Books: The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
F >>
Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11
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 he 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 he 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,
but it is. Never know what minute you are going to need it badly."
"It wouldn't do me any good, no matter how much I needed it," smiled
Ned. "I couldn't lasso the side of a barn."
"You do very well. If you will practise every day you will be able
to handle it as well as the average cowboy in less than a week.
Come along."
As they left the camp, Luke Larue met them to conduct the boys to the
places where they were to spend the last half of the night.
"After we leave the herd behind us, it's the frozen tongue for you,"
he said.
"You mean we are not to speak?" asked Tad.
"Not a word out loud. If you have anything you must say, whisper."
"Oh, all right."
They dropped Ned first. His station was nearer to the herd than that
which had been assigned to Tad. The latter went on with the foreman
until they were fairly out by the foothills.
"I've given you one of the most responsible stations, you see,"
whispered the foreman. "It will be lonesome out here. Do you mind?"
"Not at all. Anybody near me?"
"Noisy Cooper is over there to your left about ten rods away. Bat
Coyne is to your right here. You're not so close that you can rub
elbows, however. Be watchful. It's just the night for a raid. Use
your own judgment in case you hear anything suspicious. Above all
look out for yourself. You've got a pony that will take you away
from trouble pretty fast if you get in a hurry. You know the
signal?"
"Yes."
"Then good night and good luck," whispered Luke, reaching out and
giving Tad's hand a hearty clasp.
There was something so encouraging--so confident in the grip, that
even had Tad Butler's courage been waning, it would have come back
to him with a rush after that.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 | 8 |
9 |
10 |
11