the dust as he trailed along at a fearful
pace behind the wild animal, whirling over and over in his rapid flight.
The lad's eyes were so full of sand dust that he was unable to see where
he was going. He had slight realization of the peril that confronted
him.
"Look! Look!" cried Walter Perkins.
"What is it?" cried Ned Rector.
"What's that the steer is dragging?"
"I don't know."
"And there's Tad's pony standing out there alone," added Walter.
"You--you don't think Tad----"
"As I'm alive, it is Tad! He is being dragged by the steer. He'll be
killed! Watch this herd, I am going after him!" shouted Ned, putting
spurs to his pony and dashing toward the main herd.
At that moment the white steer, trailing its human burden, rushed in
among the other cattle and was soon lost among them.
Ned did not dare to set up a loud shout of warning for fear of
frightening the cattle. However, he was waving his hat and excitedly
trying to attract the attention of some of the cowmen.
They were too busy to give any heed to him.
Ned drove his pony in among the struggling cattle with no thought of his
own danger.
The cowmen were roping and rushing the stock that did not belong to
them. As it chanced, however, most of them were working at the upper
end, or head of the herd.
The foreman, for some reason, had galloped down the line, casting his
eyes keenly over the herd. Instantly he noticed that something was
wrong, though just what it was, he was unable to decide. Then his eyes
caught the figure of Ned Rector, the center of a sea of moving backs and
tossing horns. The boy was standing in his stirrups still swinging his
sombrero above his head.
It took the foreman but an instant to decide what to do. Wheeling his
pony, he fairly dived into the mass of cattle, lashing to the right and
left of him with his ready quirt, the cattle resentfully shaking
threatening heads at pony and rider and making efforts to reach them
with their sharp-pointed horns.
"What is it?" shouted Stallings after he had ridden in far enough to
make his voice reach Ned Rector.
"It's Tad!"
"What about him?"
"He's in there," answered Ned, pointing.
"Where? What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's the white steer. He dragged him."
Stallings thought he understood. He had seen the lad working with the
unruly animal only a few moments before.
"What's the trouble--did the boy rope him?" shouted the foreman.
Ned nodded.
"He'll be trampled to death!" snapped the foreman, rising high in his
stirrups and looking over the herd. There were several white steers in
the bunch, but the one in question was so much larger than the others
that Stallings thought he would have no difficulty in picking out the
animal. Not finding him at once, the foreman fired two shots in the air
to attract the attention of the cowboys. Three of them soon were seen
working their way in.
"Open up the herd!" he shouted.
"Whereabouts?" asked Reddy Davis.
"Anywhere. Look out for the big, white cow. The boy's roped to him!"
They understood at once.
Big-foot Sanders had heard, and began working like an automatic machine.
The way the cattle, big and little, fell away before his plunging pony
and ready quirt was an object lesson for those of the Pony Riders who
were near enough to see his effort.
In the thick of it was Ned Rector, driving his pony here and there,
anxiously watching for the white steer.
"There he is!" shouted Ned, suddenly espying the animal still dashing
about.
"Where?"
"There, to the right of you!"
Forcing his mount through the crowded ranks, Stallings in a moment found
himself within reach of the white beast. However, there were three or
four cattle between himself and the one he wanted.
The foreman's rope circled in the air above his head, then the great
loop squirmed out over the backs of the cattle, dropping lightly over
the horns of the white one.
The steer felt the touch of the rope and knew the meaning of it. As the
animal sprang forward, Stallings took a quick turn about the pommel of
his saddle and the pony braced its fore feet. When the shock came, the
cattle over whose backs the rope lay felt it even more than did the pony
itself. Three of them were forced to their knees bawling with sudden
fright and pain.
The head of the white steer was jerked to one side. A swing of the rope
and the steer was thrown heavily.
"Get in there!" roared Stallings.
Ned at the moment, chanced to be nearer than were any of the others to
the animal, and to him fell the perilous work of holding down the
kicking beast.
He knew exactly what was expected of him, having seen a cowboy hold a
steer down for a quick branding that morning.
Ned spurred in and leaped to the ground.
Without an instant's hesitation he threw himself on the neck of the
struggling animal, whose flying hoofs made the attempt doubly dangerous.
This act of Ned enabled Stallings to jump from his pony and run to the
lad's assistance, leaving the pony braced to hold the line taut.
The foreman sprang to the rear, where he observed the form of Tad Butler
doubled up, lying half under the body of a big, red steer.
Stallings picked him up, quickly cutting the lariat.
"Slip the loops off his horns!" he commanded. "Look out that you don't
get pinked by them."
"Is Tad hurt?" called Ned anxiously.
"Lucky if he ain't dead," answered the foreman, hurrying to his pony,
which he mounted taking the boy in his arms. By this time Ned had the
ropes and had sprung away from the steer's dangerous horns.
Tad's form hung limp and lifeless over the saddle. His face, with the
sand and dust ground into it, was scarcely recognizable.
Ned followed the foreman as soon as he could get his pony. By the time
Ned reached them, Stallings had laid Tad down and was making a quick
examination.
"Get water! Hurry!" he commanded sharply.
"Where?" asked Ned, glancing about him, undecided which way to turn.
"The chuck wagon. Ride, kid! Ride!"
Ned bounced into his saddle without so much as touching his stirrup.
With a sharp yell to the animal he sped away over the plain, urging on
the little pony with quirt and spur.
The way Ned Rector rode that day made those of the cowmen who saw him
open their eyes.
Ned began shouting for water as soon as he came in sight of the wagon,
which, by this time, was packed for the start.
Pong, understanding from the boy's tone that the need was urgent, was
filling a jug from the tap barrel by the time Ned rode up beside the
wagon. He had less than a minute to wait.
Grabbing the jug from the hands of the grinning Chinaman, and unheeding
Pong's chuckled "allee same," Ned whirled about and raced for the herd.
The lad struggled to keep back the tears as he realized that, even with
all his haste, it might be too late.
That Tad should come out of that melée of flying hoofs and prodding
horns without being at least seriously injured was more than he could
hope.
Faster and faster ran the pony, behind him a rising cloud of yellow
dust. Ned's fingers were stiff and numb from carrying the heavy jug, and
the lump in his throat was growing larger, it seemed to him, with every
leap of the animal under him.
Now Ned could see the cowmen galloping in and gazing from their ponies.
He knew they were looking at Tad. Stallings was bent over him, pouring
something down the boy's throat.
Ned's heart gave a great bound. Tad Butler must be alive or there would
be no need for the liquid that the foreman was forcing down his throat.