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The Pony Rider Boys in Montana; Or, The Mystery of the Old Custer Trail

by Frank Gee Patchin · English · Gutenberg #6068 · 291,650 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Pony Rider Boys in Montana; Or, The Mystery of the Old Custer Trail

Author: Frank Gee Patchin


        
Release date: July 1, 2004 [eBook #6068]
                Most recently updated: May 26, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6068

Credits: Produced by Kent Fielden


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN MONTANA; OR, THE MYSTERY OF THE OLD CUSTER TRAIL ***




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THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN MONTANA

BY FRANK GEE PATCHIN




CHAPTER I

FITTING OUT FOR THE JOURNEY


"Forsythe!"  announced the trainman in a loud voice.

"That is where we get off, is it not!"  asked Tad Butler.

"Yes, this is the place," answered Professor Zepplin.

"I don't see any place," objected Stacy Brown, peering from the car
window.  "Where is it?"

"You'll see it in a minute," said Walter Perkins.

"Chunky, we are too busy to bother answering all your silly
questions.  Why don't you get a railroad guide?  Town's on the other
side.  It's one of those one-sided towns.  Use your eyes more and your
tongue less," added Ned Rector impatiently.

With this injunction, Ned rose and began pulling his belongings from
the rack over his head, which action was followed by the three other
boys in the party.  Professor Zepplin had already risen and was
walking toward the car door.

The Northern Pacific train on which they were riding, came to a
slow, noisy stop.  From it, alighted the four boys, sun-burned,
clear-eyed and springy of step.  They were clad in the regulation
suits of the cowboy, the faded garments giving evidence of long
service on the open plains.

Accompanying the lads was a tall, athletic looking man, his face
deeply bronzed from exposure to wind, sun and storm, his iron gray
beard standing out in strong contrast, giving to his sun burned
features a ferocious appearance that was not at all in keeping with
the man's real nature.

A man dressed in a neat business suit, but wearing a broad brimmed
sombrero stepped up to the boys without the least hesitation, the
moment they reached the platform.

"Are you the Pony Rider Boys?"  he asked smilingly.

"We are, sir," replied Tad, lifting his hat courteously.

"Glad to know you, young man.  I am Mr. Simms the banker here.  I was
requested by banker Perkins of Chillicothe, Missouri, to meet you
young gentlemen.  Funds for your use while here are deposited in my
bank ready for your order.  Where is Professor--Professor----"

"Zepplin?"

"Yes, that's the name."  "This is he," Tad informed him, introducing
the Professor.

"If you and the young men will come up to the bank we will talk
matters over.  I would ask you to my house, but my family is spending
the summer at my ranch out near Gracy Butte."

"It is just as well," said the Professor.  "We are not exactly up
here on a social mission.  The boys are crowding all the time
possible into their life during their vacation.  I presume they are
anxious to get started again."

Leaving their baggage at the railroad station, the party set off up
the street with the banker, to make final arrangements for the
journey to which they looked forward with keen anticipation.

Readers of this series will remember how, in "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN
THE ROCKIES," the four lads set off on horseback to spend part of
their summer vacation in the mountains.  The readers will remember
too, the many thrilling experiences that the boys passed through on
that eventful trip, between hunting big game in hand to hand
conflict, fighting a real battle with the bad men of the mountains,
and how in the end they discovered and took possession of the Lost
Claim.

Readers will also remember how the lads next joined in a cattle
drive, and their adventures and exciting trip across the plains in
"THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN TEXAS."

It will be recalled that on this expedition they became cowboys in
reality, living the life of the cattle men, sharing their duties and
their hardships, participating in wild, daring night rides, facing
appalling storms, battling with swollen torrents, bravely facing
many perils, and tow eventually Tad Butler and his companions solved
the Veiled Riddle of the Plains, thus bringing great happiness to
others as well as keen satisfaction to themselves.

After having completed their eventful trip in Texas, the boys had
expressed a desire to next make a trip of exploration to the north
country.  Arrangements had therefore been made by the father of
Walter Perkins for a journey into the wilder parts of Montana.

None of the details, however, had been decided upon.  The boys felt
that they were now experienced enough to be allowed to make their
own arrangements, always, of course, with the approval of their
companion, Professor Zepplin.

As a result they arrived in Forsythe one hot July day, about
noon.  Their ponies had been shipped home, the little fellows having
become a bit too docile to suit the tastes of the lads, who had been
riding bucking bronchos during their trip on a cattle drive in
southern Texas.  They knew they would have little difficulty in
finding animals to suit them up in the grazing country.

"And now what are your plans, young men?"  smiled the hanker, after
all had taken seats in his office in the rear of the bank.

The lads waited for Professor Zepplin to speak.

"Tell Mr. Simms what you have in mind," he urged.

"We had thought of going over the old Custer trail," spoke up
Walter.

"Where, down in the Black Hills?"

"No, not so far down as that.  We should like to go over the trail he
followed and visit the scene of his last battle and get a little
mountain trip as well----"

"Are there any mountains around here?"  asked Stacy innocently.

Mr. Simms laughed, in which he was joined by the boys.

"My lad, there's not much else up here.  You'll find all the
mountains you want and some that you will not want----"

"Any Indians?"  asked Chunky.

"State's full of them."

"Good Indians, of course," nodded the Professor.

"Well, you know the old saying that 'the only good Indian is a dead
Indian.' They're good when they have to be.  We have very little
trouble with the Crows, but sometimes the Black feet and Flat Heads
get off their reservations and cause us a little trouble."

Chunky was listening with wide open eyes.  "I--I don't like Indians,"
he stammered.  "None of us are overfond of them, I guess.  Since you
arrived I have been thinking of something that may interest you."

"We are in your hands," smiled the Professor.

"As I said a short time ago, I have a ranch out near Gracy Butte."

"Cattle?"  asked Tad, with quickened interest.

"No, sheep.  I have another up on the Missouri River.  I am getting
in five thousand more sheep that some of my men are bringing in on a
drive.  They should be along very shortly now."

"You deal in large numbers in this country," smiled the Professor.

"Yes, we have to if we expect to make a profit.  I intend to send
these five thousand new sheep to the Missouri River ranch.  It will
be a long, hard drive and we shall need some extra men.  How would
you boys like to join the outfit and go through with them?  I promise
you you will get all the outdoor life you want."

"Well, I don't know," said Tad doubtfully.  "I don't just like
sheep."

Mr. Simms laughed.

"You've been with a cattle outfit.  I can see that.  You have learned
to hate sheep and for no reason--no good reason whatever.  Sheep are
a real pleasure to manage.  Besides, they are wholesome, intelligent
little animals.  The cattle men resent their being on the range for
the reason that the sheep crop down the grass so close that the
cattle are unable to get enough.  They try to drive us off."

"By what right?"  interrupted the Professor.

"Right of strength, that's all.  On free grass we have as much right
as the cattle men.  Have you your own ponies?"

"No; we expect to purchase some here.  Can you recommend us to a
ranch where we can fit ourselves out?  We have our saddles and camp
outfit, of course," said Tad.

"Yes; I'll take you out to my brother's ranch just outside the
town.  He has some lively little bronchos there.  He won't ask you any
fancy price, either.  If you buy, why, you can give him an order on
my bank and I will settle with him.  You know you have funds here for
your requirements.  What do you say to the sheep idea?"

"Will you let us think it over, Mr. Simms!"  asked Walter.

"Why, certainly.  You will have plenty of time to visit the Rosebud
Mountains as well.  I have arranged for a guide.  You will find him at
the edge of the foothills where he lives.  You can't miss him.  When
do you plan to start?"  asked the banker.

"We thought we should like to get away today," replied Tad.

"I see you are not losing any time, young men.  We may be able to fix
you up so you can start this afternoon.  You will want to camp out, I
imagine, and not make the journey in one day."

"Oh, yes, we are used to that," interjected Ned.  "We have slept out
of doors so long now that we should not feel comfortable in a real
bed."

"I understand.  I have been a cowboy as well as sheepman, and have
spent many weeks on the open range.  It was different then," he added
reminiscently.  "We will drive out to my brother's ranch now, if you
are ready."

The boys rose instantly.  They were looking forward to having their
new ponies, with keen anticipation.

After a short drive they reached the ranch, and a herd of half wild
ponies was driven into a corral where the lads might look them over
and make their choice.

"I think that little bay there, with the pink eyes will suit me,"
decided Tad.  "Is he saddle broken?"

"After a fashion, yes.  He's been out a few times.  But he's full of
ginger," announced the cowboy who was showing the horses to them.

"That's what I want.  Don't like to have to use the spur to keep my
mount from going to sleep," laughed the boy.

"You won't need the irons to keep this pony awake or yerself
either."

"You may give me the most gentle beast on the premises," spoke up
the Professor.  "I have had quite enough of wild horses and their
pranks," a speech at which the boys all laughed heartily.

"Me too," agreed Chunky.

"You'll take what you get.  You couldn't stay on any kind of horse
for long at a time.  Why, you'd fall off one of those wooden horses
that they have in harness shops," announced Ned Rector witheringly.

"I can ride as well as you can," retorted the fat boy, looking his
tormentor straight in the eyes.

"Chunky means business when he looks at you that way," laughed
Walter.  "Better keep away from him, Ned."

"Think I'll take the pink-eyed one," decided Tad.  "Pink-eye.  That
will be a good name for him.  Got a rope?"

"Yes, kin you rope him?"

"I'll try if you will stir them up a bit," answered the
freckle-faced boy.

"You might as well pick out our ponies, too," observed the
Professor.  "You are the only one of our party who is a competent
judge of horse flesh."

Tad nodded.  His rope was held loosely in his hand, the broad loop
lying on the ground a few feet behind him, while the cowboy began
milling the biting, kicking animals about the corral.

Now Pink-eye's head was raised above the back of his fellows so that
Tad got a good roping sight.  The lariat began curving in the air,
then its great loop opened, shot out and dropped neatly over the
head of the pink-eyed pony.  Tad drew it taut before it settled to
the animal's shoulder, at the same time throwing his full weight on
the rawhide.

He would have been equally successful in trying to hold a steam
engine.  Before the lad had time to swing the line and throw the pony
from its feet, the muscular little animal had leaped to one side.

The sudden jerk hurled the boy through the air.

"Look out!"  warned the cowboy.

His warning came too late.

Tad was thrown with great force full against the heels of another
broncho.

"He'll be killed!"  cried Professor Zepplin.

Up went the pony's hind feet and with them Tad Butler.  The pony came
down as quickly as it had gone up, but Tap kept on going.  He had
been near the wire corral when he was jerked against the animal's
feet.

The pony kicked a clean goal and Tad was projected over the wire
fence, landing in a heap several feet outside the corral.

The lad was on his feet almost instantly.  When they saw that he had
not been seriously injured the boys set up a defiant yell.

"Hurt you any?"  grinned the cowboy.

"Only my pride," answered Tad, with a sheepish smile.  "I never had
that happen to me before."

"Other ponies got in your way so you couldn't throw your rope down
on the pink-eyed one and trip him.  I'll get him out for you."

"You will do nothing of the sort.  I can rope my own stock."

After having obtained another lariat, Tad, not deeming it wise to
attempt to try to pick up the rope that the animal was dragging
about the corral, once more took his station, while the cowman began
milling them around the enclosure by sundry shouts and prods.

There was much kicking and squealing.

"Now cut him out!" shouted Tad.

The cowboy did so.  Pink-eye was beating a tattoo in the air with
his heels.  He was occupying a little open space all by himself at
that moment.

The rope again curled through the air.  Tad gave it a quick
undulating motion after feeling the pull on the pony's neck, and the
next moment the little animal fell heavily to his side.

"Woof!"  said the pony.

"Come out of here!"  commanded the lad, jerking the animal to its
feet and starting for the exit.

The pink-eyed broncho followed its new master out as if he had been
doing so every day for a long time.

Tad picked out a spotted roan for Stacy Brown, to which he gave the
appropriate name of "Painted-squaw".  Bad-eye, was considered an
appropriate name for Ned Rector's broncho, while Walter drew a
dapple gray which he decided to call Buster.

After choosing a well broken animal for the Professor, and picking
out a suitable pack horse, the boys announced that they were ready
for the start.  An hour or so was spent in getting provisions enough
to last them for a few days, all of which, together with their camp
equipment, was strapped to the backs of the ponies.

It was now three o'clock in the afternoon.  Ahead of them was a
thirty mile journey over an unknown trail.

"I think we had better have a guide to take us out to the foothills
until we shall have found our permanent guide," said the Professor.

"No, please don't," urged Tad.

"We are plainsmen enough now to be able to find our own way," added
Ned.  "It's a clear trail.  We can see the Rosebud Range from here.
That's it over there, isn't it, Mr. Simms?"

"Yes," replied the banker.  "All you will have to do will be to get
your direction by your compass before you start, and hold to it.  You
will not be able to see the mountains all the time, as the country
is rolling and there are numerous buttes between here and there."

"Any Indians?"  asked Stacy apprehensively.

"You may see some, but they will not bother you," laughed the
banker.  "I shall hope to have you all spend next Sunday with us at
my ranch; then we can discuss our plans for your joining my outfit."

"How far is it from where we are bound?"  asked the Professor.

"Not more than twenty miles.  Just a few hours' ride."

Filled with joyful anticipations the little party set out, headed
for the mountain ranges that lay low in the southwest, some thirty
miles distant.  Contrary to their usual practice, they had taken no
cook with them, having decided to rely wholly on their own resources
for a time at least, which they felt themselves safe in doing after
their many experiences thus far on their summer vacation.

The little western village was soon left behind them.  Turning in
their saddles, they found that it had sunk out of sight.  They could
not tell behind which of the endless succession of high and low
buttes the town was nestling.  Tad consulted his compass, after which
the lads faced the southwest and pressed cheerfully on.

The Pony Rider Boys were fairly started now on what was to prove the
most exciting and eventful journey of their lives.




CHAPTER II

YAWNS PROVE DISASTROUS


"Yah-h-h hum."  Stacy Brown yawned loudly.  "Yah-hum," breathed
Walter Perkins, half rousing himself from his nap.

"Ho-ho-hum," added the deep bass voice of Professor Zepplin.

"Yah--see here, stop that!"  commanded Ned Rector, suddenly raising
himself to a sitting posture.  "You've done nothing but stretch your
mouth in yawns ever since we reached Montana.  See, you've waked up
the whole camp."

"Ho-hum," said Chunky.

"Say, what ails you?"  demanded Tad, putting down by supreme force of
will, his own inclination to yawn.

"I--I guess--yah--it must be the--the mountain air.  Yah-hum," yawned
the fat boy.

Pink-eye coughed off among the cedars.

"What means all this disturbance, young gentlemen?"  demanded the
Professor.

"It's Chunky and the bronchos yawning," Ned Rector informed him.

"So did you," observed Stacy Brown.

"Did what?"

"Yawned.  See, see!  Your mouth's open now.  You're going to yawn this
very second You----"

His taunts were lost in the shouts of the Pony Riders.  Ned Rector's
face was set determinedly, a vacant expression having taken full
possession of his eyes.

"He is going to yawn," announced Walter solemnly.  "Stake down the
camp."

In spite of his determination not to yield to the impulse of the
moment, Ned's mouth slowly opened to its extreme capacity,
accompanied by a deep intake of breath.

"Y-a-h-h-h-hum!"  he exploded.

"Got you that time.  He--he----" Walter's words died away in a
long-drawn, gaping yawn.

Ned waited to hear no more.  With a yell he projected himself at the
fat boy.  Stacy, however, observing the move, had quickly rolled to
one side.  Ned struck the ground heavily.

Stacy was rolling over and over now as if his very life depended
upon getting away.  He could not spare the time to get up and run, so
he continued to roll over and over, making no mean progress at that.

"Go it, Chunky!"  shouted Walter in high glee.

The scene, dimly lighted by the smouldering camp-fire, was so
ludicrous as to send the boys into shouts of laughter.  All were
thoroughly awake now.  They had made camp at sunset on the banks of
the East Fork, of what was known as Fennell's Creek, a broad, deep
stream which, joining its companion fork some ten miles further
down, flowed into the clear waters of the Yellowstone.  Here they had
cooked their supper after many attempts, made with varying degrees
of success and much laughter.  Later they had rolled themselves into
their blankets and gone to sleep.

They had been awakened by Stacy Brown's yawns.  In a moment each had
taken his turn at yawning, but all took the interruption
good-naturedly, save Ned Rector.  By this time he had grown very much
excited.  No sooner would he pounce upon the spot where Stacy
appeared to be, than the fat boy by a few swift rolls would propel
himself well beyond the reach of his irate companion.

"It'll be the worse for you when I do get you," cried Ned.

At that moment Ned tripped over a limb, and, plunging headlong,
measured his length on the ground.

The sympathy of the camp was with the rolling Chunky.

"Get a net," shouted Walter.

"No, rope him, Ned.  That's the only way you ever will catch him,"
jeered Tad.

Both boys were dancing about their companions, shivering in their
pajamas and uttering shouts of glee.

"He's a regular high roller," said Tad.

"No, not a high roller," answered Walter.

"Here, here!"  admonished the Professor.  "Stop this nonsense.  I
want to go to sleep.  I don't mind you young gentlemen enjoying
yourselves, but midnight is rather late for such pranks, it strikes
me.  Into your blankets, every one of you."

It was doubtful that the boys even heard his voice.  If they did,
they failed entirely to catch the meaning of his words, so absorbed
were they in the mad scramble of Ned Rector and Stacy Brown.

"Roll, Chunky, roll!"  urged Walter, jumping up and down in his bare
feet.

"Good thing he's fat.  If he weren't so round he could never do it,"
mocked Tad.  "I'll bet he was a fast creeper when he was a baby."

The ponies, disturbed by the noise and excitement, had scrambled to
their feet and were moving about restlessly in the bushes where they
were tethered.

"Master Stacy, you will get up at once!"  commanded the Professor
sternly.

"I can't," wailed the fat boy.

"Then I'll help you," decided the Professor firmly, striding toward
the spot where he had last heard the lad's voice.

"Look out for the river!"  warned Tad, as the thought of what was
below the boy suddenly occurred to him.

"Help, help!  I'm rolling in," cried Stacy.

"There he goes, down the bank!  Grab him!"  shouted Walter.

"Where?"  demanded Ned, not fully grasping the import of the warning.

"There, there!  Don't you see him?  Right in front of you.  He's going
to fall into the river!"

Stacy had forgotten that they were encamped on the east shore of the
fork and that the broad stream was flowing rapidly along just below
him.  The banks at that point were high and precipitous, the water
almost icy cold, being fresh from the clear mountain streams a few
miles above.  In spots it was deep and treacherous.

Frantically grasping at weeds and slender sprouts, as he rolled down
the almost perpendicular bluff, Stacy yelled lustily for help.  From
the soft, sandy soil the weeds came away in his hands, without in
the slightest degree checking his progress.

Tad realized the danger perhaps more fully than did the others.  In
the darkness the lad might slip into one of the treacherous river
pockets and drown before they could reach him.

Grasping his rope which lay beside his cot.  Tad sprang to the top of
the bluff, swinging the loop of his lariat above his head as he ran.

He could faintly make out the figure of his companion rolling down
the steep bank.

"Hold up your hand so I can drop the rope over you," shouted Tad, at
the same time making a skillful cast.

His aim was true.  The rawhide reached the mark.  Chunky, however,
feeling it slap him smartly on the cheek, brushed the rope aside in
his excitement, not realizing what it was that had struck him.

"Grab it!"  roared Tad, observing that he had failed to rope the lad.

With a mighty splash, Stacy Brown plunged into the stream broadside
on.

"He's in!  I heard him strike!"  cried Walter.

With a warning cry to the others to bring lights, Tad, without an
instant's hesitation, leaped over the bluff and went shooting down
it in a sitting posture.

"Tad's gone in, too," shouted Walter excitedly, as their ears caught
a second splash.  It was more clean cut than had been Stacy's dive,
and might have passed unnoticed had they not known the meaning of
the sound.

Ned Rector stood as if dazed.  He knew that somehow he had
thoughtlessly plunged his companions into dire peril.

"Wha--what is it?"  he stammered.

"They're in the river!  Don't you understand?"  answered Walter
sharply, moving forward as if to follow over the bank in an effort
to rescue his companion.

"Keep back!"  commanded the Professor.  "You'll all drown if you go
over that bank."

The Professor, with more presence of mind than the others, had
sprung up and rushed for the camp-fire, from which he snatched a
burning ember.

At any other time the sight of his long, gaunt figure, clad in a
full suit of pink pajamas, dashing madly about the camp, would have
excited the lads to uproarious merriment.  But laughter was far from
their thoughts at that moment.

"Use your eyes!  Do you see him?"  demanded Professor Zepplin, peering
down anxiously into the shadows.

"No.  Oh, Tad!"  shouted Ned.  There was no reply to the boy's
hail.  "Thaddeus!"  roared the Professor.  Still no answer.

Down the stream a short distance they could hear the water roaring
over the rocks, from where it dropped some twenty feet and continued
on its course.  The falls there were known as Buttermilk Falls,
because of the churning the water received in its lively drop, and
more than one mountaineer had been swept over them to his death in
times of high water.  Between the camp and these falls there was a
sharp bend in the river, and ere the boys had recovered from their
surprise, their companions undoubtedly had been swept around the
bend and on beyond their sight.

"Do--do you--do you think----" stammered Walter.

"They have gone down stream," answered the Professor shortly.  "Run
for it, boys!  Run as you never ran before!"

Ned dived for the thicket where the ponies were tethered.  It was the
work of a moment only to release Bad-eye.  Without waiting to saddle
him, Ned threw himself upon the surprised animal's back, and with a
wild yell sent the broncho plunging through the camp.

He was nearly unseated when Bad-eye suddenly veered to avoid
stepping into the camp-fire, which Ned Rector in his haste had
forgotten.

The lad gripped the pony's mane and hung on desperately until he
finally succeeded in righting himself, all the while kicking the
pony's sides with his bare feet to urge him on faster.

They were out of the camp, tearing through the thicket before the
Professor and Walter had even gotten beyond the glow of the
fire.  Ned was obliged to make a wide detour instead of taking a
short cut across the bend made by the river.  There were rocks in his
way, so that a few moments of valuable time were lost before he
reached the stream on the other side of the obstruction.

"Come, we must run," urged the Professor.  "I'm afraid both of them
may have gone over the falls."

"Oh, I hope he is not too late!"  answered Walter, with a half sob,
as they ran regardless of the fact that sharp sticks and jagged
stones were cruelly cutting into their feet.




CHAPTER III

THE BOYS RESCUE EACH OTHER


Ned swung around the bend at a tremendous pace.  He was able to see
little about him, though as he once more reached the bank he could
tell where the river lay, because the river gorge lay in a deeper
shadow than did the rest of the landscape about him.

"Oh, Tad!  Tad!"  he shouted.

A faint call answered him.  He was not quite sure that it was not an
echo of his own voice.

"Tad!  T-a-d!"

"Hurry!"

It seemed a long distance away--that faint reply to his hail.

"That you, Tad!"

"Y-e-s."

"Where are you!"

"Here."

"Where?  I don't see you."

"In the river.  Just below the bend."

Hurriedly dismounting and making a quick examination of the banks he
discovered that they were so nearly straight up and down that it
would be impossible to get his companions out at that point.

"I can't get you out here.  You'll have to wait a few moments.  Are
you swimming?"

"No, I am holding to a rock.  It's awful slippery and I'm freezing
too."

"All right.  Is Stacy with you?"

"Yes, I've got him."

"Good!  Have courage!  I'll be with you," said Ned encouragingly.

"You'll have to hurry.  I can't hold on much longer.  The falls are
just below here and if I have to let go it's all up with us."

Ned had no need to be told that.  He could almost feel the spray from
the falls on his face, so close were they to him and their roar was
loud in his ears, so that he was obliged to raise his voice in
calling to his companions.

Leaping to the back of Bad-eye, Ned was off like a shot, tearing
through the brush, headed toward camp.  On the way he passed
Professor Zepplin and Walter, nearly running them down in his mad
haste.

"Got a rope?"  he shouted in passing.  "No," answered Walter.  "Then
get one and hurry around the bend.  You'll be needed there in a
minute.  I'm going down into the stream from the camp."

The Professor, seeming to comprehend what Ned had in mind, turned
and ran back to the camp.

Without an instant's hesitation, Ned Rector, upon reaching their
camping place, put his pony at the bank where the two boys had gone
over.

The little animal refused to take it.  He bucked and the lad had a
narrow escape from following where Tad and Chunky had gone a short
time before.

"I've got to have a saddle.  That's the only way I can stick on to
drive him in, and we'll need it to hold to as well," he decided.

Every moment was precious now.  Whirling the animal about, Ned drove
him into the thicket where the saddles lay folded against trees.

It was the work of seconds for him to leap off and throw the heavy
saddle on Bad-eye's back.  The boy worked with the speed and
precision of a Gattling gun.  Yet he groaned hopelessly when he
realized that his delay might mean the death of two of his
companions.

Professor Zepplin arrived at the camp just as Ned had finally
cinched the girths and swung himself into the saddle.

"Where--where is he?"  gasped the Professor, now breathing hard.

"Below the bend.  Get back there with a rope and be ready to toss it
to him if he lets go."

Ned and his pony crashed through the brush.  He had no spur with
which to urge on the animal, but Ned had thoughtfully picked up a
long, stout stick, and once more they drove straight at the high
bank.

"Stop!  I forbid it!"  thundered the Professor.

Ned paid no more attention to him than had he not spoken.  It was a
time when words were useless.  What was necessary was action and
quick action at that.

"Hurry with that rope!"  commanded Ned.

The pony slowed up as they approached the bank of the river, but Ned
was in no mood for trifling now.  He brought down the stick on the
animal's hip with a terrific whack.

Bad-eye angered by the blow, squealed and leaped into the air with
all four feet free of the ground.

"Hi-yi!"  exclaimed the Pony Rider sharply, again smiting the animal
while the latter was still in the air.

Ned's plan was to enter the stream at that point and swim down with
the pony until they should have reached the boys and rescued them
from their perilous position.  While the bluff was sandy at the point
where they had fallen in, down below, where Tad was now desperately
clinging to the rock, the stream wound through a rocky cut, whose
high sides were slippery and uncertain, especially in the darkness
of the night.

Bad-eye needed no further goading to force him to do his master's
bidding.  With another squeal of protest the little animal plunged
for the bank.  No sooner had his forward feet reached over the edge
of it than the treacherous sands gave way beneath them.

The pony pivoted on its head, landing violently on its back.  Ned had
dismounted without the least effort on his part, so that he was well
out of the way when his mount landed.  He had been hurled from the
saddle the instant the pony's feet struck the unresisting sand.

But Ned clung doggedly to the bridle reins.  He, too, struck on his
back.  He heard the squealing, kicking pony floundering down upon
him, its every effort to right itself forcing it further and further
down the slippery bank.  Now on its back, now with its nose in the
sand, Bad-eye was rapidly nearing the swiftly moving creek.  Ned had
all he could do to keep out of the way, and on account of the
darkness he had to be guided more by instinct than by any other
sense.  However, it was not difficult to keep track of the now
thoroughly frightened animal.

Ned leaped to one side.  An instant later, and he would have been
caught under the pony.

The animal hit the water with a mighty splash, with Ned still
clinging to the reins.  As the pony went in, Ned was jerked in also,
striking the water head first.

He could have screamed from the shock of the icy water, which seemed
to smite him like a heavy blow.

For a moment boy and pony floundered about in the stream.  It seemed
almost a miracle that the lad was not killed by those flying hoofs
that were beating the water almost into a froth.

As soon as he was able to get to the surface Ned exerted all his
strength to swim out further toward the middle of the stream.  Even
when he was under water, he still kept a firm grip on the rein.  To
let go would be to lose all that he had gained after so much danger
in getting as far as he had.

By this time, both boy and pony had drifted down stream several
rods.

The pony righted himself and struck out for the bank.  Ned was by his
side almost instantly, being aided in the effort to get there by
having the reins to pull himself in by.

Bad-eye refused instinctively to head down stream.  There was only
one thing to do.  That was to climb into the saddle and get him
started.  Ned did this with difficulty.  His weight made the pony sink
at first, the animal whinnying with fear.

Fearing to drown the broncho, the boy slipped off, at the same time
taking a firm grip on the lines.

Bad-eye came to the surface at once.  Ned's right hand was on the
pommel, the reins bunched in his left.  He brought his knee sharply
against the animal's side.

"Whoop!"  he urged, again driving the knee against the pony's ribs.

Under the strong guiding hand of his master, the animal fighting
every inch of the way, began swimming down stream.

"I'm coming!"  shouted the boy.

Before that moment he had not had breath nor the time to call.

"I'm coming!"  he repeated, as they swung around the wide sweeping
curve.

"Are you there, Tad?"

"Yes," was the scarcely distinguishable reply.  "I've got to let go."

"You hold on.  Bad-eye and I will be there in a minute and the
Professor is hurrying down along the bank with a rope."

"I'm freezing.  I'm all numb, that's the trouble," answered Tad
weakly.

Ned knew that the plucky lad was well-nigh exhausted.  The strain of
holding to the slippery rock in the face of the swift current was
one that would have taxed the strength of the strongest man, to say
nothing of the almost freezing cold water, which chilled the blood
and benumbed the senses.

"You've gone past me," cried Tad.

"I know it.  I'm heading up," replied Ned Rector.

Ned had purposely driven his pony further down stream so that he
might the easier pick them up as he went by on the return trip.

"Are you all right down there?"  called the Professor, who had
reached a point on the bank opposite to them.

"Yes, but get ready to cast me a rope," directed Ned.

"I'm afraid I cannot."

"Then have Walter do it."

"He is not here.  I directed him to remain in camp in case he was
needed there."

"All right.  You can try later.  I'll tell you how.  I'm busy now."

"Don't run me down," warned Tad Butler.

"Keep talking then, so I'll know where you are.  Just say yip-yip and
keep it up."

Tad did so, but his voice was weak and uncertain.

Ned swam the pony alongside of them, pulling hard on the reins to
slow the animal down without exerting pressure enough to stop him.

"Is Chunky able to help himself?"

"Yes, if he will."

"Then both of you grab Bad-eye by the mane as he goes by.  Don't you
miss, for if you do, we're all lost."

"The pony won't be able to get the three of us up the stream,"
objected Tad.

"I know it."

"Then, what are we going to do?"

"I'll stay here and hang on.  You send Walter back with the pony as
soon as you get there. Better call to him to get Pink-eye or one of
the others saddled as soon as you can make him hear.  We'll save
time that way.  I'm afraid Bad-eye won't be able to make the return
trip."

"Now grab for the rock," cried Tad.

Ned did so, but he missed it.

Tad still clinging to Chunky fastened his right hand in
the broncho's mane.  All three of the boys were now clinging to the
overburdened animal.  Ned began swimming to assist the pony, for he
realized that they had dropped back a few feet in taking on the
extra weight.

"Work further back and get hold of the saddle," Ned directed.

Tad followed his instructions.

"I'm afraid he'll never make it," groaned Ned.  "I----"

At that instant his hand came in violent contact with a hard, cold
object.  It was the slender, pillar-like rock that Tad had been
clinging to for so long in the icy water.

"I've got it," exclaimed Ned.

He cast loose from Bad-eye and threw both arms about the
rock.  The pony freed from a share of his burden, struck off up
stream against the current, making excellent headway.

"I don't like to do this," Tad called back.  "I wouldn't, were it not
for Chunky.  He couldn't have stood it there another minute."

"You can't help yourself now.  How's the kid?"  called Ned.

"He's all right now."

"Professor, are you up there?"

"Yes."

He had heard the dialogue between the boys, and understood well what
had been done.

"That was a brave thing to do, Master Ned."

"Thank you, Professor.  Suppose you try to cast that rope to me.  I'm
afraid I shall never be able to hold on here alone as long as Tad
did.  B-r-r-r, but it's cold!"  he shivered.

The Professor tried his hand at casting the lariat.

"Never touched me," said Ned, more to keep up his own spirits than
with the intent to speak slightingly of the Professor's effort.

"Take it up stream throw it out, then let it float down," suggested
Ned.

Professor Zepplin did so, but the rope was found to be too short to
reach, and at Ned's direction, he made no further attempt.

Soon Ned heard some one shouting cheerily up the stream.  It was Tad
Butler.  He had dashed up to camp immediately upon reaching shore,
and the exercise restored his circulation.  Walter, who was in camp
had Pink-eye ready and saddled for an emergency, and Tad mounting
the pony, forced him to take to the water.  He was now returning to
rescue his brave friend, who was clinging to the rock.  He had been
unwilling to trust the perilous trip to anyone else.

"I was afraid Walt would go over the falls, pony and all," he
explained, wheeling alongside Ned Rector and picking him up from the
rock.

"I'll run a foot race with you when we get ashore," laughed Tad.

"Go you," answered Ned promptly.  "The one who loses has to get up
and cook the breakfast."




CHAPTER IV

SURPRISED BY AN UNWELCOME VISITOR


"I'm sorry I was to blame for your going into the creek," apologized
Ned Rector, bending over the shivering Stacy.

"I fell in, didn't I?"  grinned the fat boy.

"No, you rolled in.  My, but that water was cold!"

"B-r-r-r!"  shivered Stacy, as the recollection of his icy bath came
back to him.  "Di--did you win the race?"

"Tad won it.  I've got to get up and cook the breakfast, and it
wasn't my turn at all.  It was Tad's turn."

"Yab-hum," yawned Stacy, "I'm awful sleepy."

"So am I," answered Ned, uttering a long-drawn yawn.

"See here, Master Ned.  Get out of those wet pajamas, rub yourself
down thoroughly and put on a dry suit.  I can't have you all sick on
my hands to-morrow," commanded the Professor.

"Don't worry about us," laughed Ned.  "It takes more than a bath in a
cold creek to lay us up, eh, Tad?"

"I hope so," answered Tad Butler, who had rubbed himself until his
body glowed.  "But I thought once or twice that I was a goner while I
was holding to that rock.  I could not make Chunky try to support
himself at all.  He just clung to me until he fagged me all out."

"Come now, young gentlemen, down with this coffee and into the
blankets."

Professor Zepplin had prepared the coffee, with which to warm the
lads up, and had heated in the camp-fire some good sized boulders,
which he wrapped in blankets and tucked in their beds.  Chunky was
the only one of the boys who did not protest.  Ned and Tad objected
to being "babied" as they called it, and when the Professor was not
looking, they quickly rolled the feet warmers out at the foot of
their beds.

Early next morning they were aroused by the cook's welcome call to
breakfast.  None of the lads seemed to be any the worse for his
exciting experiences in the creek, much to the relief of Professor
Zepplin, who feared the icy bath might at least bring on heavy
colds.

Tumbling from their cots, they quickly washed; and then sprinting
back and forth a few times, stirred up their circulation, after
which the boys sat down to the morning meal with keen appetites.

Ned had cooked a liberal supply of bacon and potatoes and boiled a
large pot of coffee.

Stacy opened his mouth as if he were about to yawn.

"Don't you dare to do that," warned Ned, waving the coffee pot
threateningly.  "The first boy who yawns to-day gets into
trouble.  And Stacy Brown, if you fall in the river again you'll get
out the best way you can alone.  We won't help you, remember that."

"This bacon looks funny," retorted Stacy, holding up a piece at the
end of his fork.  "Kind of looks as if something had happened to it."

"Just what I was going to say," added Walter.

"Yes, what has happened to it?  It's as black as the Professor's
hat."

All eyes were fixed upon the cook.  "I don't care, I couldn't help
it.  If any of you fellows think you can do any better, you just try
it.  Cook your own meals if you don't like my way of serving them
up.  It wasn't my turn to get the breakfast, anyway."

"Our cook evidently has a grouch on this morning," laughed
Walter.  "Doesn't agree with him to take a midnight bath."

"The bath was all right, but I object to having my cooking
criticised."

"The bacon does look peculiar," decided Professor Zepplin, sniffing
gingerly at his own piece.

Ned's face flushed.

"What did you do to it to give it that peculiar shade, young man?"

"Why, I soused it in the creek to wash it off, then laid it in the
fire to cook," replied Ned.

"In the fire?"  shouted Tad.

"Of course.  How do you expect I cooked it?"  demanded the boy
irritably.  "I cooked it in the fire."

"I could do better'n that myself," muttered Stacy.

"Didn't you use the spider?"  asked Walter.

"Spider?  No.  I didn't know you used a spider.  Do you?"

"He cooked it in the fire," groaned Tad.

"Peculiar, very peculiar to say the least," decided the Professor
grimly.  "Gives it that peculiar sooty flavor, common to smoked ham I
think we shall have to elect a new cook if you cannot do better than
that.  However, we'll manage to get along very well with this
meal.  If we have to get others we will hold a consultation as to the
latest and most approved methods of doing so," he added, amid a
general laugh at Ned's expense.

Breakfast over, blankets were rolled and packed on the ponies.  About
nine o'clock the Pony Riders set out for the foothills, after first
having consulted their compasses and decided upon the course they
were to follow to reach the point, some fifteen miles distant, where
they expected to pick up the guide.

"Seems good to be in the saddle once more, doesn't it?"  smiled
Walter, after they had gotten well under way.

"Beats being in the river at midnight," laughed Tad.  "Bad-eye looks
as if he needed grooming, too.  Ned, I take back all I said about the
bacon this morning.  You did me a good turn last night.  If it hadn't
been for you, Chunky and I wouldn't be here now.  I couldn't have
held to that rock much longer."

"Neither could I," interjected Stacy wisely.

Ned gave him a withering glance.

"You are an expert at falling in, but when it comes to getting out,
that's another matter."

"How blue those mountains look!"  marveled Walter, shading his eyes
and gazing off toward the Rosebud Range.

"I hear there are some lawless characters in there, too," Tad
answered thoughtfully.

"Where'd your hear that?"  demanded Ned.

"Heard some men talking about it in the hotel back at Forsythe."

"Mustn't believe all you hear.  What did they say?"

"Acting upon your advice, I should say that you wouldn't believe it
if I told you," answered Tad sharply.  "These men are a kind of
outlaws, I believe.  They steal horses and cattle.  Probably sell the
hides--I don't know.  Somehow the Government officers have not been
able to catch them, let alone to find out who they are."

"Indians, probably," replied Ned.  "The country is full of them about
here, so I hear."

"Mustn't believe all you hear," piped up Stacy, repeating Ned
Rector's own words, and the latter's muttered reply was lost in the
laughter that followed.

It was close to twelve o'clock when they finally emerged on a broad
table or mesa.  Before them lay the foothills of the Rosebud, rising
in broken mounds, some of which towered almost level with the lower
peaks of the mountains themselves.

"I don't see anything of our guide's cabin," said Tad, halting and
looking about them.  "What do you think, Professor!"

"We will go on to the foothills and wait there.  I imagine he will be
waiting for us somewhere hereabouts."

"Yes, we have followed our course by the compass," answered Tad.

However, the lad had overlooked the fact, as had the others, that in
order to find a suitable fording place, they had followed the hanks
of the East Fork for several miles.  This served to throw them off
their course and when they finally reached the foothills they were
some six miles to the north of the place where the guide was to pick
them up.

As they rode on, the ground gradually rose under them, nor did they
realize that they were entering the foothills themselves; and so it
continued until they finally found themselves surrounded by hills,
narrow draws and broad, rocky gorges.

"Young gentlemen, I think we had better halt right here.  We shall be
lost if we continue any farther," decided the Professor.  "This is a
nice level spot with just enough trees to give us shade.  I propose
that we dismount and make camp."

"Yes, we haven't had the tents up since we were in the Rockies,"
replied Ned.  "We shall be forgetting how to pitch them soon if we do
not have some practice."

On this trip, besides their small tents, the Pony Riders had brought
with them canvas for a nine by twelve feet tent, which they proposed
to use for a dining tent in wet weather, as well as a place for
social gathering whenever the occasion demanded its use.  They named
it the parlor.

In high spirits, the lads leaped from their ponies and began
removing their packs.  Stacy Brown began industriously tugging at the
fastenings which held the large tent to the back of the pack pony.

"I can't get it loose," he shouted.  "What kind of hitch do you call
this, anyway?"

"Young man, that's a squaw hitch.  Ever hear of it before?"  laughed
Tad.

"No.  What kind of hitch is a squaw hitch?"  asked Chunky.

"Probably one that the braves use to tie up their wives with when
they get lazy," Ned informed him.

"I know," spoke up Walter.  "It's a hitch used to fasten the packs to
the ponies.  Mr. Stallings explained that to me when we were in
Texas."

"Right," announced Tad, skillfully loosening the hitch, thus
allowing the canvas of the parlor tent to fall to the ground.

While Tad and Walter were doing this, Professor Zepplin with Stacy
had started off with hatchets to cut poles for the tents.

The sleeping tents were erected in a straight row with the parlor
tent set up to the rear some few rods, backing up against the hills
nearest to the mountains.

In front of the small tents the ponies were tethered out among the
trees so as to be in plain view of the boys in case of
trouble.  Profiting from past experiences, they knew that without
their mounts they would find themselves helpless.

In an hour the camp was pitched and the boys stood off to view the
effect of their work.

"Looks like a military camp," said Ned.

"All but the guns," replied Walter.  "We might stack our rifles
outside here to make it look more military like."

"Let's do it."  suggested Tad.

Laughing joyously, the lads got out their rifles, standing them on
their stocks, with the muzzles together in front of the small
tents.  Not being equipped with bayonets the guns refused to stand
alone, so they bound the muzzles together with twine wrapped about
the sights.  This held them firmly.

"There!"  glowed Ned.  "Where's the flag?  Somebody get that and I'll
cut a pole for it," suggested Tad Butler.

In a few moments Old Glory was waving idly in the gentle summer
breeze and the boys, doffing their hats, gave three cheers and a
tiger for it, in which Professor Zepplin joined with almost boyish
enthusiasm.

"I always take off my hat to that beautiful flag," said the
Professor, gazing up at it admiringly.

"How about your own country's flag?"  teased Ned.

"That is it.  I am an American citizen.  Your flag is my flag.  And now
that we have done homage to our country and our flag, supposing we
consult our own bodily comfort by getting dinner.  Of course, if you
young gentlemen are not hungry we can skip the noon----"

"Not hungry?  Did you ever hear of our skipping a meal when we could
get it?"  protested Walter.

"For a young man with a delicate appetite, you do very well,"
laughed the Professor.  "It wag less than two months ago, if I
remember correctly, that the doctors thought you were not going to
live, you were so delicate."

"Almost as delicate as Chunky now," chuckled Ned maliciously.

The midday meal was more successful than had been their
breakfast.  They ate it under the trees, deciding to dine in the
parlor tent just at dusk.

The afternoon was spent in shooting, at which the boys were becoming
quite proficient.  By this time, even Stacy Brown could be trusted to
manage his own rifle without endangering the lives of his
companions.

"Is there any game in these hills?"  asked Ned, while he was
refilling the magazine of his repeating rifle.

"Plenty of it, I am told," replied the Professor.  "There is big game
all over the state."

"What kind?"

"Bears, mountain lions and the like."

"W-h-e-w.  That sounds interesting.  May we go gunning to-morrow?"

"Better wait until the guide joins us.  It will be best to have some
one with us who understands the habits of the animals.  As you have
learned, hunting big game is not boys' play," concluded the
Professor.

"Yes, I remember our experience in hunting the cougar in the
Rockies.  I guess I'll wait."

During the afternoon, the boys made short trips along the foothills
hoping to find some trace of the guide, but search as they would
they were unable to locate him.  Nor did they dare stray far from the
camp for fear of being unable to find their way back.  The foothills
all looked so alike that if one unfamiliar with them should lose his
way he would find himself in a serious predicament.

"I guess we shall have to camp here for the rest of the summer,"
Professor Zepplin said, while they were eating their supper.  "We
must be a long distance from our man if he has not heard our
shooting this afternoon."

The boys were enjoying themselves, however; in addition, there was a
sense of independence that they had not felt before.  They were alone
and entirely on their own resources, which of itself added to the
zest of the trip.

The supper dishes having been cleared away and the camp-fire stirred
up to a bright, cheerful blaze, all hands gathered in the parlor
tent for an evening chat.

Above them swung an oil lantern which dimly shed its rays over the
little company.  Professor Zepplin was poring over an old volume that
he had brought with him, while the boys were discussing the merits
of their new ponies, which by this time had developed their
individual peculiarities.

Chunky, growing sleepy, had crawled to the rear of the tent, where
he sat leaning against the closed flap, nodding drowsily.

Finally they saw him straighten up and brush a hand over the back of
his head.

"He's dreaming," laughed Ned.  "Imagines he's rolling down the river
bank again."

Suddenly they were aroused by the fat boy's voice raised in angry
protest.

"Stop tickling my neck," he growled, vigorously rubbing that part of
his anatomy.  "Funny, you fellows can't let me alone."

"You must be having bad dreams," laughed Ned.  "We are not bothering
you.  We're all over here."

"Yes, you are.  You've done it three times and you woke me up,"
answered the fat boy, settling back and closing his eyes preparatory
to renewing his disturbed nap.

He was asleep in a moment, not having heeded the laughter of his
companions, nor their noisy comments.

But Stacy dozed for a moment only.  He sat up quickly and very
straight, while a shrewd expression appeared in his eyes.  Had they
been looking they might have observed one of his hands being drawn
cautiously behind him, as if he were reaching for something.  The
boys were too busy, however, to pay any heed to the lad, and the
Professor was deeply absorbed in his book.

"I've got you this time!  Tell me you weren't tickling my neck?  I'll
show you Stacy Brown's not the sleepy head you----"

The boy paused suddenly and scrambling to all fours turned about on
his hands and knees, intently gazing at the flap against which he
had been leaning.

"What's the matter, gone crazy over there!"  called Tad.  "Anybody
would think you had from the racket you are making."

Stacy did not answer.  He had not even heard Tad speak to him.  His
eyes, bulging with fear, were fixed on the flap.  What he saw was a
long black snout poked through the slit in the canvas, and just back
of that a pair of beady, evil eyes.

"Y-e-o-w!"  yelled Stacy.  The lad leaped to his feet and dashed from
the tent, bowling over Walter and Tad as he ran, shouting in his
fright and crying for help.  Knowing instinctively that something
really serious had happened, the others sprang up, peering at the
other end of the tent.  For a moment, they could see nothing in the
flickering shadows; then as their eyes became more accustomed to the
half light, they discovered what filled them with alarm as well.

"Run for your lives!"  shouted Tad, bolting from the tent in a single
leap, followed almost instantly by Ned Rector and Walter Perkins.

The Professor with one startled glance, hurled his precious book at
the object he saw entering the tent at the back, and bolted through
the front opening, taking the end tent pole down with him in his
hasty flight.




CHAPTER V

THE PURSUIT OF THE BURNING BEAR


"What is it?"  cried Walter breathlessly, slowing up when he observed
that the others were doing likewise.  "It's a bear, I think," replied
the Professor.  "I only saw the head so I can't be sure.  Keep
away.  Where is Stacy?"

"I--I think he's running, still," answered Ned, his voice somewhat
shaky.

"There goes the other tent pole down!"  shouted Tad.

"He's wrecking the place.  That's too bad," groaned Walter.

"Are the provisions all in there?"  asked the Professor anxiously.

"No, most of them are over in my tent, where I took them from the
pack pony," Ned informed him.

"We are that much ahead anyway.  I think we had better get a little
further away, young gentlemen.  We had better get near trees so we
can make a fairly dignified escape if that fellow concludes to come
out after us."

"He's too busy just now," announced Tad, with an attempt at
laughter.

"Get the guns," ordered the Professor.

"I can't," cried Tad.

"Why can't you?  I will get them myself."

"They are all in that tent there with the bear," groaned Tad.

"There's a box of shells in there, too," added Walter.  "I put it
there myself."

"Then, indeed, we had better take to the trees," decided Professor
Zepplin.

"Wait," warned Tad.  "He won't get out right away.  See, he has pulled
the tent down about him."

"Yes, he's having the time of his life," nodded Ned.  "I hope he
never gets out.  If we had our guns now!"

And, indeed, Mr. Bruin was having his own troubles.  Angry snarls and
growls could be heard under the heaving canvas as the black bear
plunged helplessly about, twisting the tent about him in his
desperate struggles to free himself.

They could hear the clatter of the tinware as he threshed about, and
the crash and bang of other articles belonging to their equipment.

"Look!  What's that light?"  exclaimed Walter.

"Fire!"  cried the Professor.

"The tent's on fire!"  shouted Tad.

"Quick, get water!"  urged Ned.

"What for?  To put out the bear?"  laughed Tad.

"I had forgotten about the lantern.  That's what has caused the
fire.  When the tent collapsed the lantern went down with it, and in
his floundering about he has managed to set the place on fire," the
Professor informed them.

"There goes the parlor tent.  That settles it," said Walter.

The other two boys groaned.

"Has he-ha-ha-has he gone?"  wailed Chunky, peering from behind a
tree.

"No, he hasn't gone.  He's very much here.  Don't you see that tent!
What do you suppose is making it hump up in the middle, if he isn't
there?  And the tent's on fire, too," answered Ned, in a tone of
disgust.  "This is a bad start for sure."

"I didn't fall in that time, did I?  I fell out," interrupted
Stacy.  "Lucky for me that I did, too.  I would have been in a nice
fix if that tent had come down on me and that animal at the same
time."  He shivered at the thought.  "What is it, a lion?"

"Lion!  No, you ninny, it's a bear.  B-e-a-r," spelled Ned, with
strong emphasis.  "Do you understand that?"

"Y-y-e-s.  I-I-I thought it was a lion.  I did, honest," he
muttered.  "And it tickled my neck with its paw, too.  Wow!"

Stacy instinctively moved further away from the tent.

Disturbing as their situation was at that moment, the lads could not
repress a shout of laughter over Stacy's funny words.  But Stacy's
face was solemn.  He saw nothing to laugh at.

"Lucky for both of you that you didn't yawn.  The bear might nave
fallen in," jeered Ned.

"Might have been a good thing for us if Chunky had yawned.  Maybe the
bear would have got to yawning at the same time, and yawned and
yawned until he was so helpless that we could have captured him,"
laughed Walter.

"Not much chance of that," answered Tad.  "Bears don't yawn until
after a full meal.  I guess our bear over there hasn't had one lately
or he wouldn't have been nosing about our camp when we were all
there."

"Keep back there, boys.  Please don't get too close.  He is liable to
break out at any time.  He is a small bear, but there is no telling
what he may do in his rage when he emerges," warned the Professor.

"We're not afraid," answered Ned.

The boys, having no weapons, had armed themselves with clubs,
prepared to do battle with their visitor should he chance to come
their way.

"What's that racket over there in the bushes?"  demanded Ned,
wheeling sharply.

"It's the ponies," answered Tad, darting away.

At last the little animals had discovered the presence of the bear
in camp and were making frantic efforts to break their tethers.

"Come over here, some of you.  The bronchos are having a fit.  I can't
manage all of them at once," called Tad in an excited tone.

"What's the matter--are they afraid?"  called the Professor.

"I should say they are.  They'll get away from me if you don't
hurry."

Leaving the hear to his own desperate efforts, the boys rushed to
the aid of Tad Butler.  They were not quick enough, however.

"There goes one of them!"  cried Tad.

A pony had broken the rope and with a snort, had bounded away.  Tad,
leaped on the bare back of his own pony, first having caught up his
lariat, and set out after the fleeing animal.

Luckily the runaway broncho had headed for the open and Tad was able
to overhaul him before they had gone far from the camp.

Riding up beside the little animal it was an easy matter to drop the
loop over his head and bring him down.

"There, that will teach you to run away," growled the boy, cinching
the rope and dragging the unruly pony back to camp.

In the meantime the others, after considerable effort, had succeeded
in securing the other plunging bronchos, more rope having been
brought for the purpose, while Tad, breathing hard, staked down the
frightened animal he had roped.

"Now we'll see how Mr. Bear is getting along," announced the
Professor, as they turned back toward the camp, where the bear was
still fighting desperately with the smouldering tent.

As they reached the scene they observed Professor Zepplin hurrying
to his tent.  He was back again almost at once.

"Just happened to think of my revolver," he explained.

"Think you can kill him with that?"  asked Tad.

"I don't know.  I can try.  It's a thirty-eight calibre."

"Won't even feel it," sniffed Ned.  "I've read lots of times that it
takes a lot to kill a bear."

The Professor raised his weapon and fired at the spot where the tent
appeared to be most active.

Though he had pulled the trigger only once a series of sudden
explosions followed, seemingly coming from beneath the tent itself.

"What's that!"  demanded the Professor, lowering his own weapon,
plainly puzzled.

"Guess the bear's shooting at us," suggested Chunky wisely.

"No.  I know what it is," cried Tad.

"You know?"  demanded Ned.

"Sure.  It's our cartridges exploding.  The fire from the lantern has
got at those pasteboard boxes in which we carried the shells."

Now they were popping with great rapidity, and instinctively the
boys drew further away from the danger zone, though the Professor
told them the bullets could not hurt them, there being not
sufficient force behind to carry them that distance.

The Professor stood his ground as an object lesson and again resumed
his target practice.  The tough canvas resisted the bear's efforts,
and the fire was burning slowly.  However, the tent seemed to be
ruined and the boys feared their rifles would share a similar fate.

"He's breaking out!"  yelled Chunky, who was some distance to the
right of the others, now dancing up and down in his
excitement.  "Look out for him!"

With a last desperate effort, the animal had succeeded in forcing
his way through the stubborn canvas.

"Look, look!"  yelled Walter Perkins, greatly excited.

The spectacle was one that for the moment held the boys
spellbound.  A mass of flame separated itself from the ruins of the
tent.  With snarls of pain and rage the mass ambled rapidly away in a
trail of fire.

"The bear's on fire!"  shouted Ned Rector.

"Help!"  screamed Chunky.

Blinded by the pain and the flames that had gotten into its eyes,
the animal not seeing the lad, lurched heavily against him and Stacy
Brown went down with a howl of terror.

The boy, who had not been harmed, was up like a flash, running from
the fearful thing as fast as his short legs would carry him.

"Oh, that's too bad!"  exclaimed Tad.

He did not refer to the accident to his companion, which he
considered as too trivial to notice, but rather to the sufferings of
the animal.  Tad felt a deep sympathy for any dumb animal that was in
trouble, no matter if it were a bear which would have shown him no
mercy had they met face to face.

"Professor, let me have your revolver please," he cried.

"What for?"

"I want to put the brute out of his misery.  Please do!"

"There are no more shells in it."

"Then load it.  I'm going to get Pink-eye.  Hurry, hurry!  Can't you
see how the miserable creature is suffering?"

The lad darted away for his pony, while Professor Zepplin, sharing
something of the boy's own feelings, hurried to his tent and
recharged his weapon.

He had no more than returned when Tad came dashing up on Pink-eye.

"Where is he?  Do you see him?"

"Over there, I can see the fire in the bushes," answered Ned Rector.

"Quick, give me the gun," demanded Tad.

"Wait, I'll go with you," said Ned.

"No, remain where you are," ordered Professor Zepplin.  "Some of you
will surely be shot.  Thaddeus, remember, you are not to go far from
camp."

Tad was off in a twinkle.  Putting the spurs to Pink-eye, the animal
leaped from the camp and disappeared among the trees.

"I am afraid I should not have allowed him to go," announced the
Professor, with a doubtful shake of his head.  But it was too late
now for regrets.

Tad found the going rough.  He soon made out the flaming animal just
ahead of him.  The beast was down rolling from side to side in a
frantic effort to put out the fire that was burning into his flesh.

Tad could not understand why the fur should make so much flame.  He
spurred the pony as near to the animal as he could get.  Then he saw
that the bear had become entangled in the guy ropes, and that he was
pulling along with him portions of the burning canvas, attached to
the ropes.  It was this which made the animal a living torch.

The pony in its fright was rearing and plunging, bucking and
squealing so that the lad had difficulty in keeping his seat.

"Steady, steady, Pink-eye," he soothed.

For an instant the broncho ceased its wild antics and stood
trembling with fear.

"Bang!"

Tad had aimed the heavy revolver and pulled the trigger.

Instantly the pony went up into the air again and the lad gripped
its sides with his legs, giving a gentle pressure with the spurs.

"Whoa, Pink-eye!  I hit Mm, I did.  I aimed for his head, but I must
have merely grazed it.  I wish I could kill the brute and put him out
of his misery," said the lad more concerned for the suffering animal
before him than for his own safety.

No sooner had he fired the first shot, than the bear sprang to its
feet and sped away up a steep bank.  Tad noticed that the bear's
rolling had extinguished some of the fire, but he knew that it was
still burrowing in the beast's fur, causing him great agony.

"I am too far away to hit him.  I've got to get closer," decided the
boy.  "Pink-eye, do you think you can make that climb?"

The pony shook its head and rattled the bits in its mouth.

"All right, old chap, try it."

A cluck and a gentle slap on the broncho's flanks sent him straight
for the steep bank.  At first his feet slipped under him; he
stumbled, righted himself and digging in the slender hoofs fairly
lifted himself up and up.  In the meantime Mr. Bruin was making
better progress.  He seemed unable to escape from the fire, but he
could get away from this new enemy, the gun in the hands of the boy
on the horse.

Every little while as he found he had gained on his pursuer the bear
would throw himself down, and with snarls and angry growls, take a
few awkward rolls; then be up and off again.

Once more the lad thought he was near enough to take another shot.

Releasing the reins and dropping them to the pony's neck, he
steadied the hand that held the gun with the left and fired.

"Oh, pshaw, I missed him!"  he groaned.  "That's too bad.  I'm only
adding to his misery.  Next time I'll get nearer to him before I try
to shoot."

He went at Pink-eye, applying every method with which he was
familiar to increase the pony's speed.  Pink-eye responded as best he
could, and began climbing the hill that had now developed into a
fair sized mountain, making even more rapid headway than the bear
himself.

"Good boy," encouraged Tad.  "We'll overhaul him if you can keep that
up.  Steady now.  Don't slip or you'll tumble me down the hill and
yourself, too.  Steady, Pink-eye.  W-h-o-e-e!"

"Bang!"

The bear was running broadside to him and the lad could not resist
taking another shot at it.  Like the previous effort, however, he had
failed.

Tad tittered an exclamation of disgust and put spurs to the pony.

"I never did know how to handle a revolver," he complained.  "I'll
begin to practise with this gun to-morrow if I get out of this
scrape safely."

He had failed to take into consideration that a bear was an
extremely difficult animal to kill, and that frequently one of them
could carry many bullets in its body without seeming to be bothered
at all.

But the lad was determined to get this one.  He had not thought of
where he was going nor how far from camp he had strayed.  His one
desire now was to get the animal and put a quick end to it.

This time Tad was enabled to get closer to Bruin than at any time
during the chase.  He drove the pony at a gallop right up alongside
of the animal.

Leaning over he aimed the gun at the beast's head, holding it firmly
with both hands.

Tad gave the trigger a quick, firm pressure.  A sharp explosion
followed.

At the same instant, Pink-eye in a frightened effort to get clear of
the bear, leaped to one side.  The lad, leaning over from the saddle,
was taken unawares, and making a desperate effort to grasp the
saddle pommel, Tad was hurled sideways to the ground.

"Whoa, Pink-eye!"  he commanded sharply as he was falling.  But
Pink-eye refused to obey.  The pony uttered a loud snort and plunged
into the bushes.  There he paused, wheeled, and peered out
suspiciously at the boy and the bear.

Tad's shot had gone home.  His aim had been true.  Yet the sting of
the bullet served only to anger the bear still further.  With an
angry growl, it turned and charged the lad ferociously.

In falling, the plucky boy had struck on his head and shoulders, the
fall partially stunning him.  For an instant, he pivoted on his head,
then toppling over on his back, he lay still.

Powerless to move a muscle, the lad was dimly conscious of a hulking
figure standing over him, its hot breath on his face.  His right hand
clutched the revolver, but he seemed unable to raise it.

A loud explosion sounded in Tad Butler's ears, then sudden darkness
overwhelmed him.




CHAPTER VI

LOST IN THE ROSEBUD RANGE


"Whoa, Pink-eye!"  muttered the lad, stirring restlessly.  "I'll get
him next time.  Look out, he's charging us.  Oh!"

The boy suddenly opened his eyes.  The darkness about him was deep
and impenetrable and he was conscious of a heavy weight on his
chest.  What it was, he did not know, and some moments passed before
he had recovered sufficiently to form an intelligent idea of what
had happened.

All at once he recollected.

"It was the bear," he murmured.  "I wonder if I am dead!"

No, he could feel the ground under him, and a rock that his right
hand rested on, felt cold and chilling.  But what of the pressure on
his chest?

Cautiously the lad moved a hand toward the object that was holding
him down.  His fingers lightly touched it.

Tad could scarce repress a yell.

It was the head of the bear that was resting on him, and he had no
idea whether the animal were dead or asleep, awaiting the moment
when the lad should stir again to fasten its cruel teeth into his
body.

The boy was satisfied, however, that by exerting all his strength he
would be able to pull himself away before the beast could awaken,
even, providing it were still alive.

First he sought cautiously for his weapon, his fingers groping about
over the ground at his right hand.  He could not find it.  Undoubtedly
it had fallen underneath the bear.

Tad determined to mate a desperate effort to escape.  He felt as if
his hair were standing on end.

With a cry that he could not keep back, the lad whirled over and
sprang to his feet.  As he did so he leaped away, running with all
his might until he had put some distance between himself and the
prostrate animal.

Realizing that he was not being followed, Tad brought up sharply and
dodged behind a tree.  There he stood listening intently for several
minutes.

Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night.  The leaves of the
trees hung limp and lifeless, for no breeze was stirring.

"I wonder if he's dead," whispered the lad, almost afraid to trust
his voice out loud.  "Maybe that shot finished him.  I must find out
somehow."

Tad searched his clothes for matches, finally finding his match
safe.  Next he sought to gather some sticks with which to make a
torch, but the only wood he was able to find was of oak and so green
that it would not burn.

"That's too bad," he muttered.  "I'll have to try it with the
matches."

Lighting one he picked his way carefully toward the place where he
had been lying, peering into the shadows ahead of him suspiciously
as he went.

"There he is," breathed Tad.

He could faintly make out the figure of the bear lying half on its
side as it had been before, the only difference being that the
animal's head was stretched out on the ground instead of on the
lad's chest.

"I believe he's dead.  He must be or he'd have been after me before
this," decided the boy.  "I 'm going to find out."

Mustering his courage, Tad continued his cautious approach, lighting
match after match, shading the flame with his hands so that the
light would not get into his eyes and prevent him from seeing
anything ahead of him.

It required no little courage for a boy alone in the mountains to
walk up to a bear, not knowing whether the animal were dead or
alive.  Yet when Tad Butler made up his mind to do a certain thing,
he persisted until he had accomplished it.

He reached the side of the animal, that is, close enough so that he
could get a good view of it.

The bear never moved and Tad drew closer, walking on his toes that
he might make no sound.  There seemed no other way to make certain
except to stir the animal.

"I'll do it," whispered Tad.

Cautiously lighting another match he drew back his left foot and
administered a sound kick to the beast's side.

Thinking that the bear had moved under the blow, Tad whirled and ran
tittering a loud "Oh!"

He waited, but could hear no sound.

"I believe I am afraid of myself.  That bear hasn't stirred at
all.  I'm going back this time and make sure."

He did.  But this time, steeling himself to the task, Tad stood still
after he had prodded the beast with his foot again.  There was no
movement other than a slight tremor caused by the impact of the
kick.

"Hurrah, I've shot a bear!"  cried the lad in the excess of his
excitement.  "I wonder what the boys will say.  The next question is
how am I going to get him back to camp?"

Tad pondered over this problem some moments.

"I know," he cried.  "I'll hitch a rope to him and make Pink-eye tow
him out.  But where is that pony?"

All at once the realization came to him that the pony had thrown him
off.  That was the last he had seen of Pink-eye.

Tad whistled and called, listening after each attempt without the
slightest result.

"He's gone.  I've got to find my way back as best I can.  The worst of
it is I may be a long way from camp, but I guess I can find my way
with the compass all right."

The compass, however, was nowhere to be found.  The lad went through
his pockets twice in search of it.

"Pshaw!  Just my luck.  I'm as bad at losing things as Chunky is in
falling in.  I'll get the gun anyway, for the Professor will be
provoked if I go back without it.  Ah, there it is."

Tad picked up the weapon joyfully.

"I've got something to defend myself with, at least," he told
himself.  A moment later when he discovered that the weapon held
nothing but empty shells, the keen edge of his joy was dulled.

"Well, it's better to pack back an empty gun than no gun at all," he
decided philosophically.  "Let me see, I think we came up that way.
They'll build a big fire so I can see it and I ought to be there
within half an hour at least."

The lad struck out confidently.  He had been lost in the wilderness
before, and though he felt a slight uneasiness he had no doubt of
his ability to find the camp eventually.

He walked vigorously for half an hour.  Then he halted.  The same
impressive silence surrounded him.

"I think I have been going a little too far to the left," he
decided.  He changed his course and plodded on methodically again.

Another half hour passed and once more the lad paused, this time
with the realization strong upon him that he had lost his way.

Placing both hands to his mouth Tad uttered a long drawn
"C-o-o-e-e-e!"  He listened intently, then repeated the call.

The sound of his own voice almost frightened him.

"Oh, I'm lost!"  he cried, now fully appreciating his position.

The panic of the lost seized him and Tad ran this way and that,
plunging ahead for some distance, then swerving to the right or to
the left in a desperate attempt to free himself from the endless
thicket, bruising his body from contact with the trunks of the trees
and cutting his hands as they struck the rocks violently when he fell.

"Tad Butler, you stop this!"  he commanded sternly, bringing himself
up sharply.  "I didn't think you were such a silly kid as to be
afraid of the dark."  But in his innermost heart the lad knew that it
was not the shadows that had so upset him.  It was the feeling of
being lost in an unknown forest.

Instead of being in the foothills as he had supposed, he was
penetrating the fastnesses of the Rosebud Mountains themselves.

"There is no use in my going on like this," he decided
finally.  "I'll sit down and wait for daylight.  That's all I can
do.  I surely can find my way back to camp when the light comes
again."

The next question was where should he go--where find a safe place
to stay until morning.  Tad remembered with a start that there were
bears in the range.  He knew this from his own recent experience.  How
many other savage beasts there might be in the woods he did not
know.  He had heard some one speak of mountain lions, and having seen
these before, he fervently hoped he might not have another
experience with them, unarmed as he was.

"If this gun only were loaded, I should feel better."

After searching around for some time, Tad found a ledge that seemed
to rise to a considerable height.  Up this he clambered.  It would
give him a good view in the morning anyway, besides protecting him
from any prowling animals that might chance in that part of the
forest.

Tad ensconced himself in a slight depression, and with a flat rock
for a resting place, leaned back determined to make the best of his
position.

A gentle breeze now stirred the foliage above his head and all about
him until the sound became a restless murmur, as if Nature were
holding council over the lad's predicament.

The lost boy did not so interpret the sounds, however.  He made a
more practical application of them.

"It's going to rain," he decided wisely, casting a glance above him
at the sky, which was becoming rapidly overcast.  "And I haven't any
umbrella," he added, grinning at his own feeble joke.  "Well, I've
been wet before.  I cannot well be any more so than I was last
night.  I'll bet the rainwater will be warmer than the waters in the
East Fork.  If it isn't I'll surely freeze to death."

Fortunately he had worn his coat when he left the camp, else he
would now have suffered from the cold.  As it was, he shivered, but
more from nervousness than from the chill night air.

"Yoh--hum, but I'm sleepy," he murmured drowsily.  A moment more
and his head had drooped to one side and Tad Butler was sleeping as
soundly as if tucked away between his own blankets back in his tent
in the foothills.




CHAPTER VII

ALMOST BETRAYED BY A SNEEZE


Tad awakened with a start.

His first impression was that he smelled smoke, and for the moment
he believed himself back in camp.  A movement convinced him of his
error.  A jagged point of rock had cut into his flesh while he
slept.  He almost cried out with the pain of it, and as he moved a
little to shift his body from it, the wound hurt worse than ever.

The lad was still surrounded by an impenetrable darkness.  It all
came back to him--but standing out stronger than all the rest was
the fact that he was lost.

"Wonder how long I've slept," he muttered.  "Seems as if I had been
here a year.  Lucky I awoke or I'd been stuck fast on that rock, for
good and all.  Whew!  B-r-r-r!  I think it's going to snow.  Thought it
was going to rain just before I went to sleep.  Wonder if they have
snow up here in the summer time.  Have almost everything else,"
continued the lad, muttering to himself, half under his breath.

Slowly rising he shook himself vigorously and rubbed his palms
together to get his circulation stirred up.

"Hello, what's that?  I remember now, I smelled smoke or thought I
did."

Tad sniffed the chill air suspiciously.

"It is smoke," he decided.  "Maybe I've set the woods on fire with my
matches.  Guess I'll climb down and investigate."

He started to move down the side of the ledge when it occurred to
him that perhaps it would be better to investigate from where he
was; he did not know what danger he might be running into if he were
to climb down without first having made sure that it was perfectly
safe to do so.  Just what he might meet with he did not know.  But he
felt an uneasy sense of impending danger.

"Often feel that way when I first wake up, especially if I've been
eating pie the night before," he confided to himself, in order to
urge his courage back to life.

Bending forward he peered from side to side, but was unable to find
a single trace of light, anywhere about him.  If it were a fire it
must be some distance away, he concluded.

"If it were some distance away, I wouldn't smell it.  The wind has
died down.  No, the fire that smoke comes from is right near by me,"
he whispered.

The sense of human habitation near him caused his pulses to beat
more rapidly.  The question that remained for him to decide, was who
was it that had started the fire?

Tad Butler determined to find out if possible, and at once.

He crept cautiously to the right, feeling his way along the ledge,
not being sure how near he was to the edge.  He found it more
suddenly than he had expected, and narrowly missed falling over head
first.

"Whew!  That was a close call," he muttered.  "I must be more
careful."

There was no sign of either smoke or fire below him, as he observed
after getting his balance again.  He drew back cautiously and worked
his way to the side that he had been facing, yet with no better
result than before.

There yet remained two sides to be investigated--the one he had
climbed up and the other that lay to the left of him.  Tad chose the
latter as the most likely to give him the information he
sought.  However, he found that the edge lay some distance away.  The
table of rock was much wider than he had imagined, when he first
ascended to it.

The way was rough.  Once the lad's foot slipped into a crevice.  In
seeking to withdraw it he gave the ankle a wrench that caused him to
settle down on the rocks with a half moan of pain.  His shoe had
become wedged in between the rocks so that he had difficulty in
withdrawing it at all, and the injured ankle gave him a great deal
of pain as he struggled to release himself.

"Guess I'll have to take off my shoe.  Hope I haven't sprained my
ankle.  I'll be in a fine mess if I have," he grumbled.

The ankle gave him considerable trouble; but he rubbed it all of ten
minutes, and he found that he could endure his shoe again.  He was
full of curiosity as well as anxiety to learn the cause of the
smoke, which, by this time, seemed to be coming his way in greater
volume.

After having relaced the shoe and leggin, Tad started on again, this
time on all fours, not trusting himself to try to walk, feeling his
way ahead of him with his hands, which he considered the safer way
to do.

"There's somebody down there," he whispered, after a long interval
of slow creeping over the rocks.  "I wonder who it is?  Perhaps they
are looking for me.  I'll give them a surprise if they are."

The surprise, however, was to be Tad's.

At last he reached the edge of the little butte.  Slowly stretching
his neck and lying flat on his stomach, he peered over.

A cloud of black smoke rolled up into his face, causing the lad to
withdraw hastily.

"Aka-c-h-e-w," sneezed Tad, burying his face in his hands.

"Whew, what a smudge!  I'll bet they heard that sneeze."

"What's that?"  demanded a gruff voice below.  "Sounded like somebody
sneezing."

"No, it's an owl," replied another.  "I've heard that kind
before.  Sometimes you'd think it was a fellow snoring."

"Must be funny kind of a bird," grunted the first speaker.

"He's right.  That's exactly what I am," growled Tad, who had plainly
overheard their conversation.  Yet he was thankful that the men below
had not realized the truth.  Tad was quite willing to be mistaken for
a bird under the circumstances.

After making sure that the men were not going to investigate the
sound, the boy crept again toward the edge, working to the right a
little further this time, so that the smoke might not smite him full
in the face as had been the case before.

There were four of them--strangers.  The boy observed that they were
dressed like cowboys, broad brimmed hats, blue shirts and all.  From
the belt of each was suspended a holster from which protruded the
butt of a heavy revolver.

"Cowboys," he breathed.  "At least they ought to be and I hope they
are nothing else."

The lad's attention was fixed particularly on one of the party.  He
was all of six feet tall, powerfully built, his swarthy face covered
with a scraggly growth of red beard, and with a face of a peculiarly
sinister appearance.

"When do they expect the herd?"  asked the first speaker.

"Be here the day after tomorrer I reckon," answered the man with the
red beard.

"How many?"

"They say there's five thousand sheep in the herd, but it's more'n
likely there'll be ten when they git here."

"Huh!"  grunted the other.

"There'll be less when we git through with them."

"You bet."

"Boss Simms will be mad.  He'll be ripping, when we clean him out."

Two of the men rose at the big fellow's direction and stalked off
into the bushes to attend to their ponies, which the lad could hear
stirring restlessly, but could not see.

"Simms!"  breathed Tad.  "What does this mean? Those men are up to
some mischief.  I know it.  I must find out what it is they are
planning to do."

Tad learned a few moments later, but in his attempts to overhear
what the plans of these strange men were, he nearly lost his own
life.




CHAPTER VIII

INTO THE ENEMY'S CAMP


"Has Simms been warned that he'd better keep them out of this here
territory?"  asked one.

"Yes."

"Who told him?"

"Bob Moore, who owns the Double X Ranch on the west side of the
range.  I saw to that," announced the man with the beard.

Tad decided that he was the leader of the party, but it was not yet
clear what they were planning to do.  Yet he knew that if he listened
long enough something was sure to be dropped that would give him a
clue to the mystery.

"Bob's mad as a trapped bear over it.  Swears he'll kill every sheep
in the country before he'll let Simms drive in the new herd and
graze it here."

"Suppose you put it into his head proper like to do something?"
laughed one.

"Well, I did talk it over with him a bit," admitted the leader.  "But
he wasn't hard to show."

"When is the thing coming off?"

"We haven't decided yet.  We four will talk that over.  Perhaps the
same night they get in.  They'll be restless then and easy to
start."

"But won't the foreman corral the sheep?"

"Don't think so.  Haven't room.  They haven't fixed up a new
corral, because they expected to graze the sheep on north.  That many
will clean up the range right straight ahead of us for more'n a
hundred miles, so that we cattle men won't have half a chance to
graze our cattle," grinned the spokesman of the party.

His companions laughed harshly.

"I reckon," answered another.  "We'll have all the cattle men on
both sides of the Rosebud range so stirred up that they will pitch
into that flock like hyenas who haven't had a square meal since snow
fell last.  When they break loose there's going to be fun, now I
tell you.  That's the time we get busy.  We ought to be able to get
a thousand of them anyhow.  Before next morning we'll be so far down
toward the Big Horn range that they won't catch us.  And besides,
after the cattle men get through killing mutton, a thousand more or
less won't be missed.  It'll make a nice bunch to add to our flock.
If we work that a few times we'll have enough to make a shipment
worth while."

"So that's the game is it?"  muttered Tad Butler.  "Well, they won't
do it if I can help it."  Yet be realized how powerless he was at
that moment to defeat their nefarious plans.

Somehow they were going to urge the real cattle men to use
highhanded measures to destroy Mr. Simms's flock.  They were going to
scatter them, and then these men were going to make off with all
they could drive away.  It did not seem to the listening boy that
such things were possible; yet Mr. Simms was authority for the
statement that such acts were not unknown in this far northern
state.

There were still many points that Tad was not clear on, but he had
heard enough to enable him to give the rancher a timely warning of
what they proposed to do.

The lad knew what that meant.  It meant trouble.  His sympathies had
been largely with the cattle men--he had looked down on the sheep
industry and for the reason that he knew only what the cattle men
had told him about it.

At that moment Tad Butler was experiencing a change of heart.  That
they could plan ruthlessly to slaughter the inoffensive little
animals passed his comprehension.  A remark below him caused the lad
to prick up his ears and listen intently.

"As I came over the Little Muddy this afternoon, I thought I saw
some sort of a camp in the foothills," said a voice.  "Thought mebby
that might be the outfit, though I couldn't see what they were doing
on that side of the range."

"Oh," laughed the big man, "I know the one you mean.  Yes, I took a
look at that outfit myself."

"Oh, he did, eh?  Wonder we didn't see him," grunted Tad, realizing
that the men referred to the camp of the Pony Riders.  "There was
something besides bears around there, I see."

"Find out what it was!"

"Yes, it seemed to be a camp of boys.  There was only one man in the
bunch so far as I could see.  He was a tall gent with whiskers that
hadn't been shaved for two weeks o' Sundays."

Tad could not repress a laugh.

"I wish the boys could hear that," he said, laughing softly.  "That
hits off the Professor better than a real picture could do."

"Huh!  What were they doing!"

"You can search me for the answer.  I haven't got it," laughed the
big fellow.  "We don't need to bother about them.  They're out here
with some crazy idea in their tops.  They can't interfere with our
plans any."

"You'd better not be too sure about that," chuckled Tad.  "Perhaps
one of them may if he has the good luck to get out of here without
being discovered."

"What's the plan, Bluff?"

"So that's his name?  I'll remember that," muttered Tad.

"That's what I wanted you boys to meet me here for.  I want you to
see all the ranchers before to-morrow night on both sides of the
Rosebud.  Understand now, no blunt giving away of the game.  You want
to start by telling them you hear Boss Simms is bringing in ten
thousand head of sheep, and that he's going to graze them up the
valley all the way over the free grass to the north.  Tell them that
it'll be mighty poor picking for the cows and so on until you get
'em good and properly mad----"

"Yes, what then?"

"Better let the ranchers make threats first, then you can say that
you hear the others are going to teach Boss Simms a lesson and
stampede his flock to-morrow or next night.  Say you hear the word
will go out when the mine is ready to touch a match to.  You'll know
how to work it?"

"Sure thing, Bluff.  Who do you want us to see?"

"I want you and Jake to take the west side of the mountains.  Lazy
and I will take the east.  Work it thoroughly and don't you go to
making any bad breaks.  Right after the job is over, besides the
sheep we get for our own herd, there'll be a few thousand laying
dead around these parts.  We'll take the contract to skin them for
the hides.  That'll be another rake off.  Do you follow me?"

"Yes."

"To-morrow night meet me at the Three Sisters and I'll be able to
give you your orders for the rest of the boys."

"You don't think they'll suspect you--that they'll be wise to what
the game is?"  asked one of the men apprehensively.

"No fear of that.  They'd never mix me up with any such deal as
that.  I'm a respectable law abiding rancher, I am," laughed the man
with the red beard.  "Don't you go to getting cold feet.  That's the
sure way to get caught," admonished the leader.

"Want us to start now?"

"No, sure not.  What's the use?  We'd better turn in and get some
sleep.  It'll be light enough by three o'clock in the morning.  We'll
get a rasher of bacon and some hot coffee, then we'll light out for
the valley.  You know you don't have to see Bob Moore.  And better not
go near the Circle T Ranch.  I'm not any too sure about those
fellows.  We'll turn in now."

"I've heard enough to hang the whole bunch," thought Tad
Butler.  "The trouble is I don't know who they are.  But that does not
make so much difference.  Only if I did know, Mr. Simms might be able
to have them arrested.  As it is, I guess the best he can do is to
get ready to fight them off when they do come," reasoned the lad.

"Better stake the ponies nearer camp in case anything comes along.  I
came across bear tracks a few miles to the east of here," the big
man advised them.

"So did I," thought Tad.

"I forgot to tell you that there'll be three or four Crow braves
with us on the raid as well as half a dozen Blackfeet?"

"Blackfeet?  What are them redskins doing down here, off the
reservation?"  demanded Jake.

"They're like all critters, think the pasture over the fence is
better'n their own," laughed Bluff.  "Guess there's no need of any of
us keeping awake.  We ain't likely to have any surprises."

The cowboy outlaw, however, was about to have the most surprising of
surprises that could have come to him at that time.

Tad, in his anxiety to catch every word that was uttered, had drawn
his body close up to the edge of the cliff, his head and shoulders
hanging well over.

In front of him, right down to the camp stretched a long, sloping
rock, whose smooth face, glistened in the light of the camp fire.  As
the men rose to prepare for the night, Tad began pulling himself
cautiously back, bracing himself with one hand.

Suddenly the hand slipped.  How it happened he was unable to tell
afterward, but instantly Tad was over the rock and tobogganing down
its side head first.

A spot rougher than the rest of the rock, caught in his clothes,
righting the boy's body, permitting him to shoot down the rest of
the way, feet first.

The Pony Rider Boy's presence of mind did not desert him for an
instant.  It was not a long drop.  He felt that he would land safely,
providing he did not turn again and land on his head instead of his
feet.  It was a chance very liable to happen, as he knew from his
experience of a second before.

They heard him coming, but did not catch the significance of it.

"What's that!"  exclaimed Bluff, springing up in alarm.

"I don----"

"Y-e-o-w!"

Tad had uttered the shrill scream.  With great presence of mind he
hoped to take them so by surprise that they would hesitate for the
few seconds, and that in this delay he would be able to get away.

The lad's feet struck the ground, his body plunged forward and he
fell sprawling at the very feet of the men he was seeking to get
away from.

"Catch him!  It's a man!"  roared the leader.

With one accord they sprang for the prostrate form of Tad Butler.




CHAPTER IX

TAD OUTWITS HIS PURSUERS


Tad was lithe and supple.  As the champion wrestler of the high
school, back in his home town in Missouri, he was possessed of many
tricks that had proved useful to him on more than one occasion since
the Pony Riders set out on their summer's jaunt.

"Y-e-o-w!"  yelled the lad in a high-pitched, piercing voice,
intended to confuse his enemy.  And it served its purpose well.

As the men leaped upon him, Tad raised himself to all fours, his
back slightly arched.  In this position he ran on hands and feet like
a monkey, darting straight between the legs of the man with the
beard.

The big man flattened himself on the ground face downward, while
Tad, who had tripped him, was well outside the ring.  In an instant
the leader's fellows had dropped on him and the four men were
floundering helplessly, in what, to all appearances, might have been
a football scrimmage.

Tad was not yelling now.  He was fairly flying, running on his toes
and seeking to do so without making the slightest sound.

The men quickly untangled themselves and with yells of rage bounded
from their camp in search of the one who had caused so much
disturbance.  It had all happened so quickly that they had not
succeeded in getting a good look at their tormentor.

"It's a boy!"  roared Bluff.  "Catch him.  No, shoot!  Don't let him get
away!"

"Where is he!"

"I don't know.  Fan the bushes, fan everything.  We've got to get
him!"

"Keep it up.  Do you see him?"

"No."

As Tad heard the bullets snipping the leaves over his head, he
instinctively ducked and, turning sharply to the left, skulked
through the trees.  By the flickering light of the camp fire he had
seen something that gave him a sudden idea.

"Watch out.  There he is?"

"Where, where?"

"There, by the ponies.  Give it to him!"  cried Jake.

"Stop, you fools!"  thundered the leader.  "Do you want to kill the
bronchs?  Get after him.  What are you standing there like a lot of
dumbheads for?"

"I see him.  I kin pink him," yelled one of the four.

"I said go after him.  Not a shot in that direction!"  commanded
Bluff.

Tad bad caught a glimpse of the ponies.

"I'm going to try it," he breathed.

No thought of wrong entered his mind.  He was about to take a horse
that did not belong to him.  He knew his life was at stake and that
having overheard their plans he would be sure to suffer were he to
fall into their hands.

"It's not stealing.  It's just fighting them on their own ground,"
gasped the boy, tugging desperately at the stake rope in an effort
to free the first pony he came to.

The leash resisted all his efforts.

Out came the lad's jack knife.  One sweep and the rope fell
apart.  They had discovered him.  Every second was precious now.  He
was thankful that the men had removed neither bridles nor saddles,
though he knew the bit was hanging from the animal's mouth.

But Tad cared little for this.  He could manage the pony, he felt
sure.  With a yell of defiance he leaped into the saddle and dug his
fist into the animal's side, uttering a shrill, "yip-yip!"

The pony, responding to the demands of its rider, sprang away
through the forest, putting the lad in imminent peril of being swept
off by low hanging limbs.

"He's getting away.  He's got one of the ponies.  Give it to him now,
but don't hit the rest of the cayuses!"  yelled the leader in high
excitement.

Tad had it in mind to liberate the other animals and start them off
on a stampede.  It was the fault of the outlaw cowboys that he did
not.  They discovered his whereabouts sooner than he had hoped they
might.  It was all he could do to get one pony free and mount in
time, for they were running toward him at top speed.

Instantly, upon their leader giving them the order to fire, the men
raised their weapons, taking quick, careful aim, and pulled the
triggers.

Their bullets whistled far above the head of the fleeing boy, as the
ground was sloping and he was traveling downward rapidly.

"Keep it up.  You may get in a chance shot.  No, stop.  Take to the
ponies."

Three of them, including the leader, cast loose the remaining
animals, and springing upon their backs, spurred the bronchos into a
run.  They were in hot pursuit of the lad now, with freshly loaded
guns ready to fire the instant they came within range of him.

Tad's pony was crashing through the brush, making such a racket that
there could be no trouble about their keeping on the trail.  They
needed no light by which to follow it unerringly.

The boy soon came to a realization of this.  Then again the men were
so much more familiar with mountain riding that he felt sure they
would eventually overhaul him.  Even now they were gaining.  There
could be no doubt of that.

"I'll ride as long as I can, then I'll try to get away from them
some other way," he decided.

The moment was rapidly approaching when he would be forced to resort
to other tactics.  Just what these should be he did not know.  He
would either be shot or captured in the event of his being unable to
devise some other method of escape.

Tad Butler was resourceful.  He had no idea of giving up yet.  He was
determined above all, to defeat the desperate purpose of these men
and save Mr. Simms from the loss of his flock.

"We're gaining on him!"  cried one of the pursuers.  "I can hear the
pony plainer now."

"Yes, I kin hear him snort," added another.

"You'll hear that cub doing some snorting on his own account in a
minute," snarled Bluff, applying the spurs mercilessly.

"Shall we shoot, Cap!"

"I'll let you know when to shoot.  No use filling all the trees in
the range full of lead.  We'll be up with him in a few minutes now
and there'll be things doing.  He can't get away.  We've got him to
rights this time."

"He's a slick one whoever he is.  Think he heard us?"

"Can't guess.  Don't make any difference anyhow.  He won't have a
chance to use the information, if he did hear."

"We're coming up on him," cried Jake.

"Halt!"  bellowed the leader.

The pony in the lead did not slacken its speed in the least.

Bluff repeated his command, but still without perceptible result.

"Halt or we shoot!"

Tad Butler made no reply.  He was leaning far over on the pony's neck
now.  In this position he was less likely to be swept off by limbs,
and, again, were they to fire on him as they had threatened, there
was a much better chance of the shots going harmlessly over, instead
of through him.  Thus far their marksmanship had been poor.

This was the second time the lad had been under fire, the first
having been in the battle of the mountaineers, when the Pony Riders
were in the Rocky Mountains, on which occasion Tad had conducted
himself with such coolness and bravery.

Tad realized no fear, however.  It thrilled him.  A strange sense of
elation possessed him.  He felt strong and resourceful--he felt that
he would be willing to do or dare almost anything.

"Let him have it!"  commanded the leader sternly.

The men obeyed instantly.

Their weapons sent a rattling fire in the direction of the fleeing
broncho.

"Halt!  Will you halt!"

The pony still plunged on.

"Once more!"

The men fired again, two rounds each.

This time they heard the pony plunge crashing to the ground.  His
rapid course had come to a sudden end.

The pursuers set up a yell of triumph.

"He's down!  He's down!  We've got him!"

"Give him another one!"

To make sure that their man should not escape they fired their
weapons again.

The pursuers dashed up with drawn revolvers, ready to shoot at the
least sign of resistance.

Bluff leaped from his pony and struck a match.

Tad's mount lay dying in the brush.

"There's no one here," said Bluff, his face working nervously.

Of Tad Butler there was no sign.  He had disappeared utterly.




CHAPTER X

THE RIDE FOB HELP


"There's Pink-eye!"  exclaimed Ned Rector.

"Is it possible?"  answered the Professor.  "Then something has
happened to Tad."

"Mebby--mebby the bear's got him," suggested Stacy Brown, his face
blanching.

All through the night the little party had sat up anxiously awaiting
the return of their companion, who had set out after the bear.  The
tent had been ruined, but they found that the rifles had not been
harmed at all, having been stacked in front of the small tents.

Early in the morning the three boys and Professor Zepplin had
followed Tad's trail for some distance into the foothills, but
feared to penetrate too far for fear of getting lost.  The Professor
reasoned that it would be much better to return to camp and give Tad
a chance to find his way in in case he himself should prove to have
been lost.

This the boys had done, but they were impatient to be doing
something more active.  Ned Rector was fairly fuming, because their
guardian would not permit him to set out alone in search of the
missing boy.

"No," the Professor had said; "if I did that with all of you, we
should have the whole party scattered over the mountains and it is
doubtful if we should all get together again before snow flies."

Yet when Tad's pony came trotting back to camp, the matter took on a
more serious aspect.  Something must be done and at once.

"Now, will you let me go, Professor?"  begged Ned.

"Not in those mountains alone, if that is what you mean."

"Then what can we do?"

"If the guide were only here!"  interjected Walter.  "Do you suppose I
could find him?"

"It will be useless to try, my boy.  About the only course we can
follow now, is that leading back to Forsythe, and I am not sure that
we shouldn't be lost doing that."

"Then we don't know it," retorted Ned.  "I know the trail.  I could go
back over it with my eyes shut.  Why would that not be the idea,
Professor?  Why not let me ride back to Forsythe?  Mr. Simms would
give us some one who knew the foothills and mountains and I could
bring him back."

"Let me see, how far is it?"  mused the Professor.

"Thirty miles, he said."

"Why, it would take you couple of days to make that and back."

"You try me and see.  I can get a fresh pony to come back with, and
if I do not return with the guide, what difference does it make?
He's the one you want.  But never fear, I'll be back with him between
now and morning if I have no bad luck," urged the lad earnestly.

"I am half inclined to agree to your plan.  If I were sure that you
knew the way----"

"It is not possible to get lost.  We have the compasses and we know
the direction in which Forsythe lies.  All we have to do is to travel
in an opposite direction from that by which we came."

"Supposing we all go!"  suggested Walter.

"Wouldn't do at all," answered the Professor, with an emphatic shake
of the head.  "Some one must remain here in case Tad returns.  That
boy will get back somehow.  I feel sure of that.  He is resourceful
and strong.  And besides, he has my revolver.  No; more than one on
the trip would be apt to delay rather than to help.  Master Ned, you
may go."   "Good!"  shouted the lad.  Bad-eye looked up almost
resentfully as the boy approached him on the run, threw on the
saddle and cinched the girths.

The hits were slipped into the animal's mouth, and, placing his left
foot in the stirrup, Ned threw himself into the saddle.

"I'm ready now," he said, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, as
he rode up to the little group.

"I'll show you that I'm not a tenderfoot even if I am from
Missouri," he laughed.

"Be careful," warned Professor Zepplin.

"Don't worry about me, and, Chunky, you look out for bears.  If Tad
should come in within the next half hour or so, you can fire off
your rifles to let me know.  Then I'll turn about and come
back.  Good-bye, all."

"Good-bye and good luck," they shouted.

Giving a gentle pressure to the spurs, Ned Rector started off on his
long ride at a brisk gallop.  Within a short time the lad had the
satisfaction of finding that he was emerging from the foothills.  He
then pulled up the pony and consulted his compass.  "Five points
north of east.  The Professor said that should take me back.  Besides
I remember that we came this way yesterday.  I'm going to save some
time by fording that fork without going the roundabout way we took
before."

Ned galloped on again.  Had it not been for his anxiety over Tad, he
would have enjoyed his ride to the fullest.  The morning was
glorious; the sun had not yet risen high enough to make the heat
uncomfortable; birds were singing and in spots where the sun had not
yet penetrated a heavy dew was glistening on foliage and grass.

Ned drew a long breath, drinking in the delicious air.

"This is real," he said.  "Nothing artificial about this.  I wish I
might stay here always."

The lad did not think of the deep snows and biting cold of the
northern winters there, winters so severe that hundreds of head of
sheep and cattle frequently perished from the killing weather.  He
saw nature only in her most peaceful mood.

He had ridden on for something more than two hours, when he came to
the East Fork, where they had had such an exciting experience two
nights before.  After a few moments' riding along the bank he
discovered the spot where they had made their camp on the opposite
side.

"I'm going to take a chance and ford right here," he decided.  "No, I
guess my mission is too important to take the risk.  If I should get
caught in there I should at least be delayed.  There's somebody else
who must be considered.  That's Tad."

Half a mile above, the lad found a place that he felt safe in
trying.  Luckily he got across without mishap.  He had found a rocky
bar without being aware of it, and the water while swift was shallow
enough so that by slipping his feet from the stirrups and holding
them up, he was able to ford the stream without even getting them
damp.

"I wonder why we didn't find this place the other night," he said
aloud.  "I guess we were in too big a hurry.  That's the trouble with
us boys.  We blunder along without using our heads.  But, I guess I
had better not boast until after I have gotten back safely from
Forsythe," he laughed.  "I may need some good advice myself before
that is accomplished."

The pony with ears laid back had settled to a long, loping gallop,
covering mile after mile without seeming to feel the strain in the
least.

Some distance beyond the Fork, Ned descried a horseman who had
halted on beyond him, evidently awaiting his approach.

Ned was not greatly concerned about this.  On the contrary, it was a
relief to see a human being.

The man hailed him as he drew up.  Ned noted the red beard and the
general sinister appearance of the man.

"How," greeted the stranger, tossing his hand to the lad.

"How," answered Ned in kind.

"Where you headed!"

"Forsythe."

"Stranger in these parts, I reckon?"

"Yes, sir."

"On a herd?"

"Expect to be soon.  Just finished a drive down in Texas."

"Cattle, of course?"

"Oh, yes."

"That's right.  This sheep business has got to stop.  I hear there's
going to be something doing round these parts pretty lively,"
grinned the stranger.

"What do you mean?"  asked the lad, peering sharply into the man's
face.

"Oh, nothing much," answered the other.  "Thought being as you were a
cowman it might interest you some."

"It does," replied the boy almost sharply.

"Well, guess the rest, then," laughed the stranger.  "Where'd you get
that pony?"

"Is that not rather a personal question?"  asked Ned, smiling coldly.

"Not in this country.  Kinder reminded me of a nag that belonged to
me.  He strayed away from my ranch a few weeks ago," said the fellow
significantly.

"It wasn't this pony," retorted Ned, flushing. "I bought this animal.
Good day, sir, I must be getting along."

"In a hurry, ain't ye?"

"I am," answered Ned, touching the spurs to the pony's sides and
galloping off.

"Hey, hold on a minute," called the stranger.

"Can't.  In too much of a hurry," replied Ned.

"I don't like the looks of that fellow at all," muttered the boy as
he rode on, instinctively urging his mount along at an increased
speed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the
curious stranger.

"Funny he should ask me that question about my pony.  However,
perhaps it is a peculiarity in this part of the country.  Wonder what
he meant by saying that there would be something doing here pretty
quick."

After a time Ned turned in his saddle and looked back.  The horseman
was standing as Ned had left him.  He was watching the boy.  Ned swung
his hand, and then turned, glad that he was well rid of the man.

Late in the afternoon, he saw the village of Forsythe just ahead of
him.  The boy could have shouted at the sight.

"Straight as you could shoot a bullet," he chuckled.  "I guess I can
follow the old Custer trail without getting lost."

He did not pause, but galloped on into the village and up the main
street, not halting until he had reached the bank with which
Mr. Simms was connected.

He was stiff and sore from the long, continuous ride, and as he
dismounted he found that he could scarcely stand.

After tethering the pony to the iron rod that had been fastened to
two posts, Ned walked into the bank.  Red-faced and dusty he
presented himself to the banker.  At first the latter did not appear
to recognize him.

"I am Ned Rector of the Pony Rider Boys," explained the lad.

Mr. Simms sprang up and grasped the boy cordially by the hand.

"This is a surprise.  You back so soon?  Why, is anything wrong!"

"Well, yes, there is," admitted Ned.

"Sit down and tell me about it."

Ned seated himself, but the effort hurt him and he winced a little.

"Stiffened up, eh?  Where did you come from?"

The lad explained and Mr. Simms uttered a soft whistle.

"Well, you have had a ride.  I didn't suppose you boys could ride
like that.  I suppose the guide found you?"

"We have seen nothing of him at all."

"Is it possible?  I should not have troubled myself to come back to
tell you had it not been for the fact that one of our boys is lost."

"Lost?"

"Yes.  At least we think so.  He has been away since early last
evening.  We should not have worried so much had not his pony
returned without him early this morning.  We dared not go far into
the mountains to search for him for fear of getting lost ourselves."

"You don't mean it?"

"Yes.  I came back to see if you could give me a man from here, or
get me one rather.  One who knows the mountains and who will ride
back with me at once."

"Of course I will.  You did perfectly right in coming to me
quickly.  My foreman is in town to-day.  He will be in shortly and I
think he will know of some one who will answer your purpose.  I wish
you had ridden to my ranch, however.  It would have been much
nearer."

"I didn't know where it was."

"Of course not."

"While waiting for the foreman, tell me about how it all happened?"
urged Mr. Simms.

Ned went over the events of the previous evening, in detail, to all
of which the banker gave an attentive ear.

Mr. Simms regarded him with serious face.

"You young men are having plenty of excitement, I must say.  Yes, you
are right.  Something must have happened to Master Tad.  He looks to
me like a boy who could be relied upon to look out for himself
pretty well, however," added the banker.

"He is.  We were afraid that perhaps he might have gotten into
trouble with the bear."

"Quite likely.  Do you plan on going back with the guide that we get
for you?"

"Certainly."

"Then you will need a fresh, pony.  I will have one brought around
for you when you are ready to start.  I should think, however, that
it would be best for you to remain over until tomorrow.  You'll be
lamed up for sure."

"No, I must go back.  I'll be lame all right, but it won't be the
first time.  I'm lame and sore now.  I've polished that saddle so you
could skate on it already," laughed Ned.

Mr. Simms laughed.

"I can understand that quite easily.  I've been in the saddle a good
share of my life, too.  There comes the foreman now."

The foreman of the Simms ranch, who bore the euphonious name of Luke
Larue, was a product of the West.  Six feet tall, straight, muscular,
with piercing gray eyes that looked out at one from beneath heavy
eyelashes, Ned instinctively recognized him as a man calculated to
inspire confidence.

He shook hands with the young man cordially, sweeping him with a
quick, comprehensive glance.

Mr. Simms briefly related all that Ned Rector had told him, and the
foreman glanced at the young man with renewed interest after
learning of the ride he had taken that morning.

"Pretty good for a tenderfoot, eh?"

Ned's bronzed face took on a darker hue as he blushed violently.

"I don't exactly call myself that now, sir," he replied.

"Right.  You say your friend chased a bear out!"

The lad nodded.

Luke shook his head.

"Bad.  Can he shoot?"

"Oh, yes.  But he had only a revolver--a heavy thirty-eight calibre
that belongs to Professor Zepplin."

"Nice toy to hunt bears with," laughed the foreman.  "Bear's probably
cleaned him up.  I'll get a man I know and I'll go back with you
myself.  We can run down the trail easily enough, but it will need
two trailers, one to follow the pony and the other the bear after
their trails separate," the foreman informed them wisely.

"Do--do--you think he has been killed?"   stammered Ned.

"I ain't saying.  It looks bad, that's all."

Ned forced a composure that he did not feel.  He started to ask a
further question, when there came a sudden interruption that brought
all three to their feet.




CHAPTER XI

A RACE AGAINST TIME


But to return to Tad and his experiences in seeking to elude his
pursuers.  The boy saw that it was a question of a few moments only
before they would surely overhaul him.  Already the bullets from
their revolvers were making their presence known about him.

"Getting too warm for me," decided the lad coolly.

It occurred to him to leave the pony and take his chances on
foot.  The animal did not belong to him and he would have to abandon
it sooner or later.

A volley closer than the rest emphasized his decision.  The lad freed
his feet from the stirrups and slipped from the saddle, at the same
time giving the pony a sharp slap, uttering a shrill little "yip!"
as the animal dashed away.

After this, Tad did not wait a second.  He ran obliquely away from
the pony.  This he thought would be better than turning sharply to
the left or right.  The next moment he came into violent contact with
the base of a tree.  He noted that it's trunk was a sloping one, and
without pausing to think of the wisdom of his act, the lad quickly
scrambled up it.

To his delight he found himself amid the spreading branches of a
pinon tree.  He wriggled in among the foliage, stretching himself
along a limb, where he clung almost breathless.  He had no sooner
gained that position than the pony went down under the fire of his
pursuers.

"Too bad," muttered Tad.  "It's a shame I had to desert the
broncho.  He did me a good service."

The men galloped by a few feet from the boy's hiding place and came
to a halt beside the prostrate pony.  His straining ears caught their
every word.

When they began to shoot, Tad flattened himself still more,
instinctively.  Some of the bullets passed close beneath him, and he
wished that he might have chosen a higher tree in which to hide.

Bang!

It seemed to have cut the leaves just behind his head.

Tad repressed a shiver and shut his lips tightly together.  He was
determined not to permit himself to feel any fear.

At last the men joined each other right under the tree in which he
was hiding.  Tad fairly held his breath.

"Well, what do you think, Cap?"

"Don't think.  I know.  The cayuse has given us the slip."

"No, not much use looking for him.  Better wait here till morning
then try to trail him down, if we don't find him laid out somewhere
in the bushes round here," suggested one.

"Yes, we might as well go back to camp.  We can't spend much time
looking for him in the morning.  We've got other work to do.  I wish I
knew just how much that fellow overheard.  Queerest thing I ever come
across, and I don't like it a little bit."

They removed the saddle and bridle from the dead pony, after which
they started slowly away.

Tad breathed again.  Yet he still lay along the pinon limb, every
sense on the alert.  He was not sure that it was not a trick to draw
him out.  He already was too good a woodsman to be caught napping
thus easily.

After a time, however, deciding that all the men had left, the lad
cautiously began to work his way down the sloping tree trunk.  His
feet touched the ground, his arms still being about the pinon
trunk.  In that position he lay for several minutes.

"I guess it's all right," decided Tad, straightening up.  "The
question is, which way shall I go?  I've got to be a long ways from
here by daylight or that will be the end of me.  It would be just my
luck to run right into that gang again."

After pondering a moment he decided that, knowing the direction the
men had taken, there was only one thing for him to do.  He would
strike out in the opposite direction.

He did so at once, first standing in one spot for some time to get
his bearings exactly.  Then, the lad started away bravely.  At first
he moved cautiously and as he got further away, increased his speed
and went on with less caution.

He kept bearing to the right to offset the natural tendency to stray
too far the other way, which is usual with those who are lost in the
forest.

Tad was tired and sore, but he did not allow himself to give any
thought to that.  His one thought now, was to get out of the forest
and give the alarm to the owner of the ranch against whom he had
heard the men plotting.

Hearing water running somewhere near, Tad realized that he was very
thirsty, and after a few minutes' search, he located a small
mountain stream.  Making a cup of his hands he drank greedily, then
took up his weary journey again.  Forcing his way through dense
patches of brush, stumbling into little gullies, becoming entangled
amongst fallen trees and rotting brush heaps, boy and clothes
suffered a sad beating.

Day dawned faintly after what had seemed an endless night.  The sky
which he could faintly make out through the trees above him, was of
a dull leaden gray, which slowly merged into an ever deepening
blue.  Off to his right he caught glimpses of patches of blue that
were lower down.

"I must be up in the mountains," said Tad aloud.  "I wonder how I
ever got up here."

This was a certain aid to him, however.  He reasoned that if the
valley lay to his right, he must be going nearly northward.  That
would lead him toward the place where he believed the Simms ranch
lay, and at the present moment that was Tad Butler's objective
point.  It might be losing valuable time were he to try to find his
way back to camp.

"I'll get down lower," he decided, turning sharply to the right and
descending the sloping side of the mountains.

Reaching the lower rocks, he found that he was more likely to lose
his way there than higher up.  He was now in the foothills.  There,
all sense of direction was lost.  So Tad, began ascending the
mountain.  He went up just far enough to enable him to see the blue
sky off to the right again, after which he forced his way along the
rocky slope.  It was tough traveling and he felt it in every muscle
of his body.

After plodding on for hours, he paused finally and listened.

"Thought I heard a bell tinkle," he muttered.  "I've heard of people
hearing such things when they were nearly crazed with hunger and
fatigue on the desert.  I wonder if I am going the same way.  Oh,
pshaw!  Tad Butler, you could keep on walking all day.  Don't be
silly," he said to himself encouragingly.

The tinkling bell was now a certainty.

"I know what it is!" exclaimed the lad joyously.  "It's sheep!  I've
heard them before.  I'm near sheep and that means there will be men
around.  It's sheepmen that I am looking for now."

With hat in hand, the boy dashed off down the mountain side, leaping
lightly from rock to rock, his red neck-handkerchief streaming in
the breeze behind him, as he followed an oblique course toward the
foothills.

All at once he burst out on to a broad, green mesa, and there,
before his delighted eyes was a great herd of snowy-white sheep
grazing contentedly.  Off on the further side of the flock he
descried a man lazily sitting in his saddle while a dog was rounding
up a bunch of stray lambs further to Tad's right.

The man was watching the work of the dog, so that he did not
discover the lad at once.

Tad decided that he would go around the herd to the left.  That
appeared to be the shortest way to reach him.  He did not wish to try
to go straight through the herd.

He had gone but a little way before he saw that the man had observed
him and was now riding around the upper end of the flock to meet
him.

"Hello, what do you want?"  shouted the fellow.

"I want to find Mr. Simms's ranch.  Is it anywhere near here?"

"Two miles up that way.  Where'd you come from?"

"I don't know.  I've been lost in the mountains.  I must see Mr. Simms
at once."

"Guess you've got a long walk ahead of you then," laughed the
sheepman.  "Boss Simms is up to Forsythe."

"Is his family at the ranch?"  asked Tad.

"I reckon the women folks is.  You seem to be in a hurry, pardner."

"I am.  I must hurry."

Wondering at the haste of the disreputable looking youngster, the
sheepman watched him until he had gotten out of sight.  Finding the
footing good and encouraged by the knowledge that he had but two
miles to go, the lad dropped into a lope which he kept up until the
white side of the Simms ranch buildings reflected back the morning
sun just ahead of him.

Tads legs almost collapsed under him as he staggered into the yard
and asked a boy whom he saw there, for Mrs. Simms.

He was directed by a wave of the hand to a near-by door, on which
Tad rapped insistently.

"I wish to see Mrs. Simms, please," he said to the servant, who
responded to his knock.

"I am Mrs. Simms.  What is it you wish?"  answered a voice somewhere
in the room.  It was a pleasant voice, reminding Tad much of his
mother's, and a sense of restfulness possessed him almost at
once.  He felt almost as if he were at home again.

"I would like to speak with you, alone, please."

"Who are you?"

"I am Tad Butler from Missouri.  I----"

"Oh, yes, nay husband told me you were expected," she said
cordially, extending her hand.

"I owe you an apology for appearing in this shape, but I have been
lost in the mountains and seem to be rather badly in need of a
change of clothes," smiled the lad.

"Come right in.  Never mind the clothes.  Perhaps I may be able to
help you.  You say you have been lost?"

"Yes."

"Where are your companions?"

"I don't know.  I left them in camp somewhere, I am not sure where."

"Oh, that is too bad.  If you will remain until night perhaps we can
spare one of the herders to help you find them----"

"Pardon me, but it is not for that that I came here," interrupted
the lad.  "It was on a far more important matter."

"Yes?"

"It is a matter that concerns your husband very seriously."

"Tell me about it, please?"  said Mrs. Simms anxiously.

"Have you anyone that you could send to Forsythe at once with an
urgent message for your husband?"  he asked.

"There is no one.  The herders would not dare to leave their
flocks--that is not until the sheep were safe in their corral
to-night."

"That will be too late.  I'll have to go myself.  Have you a spare
pony that I could ride!"

"Of course.  That is if you can rope one out of the pen and saddle it
yourself."

"Certainly.  I can do that," said the boy quickly.  "But I shall
probably ride him pretty hard and fast.  I do not think Mr. Simms
will object when he learns my reasons."

"Is it so serious as that?"

"It seems so to me.  Last night while lost in the mountains I
overheard some men plotting against your husband.  They said he was
expecting a large number of sheep that were being brought in on a
drive."

"Yes, that is true."

"They were planning to attack the herd, to stampede it and kill all
the animals they could----"

"Is it possible?"  demanded the woman, growing pale.

"They mean it, too.  I think I will get the pony and start now,"
decided Tad, rising.

"You are a brave boy," exclaimed the banker's wife, laying an
impulsive hand on Tad's shoulder.  "I wish you did not have to
go.  You are tired out now.  I can see that."

"I'll be all right when I get in the saddle again," he
smiled.  "Thank you just as much."

"You shall not leave this house until you have had your breakfast.
What can I be thinking of?"  announced Mrs. Simms.  "You are doing
us all a very great service and I am not even thoughtful enough to
offer you something to eat though you are half starved."

"I had better not spare the time to sit down," objected Tad.  "I must
be going if you will show me the way."

"Not until you have eaten."

"Then, will you please make me some sandwiches?  I can eat them in
the saddle, and I shall get along very nicely until I get to
town.  I'll eat enough to make up for lost time when I get at it," he
laughed.

He was out of the house and running toward the corral, to which
Mrs. Simms had directed him.  Tad hunted about until he found a rope;
then going to the enclosure scanned the ponies critically.

"I think I'll take that roan," he decided.  "Looks as if he had some
life in him."

The roan had plenty, as Tad soon learned.  However, after a lively
little battle he succeeded in getting the animal from the enclosure
and saddling and bridling him.

Tad could find no spurs, but he helped himself to a crop which he
found in the stable, though, from what he had been able to observe,
the pony would require little urging to make him go at a good speed.

Mrs. Simms was outside when Tad rode up.  She had prepared a lunch
for him, placing it in a little leather bag with a strap attached
for fastening the package over his shoulder.

"Please say nothing about what I have told you," urged Tad.  "I don't
want them to know we understand their plans.  That is the only way
Mr. Simms will be able to catch them."

"Of course, I shall not mention it.  Good-bye and good luck."

Tad mounted his broncho and was off, head-ding directly for the town
of Forsythe.




CHAPTER XII

A TIMELY WARNING


Arriving in the little town about noon, Tad dashed up the street
toward Mr. Simms' bank.  Tethering his broncho to the post, he
entered the bank, and in his anxiety, pushed open the door of
Mr. Simms' private office without ceremony.

Here, as we already know, were Mr. Simms, Luke Larue and Ned, all
eagerly discussing Tad's mysterious disappearance.  For a moment not
one of those in the office spoke a word.  Tad stood before them, his
clothes hanging in ribbons, his face scratched and torn, the dust
and grime of the plains fairly ground into his face, hands and neck.

Luke Larue, of course, did not know the lad, but the keen eyes of
the banker lighted up with recognition.

"Master Ned," he said.  "I think if this young man were washed and
dressed up, you might recognize in him the friend you are looking
for."

"Tad!"  exclaimed the boy, springing forward, excitedly grasping the
hands of the freckle-faced boy.

"Hello, Ned.  What you doing here?'

"Looking for you.  They're all upset back at the camp.  We thought the
bear had gotten you."

"No, I got the bear.  A two-legged bear nearly got me later on.  I'll
tell you all about it later.  I want to see Mr. Simms now."

"Master Tad, I don't know where you have been, but you certainly
look used up.  This is the foreman of my ranch, Mr. Luke Larue," said
the banker.

With a quiet smile on the face of each, man and boy shook hands.

"Heard about you," greeted Luke.  "Heard you was a tenderfoot.  Don't
look like it."

"Neither do I feel like it.  Feel as if I'd been put through an ore
mill or something that would grind equally fine.  When do you expect
the sheep?"

The foreman shot a keen glance at him.

"To-day or to-morrow.  Why?"

"Because there is trouble ahead for you when they get here."

"What do you mean?"

"What is this you say?"  demanded Mr. Simms.

"That is what I have come here to tell you about.  There is a plan on
foot to ride down your sheep when they get here."

Larue laughed.

"Guess they'd better not try it.  Where did you hear that fairy
story, young man?"

"It's not a fairy tale--it is the fact."

Mr. Simms had risen from his chair and was now facing Tad.  He saw in
the lad's face what convinced him that there was more to be told.

"Let me hear all about it, Master Tad," he said.

"Somebody's been filling the boy up with tenderfoot yarns," smiled
the foreman.

Tad did not appear to heed the foreman's scoffing.  Instead, he began
in a low incisive voice the narration of his experiences of the
previous night, beginning with the bear hunt and ending with his
finding his way out of the forest that morning.

As he proceeded with the story, the lines on the face of the banker
grew tense, his blue eyes appearing to fade to a misty gray.

At first indifferent, Larue soon pricked up his ears, then became
intensely interested in the story.

"And that's about all I can think of to tell you," concluded Tad.

Ned uttered a low whistle of amazement.

"So you think this is a tenderfoot yarn, eh?"  asked the banker,
turning to his foreman.

"Not now," answered Larue.  "I guess the boy did get it straight."

"Humph!  You had no means of knowing--didn't hear what his name was,
did you?"

"No, sir.  He was a big man with red hair and beard and he had a scar
over his left temple.  The men with him called him Bluff."

"Don't know any such man, do you, Luke?"

Luke shook his head.

"Nobody who would mix up in such a dirty deal as that.  Oscar
Stillwell who owns a cow ranch on the other side of the Rosebud,
answers to that description, but he ain't the man for that kind of a
raw job.  Known him five years now."

"Sure about him, are you?"

"Positive.  He don't approve of the hatred that the cowmen generally
have for the sheep business.  Says there's free grass enough for all
of us and that the sheepmen have just as much right to it as the
cowmen.  I'll ride over to his ranch this afternoon and talk with
him.  I can tell him the story without his giving it away."

"Just as you think best.  You know your man and I don't."

"Yes.  And if there's any such plan on foot, he'll be likely to know
about it."

"This business has been getting altogether too common.  All the way
up and down the old Custer trail, there has been sheep killing,
sheep stealing, stampeding and no end of trouble for the past
year.  We have seemed unable to fix the responsibility on anyone.  But
I'll tell you that if they try to break into any of our herds this
time, somebody is going to be shot," decided Mr. Simms, compressing
his lips tightly together.  "We're forewarned this time."

"Have you any suggestions, Mr. Simms?  I must be getting back to the
ranch if this is in the wind?"

"Yes.  Let no one outside of our own men, know that we suspect,
unless it be Stillwell and you are sure you can trust him----"

"There's no doubt of it."

"When the new herd gets here, put all the men on it save one who
will watch the corral at night.  They won't be likely to attack the
sheep that are in the enclosure.  It's the new ones that we have to
herd on the open range that they will be likely to direct their
efforts toward.  Master Tad has heard as much."

"Will you be out?"

"Of course.  I'll ride out this afternoon and remain at the ranch or
on the range until this thing has blown over.  We had better begin
grazing north at once.  I want to get them up where the grass is
better, as soon as possible.  Then you can let them take their time
until after shearing.  We're late with that as it is.  See that the
men are well armed, but make no plans until I have been out and
looked the ground over."

"Very well.  Suppose you have no idea where it was that these men
found you, or where you found them?"  asked the foreman.

"No, sir.  I was too busy to take notice."

"I should say so," laughed Mr. Simms.

"I'd better be moving then, if there's nothing else to be said,"
decided Luke.

"I think you had better spare the time to take these young men back
to their camp."

"I helped myself to one of your horses, Mr. Simms.  The roan."

"Help yourself to anything that belongs to me, young man," answered
the banker.  "You have done us a service that nothing we can do will
repay."

"The roan--you say you rode the roan?"  asked Lame.

"Yes.  He's a good one."

"Did he throw you?"

"He tried to," grinned Tad.

"Then I take back all I said about your being a tenderfoot.  There
aren't three men on the ranch who can stick on his back when he
takes a notion that he doesn't want them to."

"Luke, I have asked these young men to join our outfit.  When I did
so, I didn't know I was drawing a prize.  They rather thought the
sheep business wouldn't suit them, having been out with a herd of
cows----"

"We shall be glad to accept your kind offer, Mr. Simms," interrupted
Tad.  "I've changed my mind since I saw how the cattle men act toward
sheep."

"That's good."

"When do you wish us to join you?"

"Join to-day by all means, if you have no other plans.  I am
surprised that the guide failed you.  You will not need a guide if
you go with the outfit, and you can take as many side trips for
hunting, as you wish."

"That will be fine," agreed Ned Rector.

"Another idea occurs to me.  My boy Philip has not been well, and if
you lads have no objection, I should like to send him along with the
herd.  If you will keep an eye on him to see that he doesn't get into
trouble, I shall be deeply grateful to you."

"Of course we shall," answered Tad brightening.  "How old is he?"

"Only twelve.  He's quite a baby still.  You will not have any
responsibility at all, you understand.  He and Old Hicks the cook of
the outfit, are great friends, and Hicks will look after him most of
the time."

"We shall be glad to have him with us," glowed Ned.

"Perhaps you would prefer not to join until after this trouble is
over.  It probably would be safer, come to think of it----"

"No.  I think we should like to join right away," interrupted Tad
hastily.  "Besides, we may be able to be of some service to you.  We
can handle cattle, so I don't know why we should not be of use with
sheep.  Don't you think so, Ned?"

"Yes, of course.  That will just suit Chunky, too.  That's what we
call our friend Stacy Brown," explained Ned, with a grin.  "He's the
fat boy, you know."

"Was once.  He's getting over it rapidly," laughed Tad.  "His uncle
won't know him when he gets back to Chillicothe."

"You have had most of the fun and excitement thus far, Tad.  Now the
rest of us want to have some too."

"If you call being shot at fun, then I have had more than my share."

"Most likely you will have all that's coming to you if this thing
comes off," grunted the foreman.  "I'm going out now.  Meet you here
in an hour.  We'll ride back to the ranch.  I'll either accompany you
to your own camp from there, or send some one else who knows the
way.  I think I understand where your friends are located.  I'm going
to get a case of shells at the hardware store, Mr. Simms."

"That's the idea.  Better take out some more guns while you are about
it.  You know what to buy."

At the appointed time Larue presented himself at the bank,
announcing himself as ready for the ride.  The banker again renewed
his expressions of appreciation of all that Tad Butler had done for
him, after which they swung into their saddles and started off on
their long ride over the plains.

There was plenty of excitement before the Pony Riders.  Their few
weeks with the herd were to be more eventful, even, than had been
their journey with the cattle over the plains of Texas.




CHAPTER XIII

PREPARING FOR AN ATTACK


It was late on the following forenoon when the Pony Rider Boys
descended on the Simms ranch, bag and baggage.  Larue had relieved
one of the herders and sent him back with Tad Butler and Ned Rector,
to bring up the rest of the party.

The parlor tent they found had been too badly damaged to be worth
carrying along, so they left it where the bear had wrecked it.

"Heard anything from the herd?"  was Tad's first question as
Mr. Simms came out to greet them.

"We certainly have.  They are within three miles of here now.  I have
given orders to keep them clear of the ranch, and the herders are at
work deflecting them to the northward.  We shall bed them down about
five miles from here to-night.  To-morrow we will push on slowly for
the grass regions up the state.  I have arranged for you to remain at
the ranch to-night."

"Oh, no.  We prefer to go out and join the herd," objected Tad.

"We most certainly do," added Ned.  "That's what we are here for."

"Have you heard anything new?"  asked Tad, in a low voice, leaning
from his saddle.

"Yes.  I heard that the cowmen all through here are stirred up.  It
isn't any one man or set of men that's doing it.  We have received
threats from different sources if we allow the sheep to stray from
our own ranch," answered Mr. Simms, with serious face.

"And you have decided----?"

"To go on."

"Hello, is this your son, Philip?"  asked Tad, as a slender,
pale-faced boy came toward them.

"Yes, this is Phil.  Come here, Phil and meet my young friends."

The Pony Rider Boys took to the lad at once.  He was a manly little
fellow, but delicate to the point of being fragile, the lad having
only recently recovered from a serious attack of typhoid fever.

"You see what the outdoor life has done for these young gentlemen,
Phil," said Mr. Simms.  "I shall expect you to come back this fall,
looking every bit as well as they do now.  All get ready for
dinner.  It will be served in a few moments.  Later in the day, we
shall move out on the range.  Phil, have you packed up your things?"

"Yes, sir.  I'm all ready."

The noon meal was a jolly affair.  The herders cooked their own meals
out on the range, and after this the boys would eat with them.  But
to-day they were invited guests in the home of the rancher and
hanker.  In the meantime Professor Zepplin and Mr. Simms had become
interested in each other and already were looking forward to the
next few days on the range together, with keen pleasure.

The start was made shortly after three o'clock, the party reaching
their destination well before sundown.

The Pony Riders uttered a shout as they descried the white canvas
top of the chuck wagon.  It was a familiar sight to them.  On beyond
that was a perfect sea of white backs and bobbing heads, where the
great herd was grazing contentedly after its long journey to the
free grass of Montana.  The boys had never seen anything like it.

The sheep dogs, too, were a source of never-ending interest.  The
boys watched the intelligent animals, as of their own accord they
rounded up a bunch here and there that they had observed straying
from the main herd, working the sheep back to their fellows quietly
and without in the least appearing to disturb them.

"What kind of sheep is that over there?"  asked Chunky, pointing.

"That's no sheep.  That's Billy," answered Mr. Simms.

"Who's he?"

"The goat.  You've no doubt heard of a bell wether?"

"I have," spoke up Tad.

"That's what Billy is.  He leads the sheep.  They will follow a leader
almost anywhere.  In crossing a stream Billy wades in without the
least hesitation and they cross right over after him.  Otherwise we
should have great difficulty in getting them over."

"Oh, yes, I know a goat.  Had one once," replied Stacy.  "Does he
butt?"

"Sometimes.  His temper is not what might be called angelic.  I
suspect the boys have been teasing him pretty well.  However, you
want to look out for some of those rams.  They are ugly and they can
easily knock a man down.  If you are up early in the morning you will
see them at play--you will see what they can do with their tough
heads."

"I forgot to tell you," said Larue in a low voice, "that some of the
men report having encountered Indians during the day."

"That's nothing new.  There are plenty of them around here," laughed
the banker.

"They think they were Blackfeet.  The reds were so far away, however,
that the men could not make certain."

"Off the reservation again, eh?  Probably think they can pick up a
few sheep.  Well, look out for them.  If you catch them at any shines
just shoot to scare.  Don't hit them.  We don't want any Government
inquiry.  I have suspected for a long time that some of them were
hiding in the Rosebuds and that the Crow Indians were in league with
them.  It's only the bad Indians who stray from their reservations,
you see," explained Mr. Simms.  "We have to be on the lookout for
these roving bands all the time or they'd steal all we have."

"I should think you would complain to the Indian agencies,"
suggested the Professor.

"Doesn't pay.  They would take it out of us in a worse way,
perhaps.  They're a revengeful gang."

One by one the herders came in with their dogs and flocks, rounding
the sheep in for the night, having chosen for the purpose a slight
depression in the plain.  For the first time, the boys had an
opportunity to meet the ranchers and compare them with the cattle
men they tad known in Texas.  They were a hardy lot, taciturn and
solemn-faced.  The most silent man in the bunch, was Noisy Cooper,
who scarcely ever spoke a word unless forced to do so by an
insistent question.  Bat Coyne had been a cattle man down in Texas,
while Mary Johnson--so called because of his pink and white
complexion, which no amount of sun or wind could tarnish--was said
to have come from the East.  He had left there for reasons best known
to himself, working on sheep ever since.

It was Old Hicks, however, who interested Tad most.  Hicks's first
words after being introduced were in apology for being cook on a
sheep ranch.

He was limping about, flourishing a frying-pan to accentuate his
protests.

"I'm a cowpuncher, I am.  Wish I'd never joined this mutton outfit,"
he growled.

"Then why did you?"  asked Tad, smiling broadly.

"Why?  I joined because I could get more pay.  That's why.  What you
suppose I joined for?"

"I thought perhaps you preferred sheep," answered the lad meekly.

"Like them--like mutton?"  snarled Old Hicks, hurling his frying-pan
angrily into the chuck wagon.  "Between sheep and had Injuns, give me
the Injun every time.  Why, every time I have to cook one it makes me
sick; it does."

"Indians?  Do you cook Indians?"  asked Stacy, who had been an
interested listener to the conversation.

"Wha--wha--cook Indians?  No!  I cook mutton.  What do you take me
for?"

"I--I--I didn't know," muttered Stacy meekly.  "Thought I heard you
say you did."

"You got another think coming," growled the cook, limping
away.  "Come over here and take a sniff at this kettle?"  he called,
turning back to Tad.

The lad did so.

"Smells fine, doesn't it?"

"I think so.  What is it, mutton?"

"Boiled mutton.  I kin smell the wool.  Bah."

"Do you cook them with the wool on?"  asked Chunky, edging nearer the
kettle.

"See here, young man.  This here is a bad country to ask fool
questions in.  Use your eyes and ears.  Give your tongue a rest.  It'll
stop on you some day."

Chunky retired somewhat crestfallen, and from that moment on he kept
aloof from the irascible cook, whom he held in wholesome awe.

"Come and get it!"  bellowed Old Hicks, who, after prodding about the
interior of the kettle with a sharp stick for some time, decided
that the hated mutton was ready to be served.

The Pony Riders did not share Hicks's repugnance to mutton.  They
helped themselves liberally, and even Phil Simms went so far as to
pass his plate for a second helping.  By the time the meal had been
finished twilight was upon them.

The boys, when Professor Zepplin called their attention to the
lateness of the hour, made haste to pitch their tents, while
Mr. Simms, with Phil and the sheepmen, looked on approvingly.

"You boys go at it like troopers," he smiled.  "You'll have to pitch
your own, too, after to-day, Philip."

"We'll help him," chorused the boys.  "We've got to do something to
earn our board," said Ned.

"If we eat all the time the way we have tonight, there won't be many
sheep left to graze by the time we've finished the trip," laughed
Walter.

"Somebody has to eat the cook's share," interrupted Larue.  "What I
came over here to ask was whether you boys were intending to take
your turns at herding for the next few nights?"

"Of course we are," they answered in one voice.  "That's what we are
up here for," added Tad.

"Got any guns?"

"Rifles.  Fortunately, they were not in the tent that was set afire
by the bear, so they are all right," replied Tad.  "However, I'll
have to ask the Professor about taking them out.  I do not think he
will care to have us do so."

"I'll give you each a revolver," announced the foreman.

"Luke, never mind the guns.  The boys will do their part by keeping
guard.  We don't want them to be mixed up in any trouble that may
follow.  If there is any shooting to be done, we can take care of
that, I guess," said Mr. Simms, with a grim smile.

"Yes, I could not think of permitting it," said the Professor
firmly; hence it was decided that the lads should go on as they had
been doing, leaving the sterner work to those whose business it was
to attend to it.

After the darkness had settled over the camp, the boys observed that
there were more men present than had been the case when they had
their supper.

Mr. Simms explained that they were some men he had sent for to help
protect the herd.  He had ordered them to report after dark, so that
the trouble-makers might know nothing about the increased force.  The
rancher was determined to teach the cattle men of the free-grass
range a lesson they would not soon forget.

"What do you wish us to do?"  asked Walter.  "We are anxious to get
busy."

"I think two of you had better go out for the first half of the
night; the other two for the latter half."

"Do we take our ponies?"  asked Tad.

"Yes.  All of us will ride, excepting the few men who are regularly
on guard with the sheep.  But you will not move around much.  Make no
noise and be watchful.  That is all we can do."

It was decided that Ned and Walter should take the early trick; Tad
and Stacy Brown going out after midnight.

The herders were already attending to their duties.  And now
Mr. Simms and the foreman having given their orders, the reserve
force moved out one at a time until all had disappeared in the
darkness.  A signal had been agreed upon, so that they might
recognize each other in the dark.

The rancher had thrown out his reserve force in the shape of a
picket line, located some distance out from the herd and covering a
circle something more than a mile in diameter.  This was done so that
in case of an attack they would have an opportunity to drive off
their enemy without great danger to the herd.  The battle, more than
likely, would be ended before the cowmen could get near enough to
the sheep to inflict any damage.

The two boys left camp rather closer together than had the others,
as they were to keep in touch during their watch.

In a short time the guards were all placed and a great silence
settled over the scene, broken only now and then by the bleating of
a lamb that had lost its mother in the darkness.




CHAPTER XIV

BUNTED BY A MERINO RAM


The Simms outfit breathed a sigh of relief when daylight came
again.  There had been nothing more disturbing than Stacy Brown's
yawns in the early part of the night.

So persistent had been these that the Professor and Mr. Simms found
themselves yawning in sympathy.  Old Hicks, who was sitting up to
prepare hot coffee for any of the sheepmen who might come in, was
affected in a like manner.  Had it not been for the presence of the
owner of the herd Hicks might have adopted heroic measures to put a
stop to Stacy's yawns.  As it was, he threatened all sorts of dire
things.  At breakfast time the cook seemed to be in a far worse humor
than ever when he gave the breakfast call.

"Come and get it.  And I hope it chokes you!"  he bellowed, voicing
his displeasure at everything and everybody in general.

Tad rode in as fresh as if he had not had a sleepless vigil.  His
rest of late had been more or less irregular, but it seemed to have
not the slightest effect either on his spirits or his appetite.

All felt the relief from the strain of the night's watching and
it was a more sociable company that gathered at the table than had
been the case on the previous evening.

"Well, how do you like being a sheepman?"  asked Mr. Simms jovially.

"It's better than being lost in the mountains and being shot at by
cowmen," averred Tad.

"Perhaps you'll have a chance to enjoy the latter pleasure, still,"
said Mr. Simms.  "I do not delude myself that we are out of danger
yet; it may be that they have taken warning and given it up."

"What are the plans for to-day?"  asked Ned Rector.

"The herd will graze on, and later in the day we shall move the camp
five or six miles up the range.  See any Indians last night?"

"No," answered the boys, sobering a little.

"Old Hicks is authority for the statement that they were hovering
somewhere near during the night."

"How does he know?"  asked Tad.

"You'll have to make inquiry of Hicks himself if you want to find
out," laughed the rancher.  "Probably the same way that he knows we
are talking about him now."

All eyes were directed toward the cook.

Hicks was limping around the mutton kettle, shaking his fist at it
and berating it, though in a voice too low for them to hear.

"That's one of your cattle men for you," chuckled Mr. Simms.  "I
think he would take genuine pleasure in boiling a sheepman in his
pot.  But he takes the money," added Mr. Simms significantly.  "By the
way, where's your chum?"

"Whom do you mean?"  asked Walter, glancing about the table.

"Chunky, I believe you call him."

"That's so, where is he?"  demanded Tad, laying down his fork.

"Probably fallen in somewhere again," growled Ned.

"Did not Master Stacy come in with you, Ned?"  asked the Professor
hurriedly.

"No, sir."

"He was with you last night?"

"No, not all the time.  He went out with me, but I saw him only twice
during the early part of my watch."

Mr. Simms looked serious.  "I hope nothing has happened to him.  See
here, Luke.  They tell me Master Stacy has not been seen this
morning.  Know anything of it?"

"Why, no.  Are you sure?  Have you looked in his tent?"

"Excuse me, I'll go see if he isn't there," said Tad, rising from
the table and hurrying to the tent occupied by his companion.

"No," he said as he returned; "evidently he has not been there since
we went out at midnight."

"Ask Old Hicks if he has seen him come in," directed Mr. Simms.

The cook said he had not set eyes on the fat boy, adding that he
didn't care a rap if he never came back.

The boys looked at each other with mute, questioning eyes.

"We must go in search of him at once," decided the Professor.

"Yes, don't worry, Professor," calmed the rancher.  "He has probably
strayed off by himself and is unable to find his way back.  Luke will
round him up in short order.  Finish your breakfast, everybody, then
we will see that the young man is brought back.  Funny he should have
gotten away without any one's having noticed it."

"He's always getting himself into trouble," declared Ned.

"I thought I was the only one that did that," retorted Tad, with an
attempt at gayety.

"That's different.  I know what I'm talking about.  Something is sure
to happen to that boy before we are ready to go back home."

"Begins to look as if something had already happened," said Walter.

A wild yell startled the sheepmen at the table.  It seemed to come
from some distance away.

Everybody started up, some reaching for their guns.

"We are attacked!"  cried one.

"No, but we're going to be!"  shouted another.  "There comes one of
the boys on a pony giving the alarm."

"Get ready, everybody!"

The camp was in instant confusion.  In their haste to prepare for
action, the table was upset and its contents piled in a confused
heap.  Old Hicks was roaring out his displeasure, the foreman was
shouting out his orders, while Professor Zepplin was seeking to make
himself heard in an effort to give directions to his charges.

Suddenly the voice of the foreman was heard above the uproar.

"Hold on!"  he shouted.  "It's one of our own--it's------Oh, bah!"

"What is it?  What is it!"  cried Mr. Simms, unlimbering his weapon.

"It's Chunky," snorted Ned Rector disgustedly.  "The fat boy has been
falling in again or I'll eat mutton all the rest of my natural
life."

"It sure enough is he," answered Tad, gazing off at the horseman who
was riding at top speed and trying to urge his pony on still
faster.  "I wonder what he has been getting into this time.  Hope it's
nothing serious."

"Not to him, anyway, judging by the way he is riding," replied
Walter.

"Something has given him a mighty good start, anyhow," shrewdly
decided the foreman.

"I know what it is--I know what he's in such a hurry about," said
Ned.

"What?"  asked Walter.

"Breakfast.  He's just found out it's breakfast time," jeered Ned.

"Can't have no breakfast," growled Old Hicks.  "Breakfast is et."

"Excepting what's on the ground," added Mary Johnson.  "What's he
yelling about?"

"Something's gone twisted," decided Champ Blake.  "Think so, Noisy?"
"Uh-hu," agreed the silent one.  All eyes were fixed on Chunky.  He
was gesticulating wildly and pointing back to the hills from which
he had just come.

"I believe they are after us, and in broad daylight, too," snapped
Mr. Simms.  "Get your ponies.  Be quick!  Ride fast.  Don't let them get
near the sheep."

Thus admonished, the sheepmen sprang for their saddles.  The boys
followed suit at once, leaving only the Professor and Old Hicks to
look after the camp.

A bunch of sheep had trotted to a water hole hard by the camp, a
faithful shepherd dog following along after them to see that they
returned to the main flock as soon as they should have satisfied
their thirst.  The sheep were now between Chunky and the camp.  So
intent was he on attracting the attention of the men that he failed
to observe the small flock in his path.

Neither did the sheepmen notice it.  If Old Hicks did, he did not
care what happened either to the sheep or to the boy to whom he had
taken such a violent dislike.

"Wow!  Wow!  Wow!"  screamed the boy in a shrill, high-pitched voice.

"What's the matter?"

"Where are they?"

"How many of 'em?"

These and other questions were hurled at Chunky as he dashed
straight toward the camp.

He pointed back to the foothills.

"They're there, he says," shouted the foreman.  "Come on.  Spread
out so as to cover the herd.  Don't you let a man get through our
lines."

Their ponies were stretched out with noses reaching for some unseen
object, as it seemed.  They swept past the lad within hailing
distance, riding hard, while he continued to reach for home.

Stacy had turned to look back at the racing sheepmen, when his pony
drove biting and striking right into the flock crowded about the
water hole, for the ponies liked the sheep no more than did the
cook.

The broncho went down like a flash, hopelessly entangled with the
bleating, frightened animals.  But Stacy did not stop.  That is, he
did not do so at once.  The lad had shot neatly over the broncho's
head, describing a nice curve in the air as he soared.

Pock!

His head landed with a muffled sound.

"Ouch!  Help!"

A loud, angry bleat followed his exclamation.  The lad's head had
been driven with great violence against the soft, unresisting side
of a Merino ram.

The Merino went down under the blow.  But his soft fleece had saved
the boy from serious injury, if not from a broken neck.

"I fell off," cried Stacy, struggling to his feet, running his
fingers over his body, as if to determine whether or not he had been
hurt.  "I--I didn't see them.  Th--they got in my way."

Whether he had or not was not now the question, at least so far as
the Merino was concerned.

The ram was angry.  He resented being bunted over in any such manner.

The animal, scrambling to his feet, uttered a bleat, at the same
time viciously throwing up his head, landing lightly, for him, on
Chunky's leg.

"Stop kicking me!  I say you stop that you----"

He did not finish what he had started to say.  The Merino, finding
the mark a satisfactory one, had backed quickly off.  With head well
down, eyes on the boy who had been the cause of his downfall, he
charged with a rush.

Just at the instant when he delivered the blow, the tough, horned
head was raised ever so little.

"Ye-o-ow!"  shrieked the boy as he felt himself suddenly lifted from
his feet and once more propelled through the air head first.  It
seemed in that brief interval of sailing through space as if every
particular bone in his body had been jarred loose from its
fastenings.  Chunky felt as if he were all falling apart while making
his brief second flight.

He was headed straight for the muddy water hole, and the ram was
charging him a second time.  The lad did not know this, however.

Just at the edge of the water hole the Merino caught him again,
neatly flipping him in the air and landing the boy on his back, with
a mighty splash, right in the middle of the pool.

Yet the force of the ram's charge had been so great that he was
unable to stop when he discovered the water at his feet.  In
endeavoring to do so, his strong little feet ploughed into the soft
turf.  The Merino did a pretty half somersault and he too landed in
the mud pool on his back.

Unfortunately, he struck in the identical spot that Chunky had, and
for a moment there was such a threshing about, such a commotion
there as two monsters of the deep might have made in a battle to
the death.

Old Hicks was hammering a dishpan on a wheel of the chuck wagon,
regardless of the damage he was inflicting on the pan, and screaming
with delight.

Professor Zepplin as soon as he could recover his wits, rushed to
the rescue and from the flying legs and horns managed to extract
Stacy Brown and drag him up to the dry ground.

The lad was a spectacle.  Mud was plastered over him from head to
foot, while the muddy water was dripping from hair, mouth, ears,
eyes and nose.

"I--I fell in, didn't I?"  he gasped.  "Wh--who kicked me?"

"Who kicked him?"  jeered Old Hicks.  "Oh, help, help!"  he cried,
rolling with laughter.

Stacy began to sputter in an uncertain voice.

Professor Zepplin shook him roundly.

"Why didn't you get out of it?  The water wasn't over my head, you
Chunk," roared Old Hicks.

Chunky eyed him sadly.

"It was the way I went in," he said, breathing hard as he wrung the
water from his trousers by twisting them in his hand.

At that the irrepressible Hicks went off into another paroxysm of
mirth.




CHAPTER XV

ROPED BY A COWBOY


The Professor had no sooner marched Stacy to his tent to wash the
mud from himself and get into a clean suit of clothes, than the
sheepmen came galloping back to camp.  A few of them had been left
out near the foothills in case of a surprise.

"Where's that boy who sent us off on this fool chase?"  demanded Luke
Larue, riding right into the camp.

Chunky poked his head from the tent, holding the flap about him to
cover himself.

"What did you tell us the cowmen were after us for?"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, come out here.  I want to talk to you."

"I--I--I can't."

"You'd better or I'll have to fetch you out.  Why can't you?"
demanded the foreman sternly.

"I--I haven't got any clothes on," stammered the boy.

The foreman slipped from his pony, leaning against a tree with a
helpless expression on his face.

Stacy's companions with Mr. Simms and several of the sheepmen rode
in at that moment.

"Where's that boy?"  demanded the rancher of Larue.

The foreman pointed to the tent.  But the lad not yet having finished
his toilet, all hands were obliged to stand about waiting for
him.  They did so with much impatience.  Stacy took all the time he
needed, apparently not believing that there was any necessity for
haste.

At last he sauntered out smiling broadly.

"I think you owe us an explanation, at least," announced Mr. Simms,
a peculiar smile playing about the corners of his lips.  He had
intended to be stern, but the sight of Chunky's good-natured face
disarmed him at once, as it did most people.

"'Bout what?"  asked the lad.

"Sending us out to the foothills, telling us the cowmen were
attacking us."

Stacy's eyes opened widely.

"Never said so."

"What did you say, then?"

"Nothing."

"I guess we are all dreaming," laughed the rancher.  "Will you please
tell me what did happen then, when you started us away?"

"When I was riding in, you all started up and mounted your
ponies.  Somebody yelled, 'where are they?' I pointed back to the
mountains, and then you rode on," the lad informed him.

It was an unusually long speech for Chunky to make without many
halts and pauses.  But he did very well with it.

"That is exactly what you did do.  When we got there we found not the
slightest trace of the cowmen.  Where did you see them?"

"I didn't see them," persisted the lad.

"Then why did you tell us you did?"

"I didn't."

Mr. Simms thrust his hands in his pockets and strode back and forth
several times.

"Say, young man, did you see anything at all, except what your
imagination furnished?"

Chunky nodded emphatically.

"What did you see?"

"Indians."

"Oh, pshaw!"  grunted Mr. Simms disgustedly.

"Indians?"  interrupted Walter Perkins.  "Tell me about it?"

"I was asleep," began Stacy.

"So that's the way you keep watch over our herd is it?"  growled
Luke.  "We were just about to organize a searching party to go after
you, when we saw you coming."

"I got tired.  I sat down by a rook and--y-a-li--hum----"

"Ho-ho-ho--hum," yawned the foreman.

Within half a minute the whole outfit was yawning lazily, all save
Old Hicks, the cook, who with hands thrust into his trousers pockets
stood peering at the fat boy out of the corners of his eyes.

"Stop that, d'ye hear!"  snapped Ned Rector angrily.  "I'll duck you
in that water hole, if you don't."

"Just been ducked," answered Stacy lazily.  "Got kicked in by a
sheep."

"What about the Indians?"  asked Tad impatiently.  "I guess you
dreamed you saw them."

"No, I didn't.  I went to sleep by the rock and when I woke up it was
daylight.  I yawned."

"Of course you did," jeered Ned.  "Wouldn't have been you if you
hadn't yawned."

"I was rubbing my eyes and trying to make up my mind where I was
when--when----"

"When what?"  urged Tad.

"When somebody said, 'How?'"

The sheepmen laughed.

"I--I looked around, and there--there stood a lot of Indians----"

"On their heads!"  asked Ned.

"No, sitting on their ponies.  Then--then I--"

"Then you pitched into them and drove them away," laughed Walter.

"No, I didn't.  I yelled and run away.  So would you."

Every man and boy of the sheep outfit roared with laughter.

"My boy," said Mr. Simms, "you will have to get used to seeing
Indians if you remain with us long.  This state is full of them, some
bad, some good.  But you need not be afraid of them.  They dare not
interfere with us, so if you see any, just pass the time of day and
go on along about your business."

"When I got back here I fell in----" Professor Zepplin here broke
into the conversation to explain what had happened to the fat boy,
whereupon the outfit once more shouted with merriment.

The camp finally having been restored to its normal state, plans
were made for moving on to the north.

"I wish you would ride over to Groveland Corners and get me fifty
feet of quarter inch rope, Tad," said Mr. Simms.  "You will have no
trouble in finding the way.  I'll show you exactly how to get there
and find your way back afterwards.  And by the way, you might take
Philip with you, if you don't mind.  I want him to get all the riding
he can stand."

"I'll answer yes to both, requests," smiled Tad.  "How far is it to
the--the----"

"Corners?  Five miles as the crow flies.  It will be a slightly longer
distance, because you have to go around the Little Butte.  The place
is situated just behind it on the west side."

"Then, I'm ready now, if Phil is."

The young man was not only ready, but anxious to be off, so without
delay, the two lads brought in their ponies and after receiving
final instructions as to how to find the new camp, they set off at
an easy gallop in the fresh morning air, their spirits rising as
they rode over the green mesa that lay sparkling in the morning
sunlight.

Groveland Corners was little more than its name implied, consisting
of one store that supplied the wants of the half dozen families who
inhabited the place, as well as furnishing certain supplies to
near-by ranchmen.

A group of cattle men had gathered at the store.  They were sitting
on the front porch talking earnestly when the two boys rode up.  Tad
dismounted, hitching his pony, while Phil, shifting to an easy
position on his saddle, waited until the purchase of the rope had
been made.

The conversation came to a sudden pause as the boys rode up, the
cowmen eyeing the newcomers almost suspiciously, Tad
thought.  However, he paid no attention to them, further than to bid
them a pleasant good morning, to which one or two of them gave a
grunting reply.

He had noticed one raw-boned mountain boy among the lot who had
answered his greeting with a sneering smile and a reply under his
breath that Tad had not caught.  The lad gave no heed to it, but went
about his business.  Besides the rope, he made several small
purchases for himself.  In reply to a question of the storekeeper,
Tad informed him that he was with the Simms outfit.  One of the
cowmen who had entered the store, overhearing this, went outside and
informed his companions.

"Hello, kid," greeted one, as the boy left the store.  "How's mutton
to-day?"

Busily coiling the rope, Tad paid no attention to the taunt; he hung
the rope on his saddle horn and then methodically unhitched Pinkeye.

"Going to hang yerself?"  jeered another.  "That's all a mutton
puncher's worth.  I guess."

Tad felt his face flush.  He paused long enough to turn and look
straight into the eyes of the speaker.

"My, but ain't our little boy spunky!"  called the fellow in
derision.

"If he is, he knows, at least, enough to mind his own business,"
snapped Tad.

A jeering laugh followed the remark.

"Did ye mean that fer me?"  demanded the mountain boy, rising
angrily.

"If the coat fits, put it on," answered the freckle-faced boy
indifferently, vaulting lightly into the saddle.

"I'll bet that's Boss Simms's kid--the pale-faced dude, eh?"  sneered
one sharply.

An angry growl answered the suggestion.  Tad thinking it was time to
be off, turned his pony about and Phil did the same.  But no sooner
had they headed their mounts toward home, Tad being slightly in the
lead, than a rope squirmed through the air.

It dropped over the shoulders of Mr. Simms' delicate young son,
tightened about his arms with a jerk.

"Help!"  cried the frightened boy.

Tad, glancing back apprehensively saw what had happened.  He wheeled
his pony like a flash, but not quickly enough to save his companion
from falling.

Phil Simms was roped from his pony, landing heavily in the dust of
the street.

"Y-e-o-w!" chorused the cowboys.




CHAPTER XVI

TAD WHIPS A MOUNTAIN BOY


"Shame!  Shame on you!"  cried Tad Butler indignantly.

The lad leaped from his pony which he quickly tethered to the
hitching bar in front of the store.

This done he ran to his fallen companion, who still lay where the
lariat had thrown him.  He was half stunned and covered with
dust.  After jerking him from his pony, however, the cowboys, though
continuing their shouts of glee, had made no further effort to
molest Philip.

Tad quickly released him.

"I 've had a lot to do with cowboys, but you're the first I ever
knew who would do a thing like that.  The cowboys I know are
gentlemen."

"Then, d'ye mean to say that we ain't, ye miserable cayuse?"
demanded one of the number, rising menacingly.

"The fellow who roped that boy is a loafer!"  answered Tad bravely,
taking a couple of paces forward and facing the crowd.  "You wouldn't
dare do that to a man, especially if he had a gun as you have.  Why
didn't you try it on Luke Lame when he was over here?"

"Oh, go back to yer mammy," jeered one.

"I want to know who threw that rope?  If he isn't too big a coward,
he'll tell me.  I guess Mr. Simms will settle with him."

"It's up to you, Bob, I guess," nodded one of them, addressing the
angry-faced mountain boy who was one of their number.

The latter rose with what was intended to appear as offended
dignity.

"Ye mean me?"  he demanded, glaring.

"Yes, if you are the one who did it," answered Tad, looking him
squarely in the eyes.

"Then your going to git the alfiredest lickin' you ever had in your
life," announced the mountain boy.

Tad held the other with a gaze so steady and unflinching as to cause
the mountain boy to pause hesitatingly.

"Phil, jump on your pony and get out of here," directed the lad in a
low tone.

"He stays where he is," commanded one of the cowboys.

"Do as I tell you," retorted Tad sharply.  "Be quick about it, too."

A cowboy aimed a gun at Phil Simms.

"Try it, if ye want ter git touched up," he warned.  "Bob, sail into
the fresh kid," he added, nodding his head toward Tad Butler.

"I'm not looking for a fight--I don't want to fight, but if that
loafer comes near me I'll have to do the best I can," answered Tad
bravely.  "I don't expect to get fair play.  I'll----"

"You'll git fair play and you'll git more besides," called the
previous speaker.  "Go to him, Bob."

Bob lowered his head, sticking out his chin and assuming a
belligerent attitude with eyes fixed on the slender figure of his
opponent.

Tad was observing the mountain boy keenly, measuring him mentally,
while young Simms, pale-faced and frightened, was leaning against
his pony, which he had caught and was preparing to mount when he was
stopped by the gun of the cowboy.

"See, you've got him rattled already, Bob," shouted a cowman
triumphantly.  "He'll be running in a minute."

"Come away, Tad," begged Philip.

"Keep quiet.  Don't speak to me," answered the lad, without turning
his head toward his companion.  Tad Butler's whole being was centered
on the work that he knew was ahead of him.

He was angry.  He felt that he had never been more so in his life,
but not a trace of his emotion showed in his face or actions.  If he
ever had need of coolness, it was at this very moment.  He did not
know whether he would be able to master the raw-boned mountaineer or
not.

The lad's training in athletics had been thorough, and his title of
champion wrestler of the high school in Chillicothe had been earned
by hard work and persistent effort to make himself physically fit.

"He's all of twenty-five pounds heavier than I am," decided the
boy.  "I've got to try some tricks that he doesn't know about, if I
hope to make any kind of showing."

Bob was now approaching him with an ugly grin on his face.  Tad's
arms hung easily by his side.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?"  Tad smiled.

With a bellow of rage, Bob rushed him.

Tad laughed, and stepping quickly to one side, thrust a foot between
the bully's legs as he passed.  Bob landed flat on his face in the
dust of the street.

The cowboys set up a roar of delight.  It was sport, no matter who
got the worst of it.

"Give them room," shouted some one, as the men closed quickly about
the combatants.  "Let the kids fight it out."

These tactics were so new to Bob, that he did not know just what had
happened to him.  And when he had scrambled to his feet, he met the
laughing face of Tad Butler, which enraged him past all
control.  This was exactly what Tad wanted.

Bob with a bellow again charged him.  Tad made a pass and missed, but
covered his failure by neatly ducking under the upraised arm of the
cowboy, whose surprised look when he found that he had been punching
the empty air brought forth yells of delight from his companions.

Tad had cast away his hat, that it might not interfere with his
movements.  No sooner had he done so than his opponent renewed his
attack.  But Tad skillfully parried the heavy blows, delivered
awkwardly and without any great amount of skill.  The great danger
was that his adversary with his superior strength might beat down
the lad's defense and land a blow that would put a sudden end to the
fray.

Tad was watching for an opening that would enable him to put in
practice a plan that had formed in his brain.

"Look out for the cayuse, Bob.  He ain't so big a tenderfoot as he
looks," warned a cowboy.  But Bob had already discovered this
fact.  Though his fists were beating a tattoo in the air he seemed
unable to land a blow on the body of his elusive adversary, and this
only served to anger him the more.

"Ki-yi!"  yelled the cowboys as a short arm blow, delivered through
the mountaineer's windmill movements, reached his jaw and sent him
sprawling.

Tad had not been able to put the force into it that he wanted to,
else the battle might have ended then and there.

Bob came back.  This time he uttered no taunts.  The blow hurt
him.  His head felt dizzy and his fists did not work with the same
speed that they had done before.

All at once Tad's right hand shot out, his fist open instead of
being closed.  It closed over the left wrist of the cowboy with an
audible slap.

Tad's left hand joined his right in closing over his adversary's
wrist.  He whirled sharply, bringing Bob's left arm over his
adversary's shoulder.  Then something happened that made the cowmen
gasp with astonishment.  The slender lad lifted the big mountain boy
clear of the ground, hurled him over his head, and still clinging to
the wrist, brought him down with a smashing jolt, flat on his back
in the middle of the village street.  Phil Simms narrowly escaped
being struck by the heels of the mountain boy's boots as they
described a half circle in the air.

Bob lay perfectly still.  And for a moment the cowboys stood
speechless with amazement.

"Whoopee!"  yelled one.  "Who-o-o-p-e-e!"  chorused the others, dancing
about Tad Butler and his fallen victim in wild delight.

"I'm sorry I had to do it," muttered the boy.

They helped Bob to his feet, pounded him on the back, making jeering
remarks about his being whipped by a kid, until his courage
gradually was urged back as his strength returned.

Suddenly Bob turned on his assailant, and throwing both arms about
him, bore him to earth.  The move was so unexpected that the lad had
no opportunity to side step out of the way.  The weight of the
mountaineer was so great that Tad found himself unable to squirm
from under.

Bob, with a growl of rage, raised his fist, bringing it down with
the same movement that he would wield a meat axe.

Tad never flinched as he saw it coming.  His eyes were fixed upon the
descending fist, his every nerve centered on the task of watching
it.

Just at the instant when fist and face seemed to be meeting, the lad
by a mighty effort, jerked his head ever so little to the
right.

"Oh!"  yelled Bob.

Something snapped.

The pressure released from his body, ever so little, Tad by a
supreme muscular effort, threw his opponent slightly to one side,
and quickly wormed himself from under.  He was on his feet in an
instant.

The cowboys did not know what had happened, but they knew that the
boy from the Simms ranch had done something to their companion that
for the instant had taken all of the fight out of him.

Tad had been only partly responsible for Bob's present condition,
however.  By jerking his head to one side he had caused the mountain
boy's fist to strike the hard roadbed instead of Tad's head.

Bob struggled to his feet, holding the right wrist with the left
hand and moaning with pain.  The right hung limp.  Tad knew what had
happened.

"He's broken his wrist.  I'm glad I didn't have to do it for him,"
said the lad.

At first glowering glances were cast in Tad's direction.  They were
of half a mind to punish him in their own way.

"You said it was to be a fair fight," spoke up the lad.  "Has it
been?"

There was a momentary silence.

"The kid's right," exclaimed a cowman.  "He cleaned up Bob fair and
square.  I reckon you kin go, now."

"Thank you."

"Hold on a minute.  Not so fast, young fellow.  I'm kinder curious
like to know how ye put Bob over yer head like that!"  asked another.

"It was a simple little Japanese wrestling trick," laughed the boy.

"Kin ye do that to me?"

"I don't know."

"Well, yer going ter try and right here and now."

"All right, come over here on the grass where the ground isn't so
hard.  If I succeed in doing it, though, you must agree not to get
mad.  I can't fight you, you know.  You are too big for me."

The cowman grinned significantly, and strode over to the place
indicated by Tad Butler.

"Now what d'ye want me ter do?"  he demanded, leering.  "Yer see I'm
willing?"

"Strike at me, if you wish.  I don't care how you go about it,"
replied Tad.

"Here goes!"

The cowman launched a terrific blow with his right.  Tad sprang back
laughing.

"If that had ever hit me, you never would have known how the other
trick is worked," he said, while the cowboys laughed uproariously at
the fellow's surprise when he found that his fist had not landed.

"Guess the kid ain't no slouch, eh, Jim?"  jeered one.

Jim let go another, then a third one.  The third blow proved his
undoing.  The next instant Jim's boots were describing a half circle
in the air over Tad Butler's head.  His revolvers slipping from their
holsters in transit, dropped to the ground and Jim landed flat on
his back with a mighty grunt.

He was up with a roar, his right hand dropping instinctively to his
empty holster.

"Wh-o-o-o-e!"  warned the fellow's companions.  "No fair, Jim.  No
fair.  He said as he'd do it, and he did.  Kid, you'd clean out the
whole outfit, give you time, I reckon."

Jim pulled himself together, restored his weapons to their places,
and walked over to Tad, extending his hand.

"That was a dizzy wallop ye give me, pardner," he said, with a
sheepish grin.  "If ye'll show me how it's did, I'll call it square."

Tad laughingly did so.

"I guess I couldn't get even with them any easier than by showing
them the trick," he grinned, mounting his pony, and accompanied by
Philip rode away.  "They'll try that trick till the whole bunch of
them get into a battle royal."

They did, as Tad learned next day.




CHAPTER XVII

CHUNKY RIDES THE GOAT


"There's the sheep," announced Tad, after they had ridden on for
some time.

"I'm glad," said Phil, "do you know, Tad, I thought those men were
going to kill you."  Phil's courage had returned, when he realized
that they were in sight of friends once more.

Tad laughed.

"They aren't half so bad as they would have us believe.  The boy was
the worst of the lot.  He needed to be taught a lesson, but I wish I
hadn't hurt him," he mused.

"He did it himself; you didn't."

"Yes, I know.  I had to to save my own face."  The lad laughed
heartily at his own joke, which Philip, however, failed to
catch.  "Now we'll find out where the camp is," said Tad, espying a
herder off to the north of them.

Having been directed to the new camp, Phil galloped away, Tad
remaining to chat with the sheepman a few minutes.  Yet he made no
mention of his experience at Groveland Corners, not being
particularly proud of it, after all.  After riding slowly about with,
the herder for half an hour, the lad jogged off toward camp, which
his companion had reached before him.

Philip had spread the story of Tad's battle with the cowboy.  Old
Hicks, contrary to his usual practice, had listened with one ear,
giving a grunt of satisfaction when the story had been told.  As a
result there were several persons eagerly awaiting him in the sheep
camp when he rode up.

"Who's getting into trouble now?"  demanded Stacy, with mock
seriousness.  "You need a guardian, I guess.  I presume Mr. Simms
thinks so, too."

"Heard you had two black eyes," jeered Ned Rector.

"Say, Tad, we've agreed that you shall show us how you did it, using
Chunky for your model," said Walter Perkins.

Tad smiled good-naturedly, dismounting from the saddle and tethering
the pony with his usual care.

"Guess I'd better leave the saddle on.  There may be something doing
any minute," he mused.

"Mr. Simms wants ye over to his tent," Old Hicks informed Tad.

"Oh, all right," answered the lad, walking briskly to the little
tent occupied by the owner of the herd.

The foreman was there awaiting Tad's arrival as well.

"First I want to thank you for having taken Phil's part so
splendidly," glowed Mr. Simms.  "It is a wonder they did not do you
some harm after that."

"Oh, they were not half bad," laughed Tad.  "They were ashamed of
what they'd done after it was all over."

"No.  There's no shame in that crowd.  I know them.  Phil has told me
about it.  I know them all, and they shall suffer for roping that
boy," went on the rancher angrily.

"One of them has," answered Tad, with a mischievous twinkle in his
eyes.  "Besides, there's going to be a big fight over there.  Perhaps
they are at it now."

"Fight?  I should judge from what I hear that there already has been
one.  What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing very serious.  I taught them the Japanese trick of
throwing a man over my head.  They were trying it on when I
left.  Shouldn't be surprised, after they learn how to do the trick,
if they got mad and had a real fight."

Luke Larue leaned back, slapping his thighs and laughing
uproariously.

"Well, you are a smart one," he exclaimed.  "Couldn't lick them all
yourself, so you fixed it so they'd sail in and lick each
other.  Funniest thing I ever heard.  I'll have to tell Old Hicks
about that.  But I won't do it till after dinner, or he'll burn the
mutton and spoil our meal.  Fighting each other!"  Luke indulged in
more hilarity.

"You heard nothing, of course--they said nothing about our herd----"

"No, but it was plain that they had no love for you, Mr. Simms.  It
was the boy who roped Philip, though.  I do not think the men would
have done anything like that."

"It's all the same.  It shows the feeling that exists.  Nothing will
ever wipe that out except a good whipping.  It's coming to them and
they are going to get it."

"You think then--you believe they have not given up their plan of
attacking the sheep?"  asked Tad.

"Given it up?  Not they.  They have been too well nagged on by your
friend of the Rosebud.  I wish I knew who he is.  I probably never
shall, though."

"I'll know him if I see him again."

"You might not.  Camp-fire sight is tricky."

"I'll know his voice, sir.  I presume you will continue
your watch over the herd to-night?"

"Yes, and for many nights to come.  We shall keep it up until we get
far enough to the north so that we are sure there will be no
trouble.  I guess you had better go on the late trick to-night.  That
is the most important.  We'll send your friend Chunky out early in
the evening.  His habit of going to sleep at unusual times is too
serious to trust him with the late and dangerous watch.  If they
strike it will be close to morning, I imagine."

"I hope they won't, for your sake."

"So do I," answered Mr. Simms, with emphasis.

The afternoon was waning.  The Pony Riders were all in camp, some
reading, others writing letters home, for already much had happened
that would make interesting reading to the folks off in the little
Missouri town.

Steam was rising from the big kettle, into which Old Hicks was about
to drop a quarter of mutton for the evening meal, and an air of
perfect peace hovered over the camp of the sheepmen.  Under a
spreading tree the bell goat of the outfit lay stretched out sound
asleep.  He had been in that position most of the afternoon, there
being nothing special for him to do, as the herd was grazing as it
saw fit, without any effort being made to urge it along.

From the other side of the tree the round face of Stacy Brown might
have been observed peering to one side of the sleeping goat.

He listened intently.  Billy was breathing short, regular breaths,
with no thought of the trouble that was in store for him.  From the
expression of the boy's face it was evident that he was forming some
mischievous plan of his own.  This was verified when, after dodging
back behind the tree, his head appeared once more and a stick was
cautiously thrust out.  Slowly it was pushed toward Billy's nose,
which it gently rubbed and then was withdrawn.

Billy probably thought it was a fly, for one impatient hoof brushed
the troubled nose; then the interrupted nap was continued.

Stacy tried it again with equal success.  His sides were shaking with
laughter, and every little while he would hide himself behind the
tree to give vent to his merriment.

The others were too busy to notice what he was doing, though once
Old Hicks paused in his work to cast a suspicious glance in that
direction.

Stacy had been amusing himself for several minutes and with such
success that he grew more bold.  He had stepped from behind the tree
that he might the better reach his victim.  Now the tickling and the
sweep of the impatient hoof became more frequent.  Billy grunted as
if he were having a bad dream, and this amused Stacy so much that he
was obliged to retire behind the tree again to laugh.

As he emerged this time, Billy slowly opened a cautious eye, all
unobserved by his tormentor.  With a hand over his own mouth to keep
back the laughter, the lad rubbed the stick gently over the goat's
nose.  Billy's chin whiskers took an almost imperceptible upward tilt
and the observing eye opened a little more widely.

Next time Stacy varied the performance by giving the goat a
malicious little dig in the ribs with the sharp end of the stick.

Billy rose up into the air as if hurled there by an explosion
beneath him.  When he landed on his four feet, it was with head
pointed directly toward the foe and with fore legs sloping well back
under him ready for a drive with his tough little head.

"Oh!"  exclaimed Chunky, rapping the goat smartly over the nose with
the stick to drive the animal off.

Billy drove all right, but it was not away from the lad.  Stacy was
standing with legs apart and Billy dived between them, at the same
time lifting his head.

The effect was instantaneous.  Chunky was neatly flipped to the
goat's back, face down with his legs dangling about the animal's
neck.  Instinctively he took a quick grip with the legs, locking his
feet on the underside of Billy's neck and his hands about the
withers.

At that moment the surprised goat gave an excellent imitation of a
broncho trying to throw its rider.

"Hel-p!"  cried Chunky in a muffled voice.

No one save the cook heard it.

"Whoop!"  bellowed Old Hicks, smiting his thigh with a mighty fist
and screaming with laughter.

The Pony Riders and everyone else in camp sprang to their feet, not
understanding what the commotion was about.

"The kid's riding the goat," yelled Hicks.  "He's initiating himself
into the order of Know Nuthins.  See him buck!  See him buck!"

The camp roared.

"Let go, Chunky!"  shouted Walter.

"I can't, I'll fall off," answered the boy in a scarcely audible
voice.

"I'll help you then.  Come on, boys."

They made a concerted rush to rescue their companion.  This was the
signal for the goat to adopt new tactics.  He probably thought it was
some new form of torture that they had planned for him.

Billy headed for the tent of the owner of the herd.  He went through
it like a projectile, upsetting the folding table on which Mr. Simms
was writing, and out through the flap at the other end.

By this time the outfit was in an uproar.  Even the sheep on the
range near by paused in their grazing to gaze curiously campward;
the herders off in that direction shaded their eyes against the sun
and tried to make out the cause of the disturbance.

"Y-e-o-w!"  encouraged the cook, waving a loaf of bread above his
head and dancing about with a more pronounced limp than usual.

Jerk, jerk, went Chunky's head until he feared it would be jerked
from his body.

"Stay by him, stay by him, kid," encouraged a sheepman.

Mr. Simms rushing from his tent, startled and angry, instantly
forgot the words of protest that were on his lips and joined
heartily in laughter at the ludicrous sight.

"Look out that you don't lose your stirrups," jeered Ned as goat and
rider shot by him with a bleat.

Walter made a grab for Billy with the result that he was pivoting on
his own head the next second.

Once they thought Chunky was going to fall off and put a sudden end
to their fun, but he soon righted himself, whereupon he tightened
the grip of hands and legs.

By this time the goat was mad all through.  He seemed bent now upon
doing all the damage he could.

"Stop that!  Want to run me down!"  shouted Ned, grabbing a tree as
the outfit swept by him, the goat uttering a sharp bleat and Chunky
a howl of protest.

All at once Billy headed for the kitchen department.  Old Hicks saw
him coming and with a few quick hops got out of the way.

"Hi there, hang you, where you heading?"  he roared.

The tinware had been stacked up on a bench to dry out in the
sunlight.  Perhaps it was the rays of the sun on the bright tin that
attracted Billy's attention.  At any rate he went through it with a
bound, amid the crash of rattling tin and splintering wood.

Old Hicks made a swing at the animal with the long stick he had been
using to prod the kettle of mutton.  He missed and sat down suddenly,
his lame leg refusing to bear the strain that had been put upon it.

It was astonishing the endurance the goat showed, for Chunky was no
light weight in any sense of the word.  Now and then he would just
graze the trunk of a tree, bringing a howl from his rider as the
latter's leg was scraped its full length against the bark of the
tree.

By this time nearly everyone in camp had laughingly sought places of
safety, some in the chuck wagon, others climbing saplings as best
they could, for no man knew in what direction Billy might head next.

Old Hicks refused to take the protection that the wagon offered.  He
stood his ground, stick held firmly in both hands, awaiting a chance
to rap the boy or the goat when they next passed.

His opportunity came soon.  He had been baking pies for the
sheepmen's supper and these he had placed on the tail board of the
wagon, which he had removed and laid upon a frame made of sticks
stuck into the ground.

Billy finished the pies in one grand charge.

The enraged cook forgot his own danger and boldly striding out into
the open began throwing things at the mad goat.  It mattered not what
he threw.  Anything he laid his hands on answered for the
purpose--dishpans, small kettles, knives, loaves of bread--all went
the same way, some of them reaching Chunky and bringing a howl from
him.  The goat, however, escaped without being hit once.

Twice more after wrecking the pies, did he charge the kitchen.  It
was noticed, however, that he avoided the hot stove.  Hicks gladly
would have lost that for the sake of seeing the goat smash against
it and end his career.

After one drive more ferocious than any he had made before, Billy
whirled and came back.  Old Hicks stood with his back to the kettle,
stick held aloft.  He was going to get the goat this time, for he saw
the animal would pass close to him if he held his present course.

Billy did so until within a few feet of the cook.  Then he changed
his direction.  He changed it more suddenly than the cook had looked
for.

Billy's head hit Old Hicks a powerful blow.  The cook doubled up with
a grunt.  When he came down he landed fairly in the kettle of hot
mutton.  Cook and kettle toppled over, the former yelling for help
and struggling desperately to extricate himself.

Chunky too had fared badly in the final charge.  The shock had thrown
him sideways and he crumpled up not far from the kettle and its
human occupant.

They fished Old Hicks from the wreck, fuming and raging and
threatening to kill the goat and to chase the "heathen kid" out of
the camp.

Chunky was limp and breathless when they picked him up.  They dragged
the lad away from the vicinity of the cook as quickly as
possible.  Old Hicks' rage at that moment was a thing to avoid.  The
goat, Billy, galloped away, the least disturbed of the outfit, but
it was observed that he prudently remained out on the range with the
sheep that night.

"I didn't fall in that time, did I?"  gasped Chunky, after his breath
had come back sufficiently to enable him to talk.

"No, but you're going to do so when the cook gets hold of you,"
warned Ned.

"Hicks?  Old Hicks fell into the mutton broth, didn't he?"  chuckled
the fat boy.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE VIGIL BY THE FOOTHILLS


Supper was late in the sheep camp that evening.  Old Hicks was in a
terrible rage and no one dared protest at the delay, for fear he
would get no supper at all.  The boys were still discussing Stacy
Brown's feat, and every time the subject was referred to all during
the evening, it was sure to elicit a roar of laughter.

As night came on, the sky was gradually blotted out by a thin veil
of clouds, which seemed to grow more dense as the evening wore
on.  Chunky had been sent out with Mary Johnson on guard duty, Walter
having gone out with the foreman.  That left Tad Butler and Ned
Rector of the Pony Rider Boys, to take their turn on the late trick.

Tad preferred to sit up rather than to try to sleep for the short
time that would intervene before it came his turn to go out.

"Do you think we shall have any trouble tonight?"  he asked, looking
up as Mr. Simms passed his tent.

"You know as much about that as I do, my boy.  Perhaps your courage
over at the Corners may scare them off, eh?  They may think, if we
are all such fighters over here, that it will be a good place to
keep away from."

Tad laughed good-naturedly.

"Guess I didn't give them any such fright as that.  How is Philip
this evening?"

"Sound asleep.  It's doing the boy good.  He hasn't slept like this
since his illness last spring."

"I wish he might go on with us and spend the summer out of doors."

"H-m-m-m," mused Mr. Simms.  "I am afraid he would be too great a
care.  No, Tad, the boy is a little too young.  Where are you going
next?"

"I am not sure."

"Well, let me know when you find out and we will talk it over.  Fine
night for a raid of any kind, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," answered Tad, glancing up at the black clouds.

"Good luck to you to-night.  You and your partner must take care of
yourselves.  Do not take any unnecessary risk.  You will have done
your part in using your keen young eyes to see that no one gets near
the camp."

"I should feel better if I had a gun," laughed the boy.
"Somehow--but no, I guess it is not best."

"Certainly not."

Tad turned up the lantern in his tent and sat down to his book,
which he had been reading most of the evening.  He was not
interrupted again until the camp watchmen came around to turn out
the second guard.

Ned was asleep and he tumbled out rubbing his eyes, not sure just
what was wanted of him.

"Wake up," laughed Tad.  "You are getting to be a regular sleepy
head."

"Guess I am.  Is--is it time to go out?"

"It is.  And it is a dark night, too."

"Whew!  I should say it is," replied Ned, with an apprehensive glance
out beyond the camp.  "How are we ever going to find our way about
to-night?"

"I don't imagine we shall be moving about much after we get on our
station.  Mr. Larue will place us there."

"Where are we going to be?"

"He hasn't said.  I did hear him say that we were going to watch singly
instead of in pairs, in order that he might cover more territory with
the men at his disposal."

"Sounds shivery."

"I don't know why it should.  It is night, that is the only
difference.  I am getting used to being out in the night and not
knowing where I am," laughed Tad.

Tucking the lunches that had been wrapped for them into their pockets,
the two boys walked over to the place where their ponies were
tethered.  The animals had been left bridled and saddled, the saddle
girths having been loosened. These the boys tightened and prepared to
mount when Tad happened to think of something.

"Hold my pony, Ned.  I want to get something from the tent."

Tad returned a moment later with his lariat, which he coiled
carefully and hung to the saddle horn, Ned Rector observing him with
an amused smile.

"If you can't shoot them you're going to rope them, eh?"

"A rope is always a good thing to have with you.  You don't think so,
bu

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