A BOY SCOUT "BRONCHO BUSTER."
The next morning before breakfast Rob recounted to his chums the
conversation he had overheard the night before. The story of the ghost
of the ancient cliff dwellings was, it appeared, no new thing on the
Harkness ranch, which accounted for its owner's apathy in regard to it.
Successive batches of cow-punchers doing duty in the far pasture at
night professed to have seen the grisly object on its nightly rounds,
but nobody had ever had the courage to investigate it.
After the morning meal had been dispatched, Mr. Harkness announced that
he expected to be busied about the ranch for the morning.
"But, Harry, you take the boys down to the corral," he said, "and have
one of the men catch up some horses for them. You boys know best the
kind of stock you want, so I'll let you choose them."
The boys thanked him, and a few moments afterward he left the room. A
short time later he galloped off to make a round of the different
sections of the range and to prosecute inquiries about the renegade
Moquis.
The corral was, as was usually the case, full of ponies of all colors
and grades of disposition, from mild beasts to fiery, half-broken
bronchos. As the boys neared the enclosure, a stout little cowboy in a
huge hairy pair of "chaps" approached them, airily swinging a lariat.
His eyes opened and shut as rapidly as a loose shutter slat in a breeze.
Cowboys have nick-names for everybody. His was of course "Blinky."
"Good mornin', Master Harry. Want some cattle this a. m.?" he inquired.
"Yes, Blinky. Have you got some good ones caught up?"
"Why, yes, you can have White Eye, and what kind of stock does your
friends fancy?"
There was a twinkle in Blinky's fidgety optics as he asked this, for
the boys, although they had donned regular ranch clothes, still bore
about them that mysterious air which marks a "tenderfoot," as if they
bore a brand.
"How about you, Rob?" asked Harry, also smiling slightly. "Want a bronc,
or something more on the rocking-horse style?"
Now, although Rob could ride fairly well, and both Tubby and Merritt had
had some practice on horseback, none of the boys were what might be
called rough riders. But something in Blinky's tone and Harry's covert
smile aroused all Rob's fighting blood.
"Oh, I want something with some life in it," he said boldly.
"Um-hum! The same will do for me, but not _too_ much life, if you
please," chimed in Tubby, somewhat dubiously.
"Anything I don't need to use spurs on," ordered Merritt, following up
the general spirit.
"All right, young fellers," said the cow-puncher, opening the corral
gate. "Come on in while I catch 'em up for you."
The instant the rawhide began whirling about Blinky's head the ponies
evidently realized that something was up, for they began a wild race
round and round the corral, heads up and heels lashing out right and
left. The three tenderfeet regarded this exhibition with some
apprehension, but they were too game to say anything.
"I'll rope my own," said Harry, picking up a lariat which hung coiled
over a snubbing post near the gate. The ranch boy stood by the post,
leisurely whirling his rawhide and just keeping the loop open till a
small bay pony, with a big patch of white round each eye, came plunging
by with the rest of the stampede. The lariat suddenly became imbued with
life. Faster it whirled and faster, the loop finally sailing through the
air gracefully and landing in a rawhide necklace round White Eye's neck.
At almost the same instant that White Eye became a captive, Blinky let
his loop go, and roped a small, active buckskin pony which, as soon as
it felt the loop on its neck, laid back its ears and began squealing and
bucking viciously.
"I guess that's your pony, Rob," said Tubby generously, as the
cow-puncher drew the struggling little animal up to the snubbing post,
and tying him there, went into the barn for a saddle.
"If you are in any hurry, you can have him," volunteered Rob.
"No, I guess I can wait. How about you, Merritt?"
"Same here, I'm in no hurry."
"Well," thought Rob, "I'm in for it now, and if that bronc doesn't buck
me into the middle of next week, I'm lucky."
After more struggles, the bridle and saddle were forced on the buckskin,
and Blinky cast him loose, still maintaining a grip on the bridle,
however.
"All aboard!" he said, with a grin in Rob's direction.
Feeling anything but as confident as he looked, Rob boldly put his foot
in the heavy wooden stirrup with its big leather tapadero covering, and
swung into the saddle. Hardly had he touched it when a strange thing
happened. The boy felt as if an explosion must have occurred directly
beneath him, and he was being shot skyward by it. The next instant the
sensation changed, and as the broncho struck the hard ground of the
corral, all four legs as stiff as drum sticks, Rob felt as if every bone
in his body was in process of dislocation.
"Stick to her, boy! Yow-ee-ee!"
Blinky, roaring with laughter, shouted the advice. At this moment, too,
just when Rob would much rather not have had any spectators about,
several cow-punchers appeared as if by magic, and perching themselves on
the corral rails, settled down to enjoy the spectacle.
"Whoop!" they yelled. "That's a regular steamboat bucker."
"Go on, boy! Grip her!"
"Don't go to leather!"
These and a hundred other excited exclamations were borne dimly to Rob's
ears as the buckskin threshed about, trying in vain to rid itself of the
troublesome boy. How he did it Rob never knew, but he stuck like a
cockle-burr, and that without "going to leather," or, in other words,
gripping any part of the saddle. He must have been a born rider to stand
the antics of the maddened cayuse as he did. One second the little
brute, tiring of bucking, would rear backward as if it must overbalance,
and the next it would be fairly standing on its head. Once it lay down
and tried to roll over, but the high horn of the saddle prevented this.
As it collapsed to the ground, Rob skillfully slipped off, and when it
struggled upon its feet again, the boy was standing over it and was as
firmly in his seat as ever by the time the animal was ready for a new
performance.
All at once the buckskin made a mad rush for the corral fence. It was
five feet in height, and Rob turned sick as he faced what seemed
inevitable disaster.
The yells of the cowboys, however, made him determined to stick it out.
"I've stood it all this time. I'll stay with it if it kills me," thought
the boy.
The next instant the little broncho rose at the fence. The bars rose in
front like an impassable wall.
"He'll never make it," was the thought that flashed through Rob's head.
But even as the fear of a direful crash flashed through his mind, the
active little animal he bestrode had cleared the barrier, its hind hoofs
just splintering the upper edge of the top rail. The buckskin alighted
on the other side, trembling and sweating, with expanded nostrils and
heaving flanks, but its ears were no longer back, nor did its eyes show
white. The broncho seemed to have realized that it had played its trump
card and lost.
"Get up!" cried Rob, kicking the shivering pony in the sides.
Meekly the little buckskin obeyed the rein, and Rob rode it back toward
the corral gate--a conquered animal. From that time on the buckskin
owned Rob as its master, and a better animal never bore saddle. As the
cow-punchers burst into a loud chorus of admiring yells, wrung from them
by the plucky exhibition, Rob took off his hat and waved it three times
round his head. For the life of him, he could not have abstained from
this little bit of braggadocio.
"Yip-ee!" he yelled.
"Good for you!" shouted Harry. "It was a mean trick of Blinky, and I was
going to get him in a lot of trouble for it, but--all's well that ends
well."
"Say, you were fooling all of us. You must have been out with a Wild
West show," exclaimed Blinky admiringly, as Rob patted the wet shoulder
of the conquered buckskin.
"I'm glad I could stick on," declared Rob modestly.
"Stick on!" echoed another cow-puncher. "Why, you're a broncho buster,
boy!"
"Well, I've had enough of it to last me for a long time," laughed Rob.
Two other ponies were soon caught and saddled, and much to the delight
of Tubby and Merritt, they found that the cow-puncher's love of fun had
been worked off when Rob was given the buckskin, and that they were each
provided with mounts that tried no such tricks as standing on their
heads.
"Now, then, come on," said Harry, when all were mounted. "We've got a
big round to make. The first ranch we'll head for will be Tom Simmons's.
He and his two brothers will join, I'm sure. After that we'll finish up
the others and issue a call for a meeting."
The remainder of the day was spent in the saddle, with a brief stop for
a noonday dinner at the Simmons ranch. By the end of the day the Boy
Scouts' list contained ten names, which were as follows: Tom, Jack and
Bill Simmons, Eph and Sam Ingalls, Henry Randolph, Charley and Frank
Price, Silas Lamb and Jeb Cotton.
All the would-be scouts had been ordered to report, three days from the
day of their signing on, at the Harkness ranch. In the meantime the boys
wrote to Eastern headquarters for organization papers, which, as Rob and
his companions were already so well known, they anticipated no
difficulty in receiving without delay, which, indeed, proved to be the
case. Rob had, meanwhile, received a letter from Hampton which reported
the successful formation of another patrol in that village where the
famous Eagles first saw the light.
The interval between the call for the meeting and the meeting itself the
boys put in in practicing riding and shooting. As they all three were
familiar with the rifle and revolver, even that brief practice made them
fairly expert with firearms and their riding improved every day.
Mr. Harkness and Mr. Simmons had consented to act as Scout Masters, and
were present at the first meeting of the organization. Rob, on account
of his experience as leader of the Eagle Patrol, was voted in as leader,
with Merritt and Harry as corporals. Tubby was appointed a sort of drill
master and instructor to the new scouts. This done, they all dispersed,
subject to immediate call.
As the ranches of Mr. Harkness and his neighbors, though separated
widely by actual distance, were each joined by telephone, it was decided
that it would be an easy matter to assemble the scouts at a given
rendezvous. The opportunity to test this came sooner than any of the
boys expected. One afternoon, about a week after the formation meeting,
during which interval Tubby had held two drill nights, a cow-puncher on
a sweat-covered horse galloped into the corral. Slipping off his
exhausted animal, he dashed at top speed toward the house.
"The cattle in the far pasture have stampeded," he panted, bursting into
the rancher's office, "and are headed for the Graveyard Cliffs!"
"Boys, boys!" shouted Mr. Harkness, hastily springing up from his
account books and jamming a sombrero on his head. "Here's a chance to
show your boy scouts some action. Here, you, Blinky, saddle my horse and
the boys' animals! Sharp work now! There's not a moment to lose! We must
head them off!"