THE STAMPEDE AT THE FAR PASTURE.
Such a scene of confusion, hurry and mad rushing about of men and horses
as ensued, following the first shout of the alarm, the boys had never
witnessed. Cow-punchers staggered about under the burden of heavy
Mexican saddles. They tried to buckle on spurs and saddle and bridle
their wild little horses all at the same time. But confused as the whole
affair looked to an uninitiated spectator, there was system underlying
it all. Each man knew what was required of him.
At last all was ready. The last revolver was thrust into the last
holster, and the last cinch was tightened round the belly of the last
expostulating pony. Mr. Harkness, mounted on a powerful bay horse
somewhat heavier than the others, rapidly explained to the punchers what
had occurred. The cattle were stampeding on the far pasture. Their
course led direct for the Graveyard Cliffs, a series of precipitous
bluffs over which, in the past, many stampeding steers had fallen to
their death.
Fortunately, the steers had to take a round-about way, owing to various
obstructions. The distance to be traversed by the men, cutting off every
inch possible, was about five miles. It had to be covered in less than
half an hour. No wonder the cow-punchers looked to their cinches and
other harness details.
Amid a wild yell from the throats of the score of cowboys who had been
about the ranch when the summons was first given, the cavalcade swept
forward.
"Wow! this is riding with a vengeance," shouted Rob, above the roar of
hoofs, in Harry's ear.
"S-s-s-say!" sputtered Tubby, "I hope my horse doesn't stumble."
Suddenly a voice close at hand struck in. It was one of the cow-punchers
shouting to another.
"Remember the last stampede, when Grizzly Sam was trampled?"
"You bet I do. His pony's foot stuck in a gopher hole, and the whole
stampede came lambasting on top of him."
The boys began to look rather serious. Apparently they were off on a
more dangerous errand than they had bargained for. It was too late to
draw out now, however, and, anyhow, not one of them would, for this
would have shown "the white feather."
"Did you give the alarm to the rest of the boys?" asked Rob of Harry,
after an interval of silence among the boys.
"Yes. I only had time to call Simmons's place, but they'll get the
others. Simmons's place is not far from the Graveyard Cliffs, and the
boys will be there ahead of us, likely."
"How about the others?"
"They have to come from greater distances. They may not arrive till it's
all over."
It was impossible to see any of their surroundings in the thick cloud of
dust. All about them, as far as the eye could penetrate the dense
smother, were straining ponies and shouting cowboys.
"How can we tell when we get to the place?" asked Tubby.
"My father is riding up ahead," rejoined Harry; "that big bay of his can
make two feet to a pony's one. He'll call a halt when we get there."
In the meantime a rumor had been passed from mouth to mouth among the
cow-punchers. Moquis had been seen near the far pasture the night
before, and open accusations were made that the renegades had started
the stampede so as to be able to make a feast off the dead cattle in
case they swept over the cliffs.
"Mr. Mayberry hasn't succeeded in rounding them up yet, then," said Rob.
"No," rejoined Harry, "and I heard one of the punchers say yesterday
that Indians for miles around are coming into the mountains. I guess
they won't disperse till after the snake dance."
Suddenly a wild yell from up in front caused them to halt.
"Got there, I reckon," uttered one of the cowboys. As he spoke there was
but one question in every mind.
"Were they in time?"
As the dust cloud settled, and they were able to make out their
surroundings, the boys found that they had come to halt on a sort of
plateau. Just beyond this was a sheer drop, as if a great hunk had been
cut out of the ground. This drop--which was fully sixty feet
deep,--formed the dreaded Graveyard Cliff, so called, although, as will
be clear from our description, it was more properly a deep, narrow
gulch.
The distance across the yawning crack in the plateau--which was
undoubtedly of volcanic origin--varied from a hundred feet or more to
fifteen, and even less. A queerer place the boys had never seen.
But they had little time to gaze about them. Blinky, who was one of the
crowd of stampede arresters, gave a sudden shout as they came to a
halt.
"Hark!"
From far off came a sound that, to the boys, resembled nothing so much
as distant thunder. But unlike thunder, instead of ceasing, it grew
steadily in volume.
"Here they come!" shouted Mr. Harkness, as the advancing roar grew
louder. The solid earth beneath the boys' feet seemed to shake as the
stampede swept toward them.
Suddenly, a mile or more off, a dark cloud grew and grew until it spread
half across the blue sky, wiping it out.
"They raise as much dust as a tornado," exclaimed Blinky. "Pesky
critters! I'd like to get a shot at the Moquis what started them."
But it was no time to exchange remarks. The face of each man in that
little band was grave, and he appeared to be mustering every ounce of
courage in his body for the struggle that was to come.
To the boys, as to the men, the situation was clear enough. Across the
plateau the stampeding cattle were thundering, headed straight for the
Graveyard Cliffs. Behind them, like a mighty wall, rose the sheer face
of a precipice where a bold peak of the range soared upward. Between
this wall and the ominously named gorge was the little band of horsemen.
They faced the problem of turning the stampede or being swept with it
into the jaws of the deep, narrow gulch. Small wonder that the bravest
of them felt his heart beat a little quicker as the cattle rushed on.
Suddenly Mr. Harkness espied the boys.
"You boys go back!" he shouted sharply. "I should never have let you
come. This is too dangerous for you."
"Why, dad, we'll be all right. Let us stay and see it out," protested
Harry.
"Go back at once, boy," said Mr. Harkness sternly. "You don't know the
danger."
There was no disobeying the stern command, and the boys, all of them
with the exception of Tubby, regretting the necessity, turned their
ponies away. The stout youth was inwardly much gratified at the idea of
avoiding the stampede.
"Beefsteak is all very fine," he said to himself, "but I like it inside,
and not on top of me, at the bottom of a gulch."
As the boys wheeled their mounts and separated from the main body of the
cow-punchers, three other mounted figures swept toward them with wild
yells. The newcomers were the three Simmons brothers, the recruits to
the Boy Scouts. With them, and close behind, came Charley and Frank
Price and Jeb Cotton. All had ridden post haste to the spot on receipt
of the hastily 'phoned message from headquarters.
Each boy gave the secret salute of the scouts as he drew rein, and
awaited orders. A regular howl of disappointment went up when they
learned that they had been ordered off "the firing line," so to speak.
"It's a shame," growled Tom Simmons.
"That's what," assented Jeb Cotton, trying to quiet his little calico
pony, which was dancing about, scenting the excitement in the air.
Indeed, all the animals seemed to have caught the infection, and were
prancing about, almost unmanageable. Perhaps the increasing thunder of
the hoofs of the advancing stampede had something to do with it.
"Well, what are we to do?" demanded Frank Price.
"Stay here and wait for a chance to help if we see it," said Rob.
"Oh, pshaw! They're busy. They won't see us. Let's slip in while they're
not looking," urged Bill Simmons.
"The first duty of a Boy Scout is to obey orders," said Harry Harkness
decisively.
"It's mighty hard to sit here doing nothing, though," grumbled Frank
Price.
"That's what our soldiers had to do in many a battle," his brother
Charley reminded him.
"That's so. I guess we'll have to be patient."
And now, under the direction of Mr. Harkness, the cattlemen spread out
in a long line, so arranged as to be capable of sweeping across the
vanguard of the cattle in a compact skirmish line rank. Each puncher
had his gun ready for action, and at the word from Mr. Harkness they
rode toward the approaching stampede at a quick lope.
Up till now the stampede had not been visible. Only the signs of its
approach were manifest. Suddenly, however, over the crest of a little
rise, there swept into view an appalling spectacle. Hundreds of
fear-crazed cattle, bellowing as they raced forward, and clashing their
horns together with a sharp sound, formed the vanguard. Behind them came
a huddled mass, goring and trampling each other in their terror.
The boys' faces paled as they watched.
"Yow-yow-yow-eee-ee-e!"
The yells burst from the cattlemen's throats above the noise of the
stampede.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A score of revolver shots crackled as the line swept forward and rode at
full gallop right across the faces of the leaders of the mad rush. It
was terribly risky work. The slightest stumble would have meant death.
At the head of his cow-punchers, like a general leading his forces,
rode Mr. Harkness on his big bay.
Clear across the front of the line the cow-punchers swept without
appreciably diminishing the speed of the onrush.
A second time they tried the daring tactics. This time they succeeded in
checking the cattle a little, but only a bare two hundred yards remained
between the leaders and the edge of the Graveyard. In this space
galloped the cow-punchers. Could they stop the advance in time to save
themselves from a terrible death?
"Father! Father!" shouted Harry, in his painful excitement standing up
in his stirrups.
The boys felt a great sympathy for the rancher's son. If the cattle were
not stopped in the next few minutes a terrible death seemed certain to
overtake the brave man and his helpers.
"Fire at 'em!" yelled Mr. Harkness suddenly.
This was a desperate last resort. Hitherto, the cow-punchers had been
firing in the air. Now, however, they leveled their revolvers at the
oncoming herd.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Several of the leaders crumpled up and fell to the ground, mortally
wounded. In a second they were trampled under foot, but suddenly, after
twenty or more had been thus slaughtered, the band began to waver. At
last, with mad bellows, and amid frantic yells from the cowboys, their
ranks broke and wavered.
"Yip-yip-u-ee-ee!"
The triumphant shrieks of the cowboys rang out as the disorganized herd
split up.
"Wow! They've turned 'em!" shouted Harry. "Hooray!"
The next instant his shout of delight changed to a yell of dismay, and
he turned his pony sharply.
"Come on, Rob!" he cried. "We've got to get out of here!"
"They're coming this way!" yelled Tubby, spurring his pony and galloping
off at top speed, the others following him. As Rob's pony jumped
forward, however, it stumbled and threw the boy headlong. He kept his
hold of the reins, fortunately, and was up on its back in a trice. But
the second's delay had been fatal.
Sweeping toward the boy, from two points of the compass, were two
sections of disorganized stampede. The cattle were trying, according to
their instinct, to reunite.
"I'm hemmed in," was Rob's thought.
He switched rapidly round to a quarter where there seemed a chance of
escape, but already it had been closed. The boy was on a sort of island.
Behind him was the gorge, deep and terrible. In front of him on two
sides, death was closing in on the wings of the wind.