Books: The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
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Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
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11 ** transcription by Kent Fielden
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 be 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 he 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 be 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.
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