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Pony Rider Boys in Texas, The

<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> <h3>THE VIGIL ON THE PLAINS</h3> "I wish I had a drink of water," said Tad after some hours had passed. Instead of drifting away, the fog had become more dense. He could see only part of the herd now. However, as they showed no disposition to run, Tad felt no concern in that direction. He was obliged to ride around the herd more frequently than would otherwise have been the case, in order to keep the straying ones well rounded in. The hours passed slowly, and with their passing Tad's appetite grew. He sat on his pony, enviously watching the cattle filling their stomachs with the wet grass. "I almost wish I were a steer," declared Tad. "I could at least satisfy my hunger." Then the lad once more took up his weary round. Off to the eastward, all was still excitement. The herd had broken up into many parts during the stampede and the cowmen were having a hard time in rounding up the scattered bunches. A few of them had succeeded in working some of the animals back to the bedding ground of the previous night, where the animals were left in charge of one man. With the coming of the morning and the fog, which blanketed everything, their work became doubly difficult. The storm had wiped out almost all traces of the trail made by the different herds in their escape, until even an Indian would have been perplexed in an effort to follow them. "Who is missing?" asked Stallings, riding into camp after a fruitless search for his cattle. "Tad Butler, for one," answered Walter Perkins. "Let's see. He was on guard with Big-foot Sanders," mused the foreman. "Big-foot has not shown up, so the young man probably is with him. No need to worry about them. Big-foot knows this country like a book. You can't lose him. Then there's Curley Adams and Lumpy Bates to come in yet. I can see us eating our Thanksgiving dinner on the trail if this thing keeps up much longer." Yet, despite these discouragements, the foreman kept his temper and his head. "Is there nothing we can do toward finding the boy?" asked Professor Zepplin anxiously. "Does it look like it?" answered Stallings, motioning toward the fog that lay over them like a dull, gray, cheerless blanket. Late in the afternoon Curley and Lumpy came straggling into camp with the remnants of the herd, with which they had raced out hours before. An hour afterwards, Big-foot Sanders drove in with a bunch of two hundred more. "Where's the Pinto?" asked Stallings as Big-foot rode up to the trail wagon and reported. "The Pinto? Why, I haven't seen the kid since the bunch started on the rampage last night. I thought he was with me on the other end of the herd. Hasn't he come in yet?" "No." "Then the kid's lost. All the cows back?" "I don't know. I'll look over the herd and make an estimate. You come along with me." Together the foreman and the big cowman rode out to the grazing ground, where they circled the great herd, glancing critically over them as they rode. "What do you think?" asked Big-foot as they completed the circuit of the herd. "I should say we were close to five hundred head short," decided the foreman. "How does it look to you?" "I reckon you're about right. Suffering cats, but that was a run! Never saw a bunch scatter so in my life." "Couldn't be helped. The night was so dark you couldn't tell whether you had a hundred or a thousand with you. Did you strike any cross trails while you were coming in!" "Nary a one—not in the direction I came from. If I'd kept on last night, at the rate I was going, I'd have rounded up in Wyoming some time to-day I reckon. Sorry the Pinto's strayed away. He'll have a time of it finding his way back. Reckon we won't see the kid again this trip," decided Big-foot. "We've got to," answered the foreman sharply. "We don't move from this bed till he's been picked up, even if it takes all summer." "You—you don't reckon he's with that other bunch, do you?" "I shouldn't be surprised. The boy has pluck and I have an idea that if he got in with a lot of cows he'd stick to them till the pony went down under him." "More'n likely that's what happened. I'll tell you what we had better do——" "Get all the boys together who are not needed on guard," interrupted Stallings. "Let them circle out to the west and southwest and shoot. Have each man fire a shot every five minutes by the watch as they move out. That will keep them in touch with each other, and will act as a guide to the kid if he happens to be within hearing." "How far shall we go?" "Half an hour out. It's not safe to leave the herd any longer unless the fog clears away. As soon as that goes we'll organize a regular search. I want those cows, and I want to find the boy." The men quickly mounted their ponies and disappeared in the fog, following the orders given by the foreman. After a time those in camp could faintly hear the distant cracks of the cowpunchers' pistols as they fired their signals into the air. In the meantime Tad Butler was keeping his lonely vigil on the fogbound plains many miles away. The fog was still hovering over the herd as the afternoon waned, and the lad's body was dripping wet from it. Occasionally he brushed a hand across his face, wiping away the moisture. Darkness settled down earlier than usual that night. Yet, to the boy's great relief, the fog lifted shortly afterwards and the stars came out brightly. With the skill of an old cowman Tad had bedded down the herd and began to ride slowly about them, whistling vigorously. His face ached from the constant puckering of his lips, and his wounds gave him considerable pain. Yet he lost none of his cheerfulness. At times Tad found himself drooping in his saddle as his sleepiness overcame him. But he fought the temptation to doze by talking to himself and bringing the quirt sharply against his legs. "Tad Butler, don't you dare to go to sleep!" he warned himself. "It's the first real duty you have had to perform, so you're not going to make a mess of it. My, but I'm hungry!" From that on the boy never allowed his eyelids to drop, though at times they felt as if weighted down with lead. After what seemed an eternity, the gray dawn appeared on the eastern horizon. Immediately Tad began routing out the cows that they might have an opportunity to graze before the rising of the sun. It was his intention to point them toward where he believed the camp to be the moment they had grazed to their satisfaction. Until then it would not be wise to start the animals on their course. About six o'clock, deciding that they had eaten enough, Tad began galloping up and down, shouting and applying his quirt here and there to the backs of the cows. It was slow work for one lone horseman to start five hundred cattle on the trail. Yet, after half an hour of effort, he had the satisfaction of seeing them begin to move. "Whoop!" shouted the boy. "I'm a real cowboy this time!" Yet his task was more difficult than he had imagined it could be. While he was urging on one part of the herd, the others would lag by the wayside and begin to graze. Constant effort and continual moving about at high speed on his part, were necessary to keep up any sort of movement among the cattle. The lad headed as nearly as possible for the southeast, believing that he had come from that direction. At the same time a party had set out from the camp in search of young Butler. They had laid their course more toward the southwest. Holding these directions the two parties would not come within some miles of each other. Tad's eyes were continually sweeping the plains in hope of discovering a horseman or some signs of the main herd, which he was sure must have been rounded up long before. Not a trace of them could he discover. Once the boy straightened up in his saddle believing he had heard the report of a gun. After listening for some time he came to the conclusion that he had been in error. "I guess it's my stomach imagining things," grinned Tad Butler. He had now been out for two nights, and was now well along on the second day. During all that time he had not had a mouthful to eat. His lips were dry and parched; his throat burned fearfully. Still, he kept resolutely on. About two o'clock in the afternoon the herd came upon a clump of trees. Tad at sight of it, spurred his pony on, attracted by the greenness of the grass about the place, hoping that he might find a spring. But he was doomed to disappointment. There was no sign of water to be found. With almost a sob in his throat the boy swung himself into his saddle again. "Barney, you and I ought to be camels. Then we could carry all the water we need," he told the pony. "If we don't find some pretty soon I reckon we'll dry up and blow away. Gid-ap, Barney!" Once more the lad began his monotonous pounding back and forth along the side of the herd which was now spread out over a full half mile of territory, urging with all his strength in order to get the animals to quicken their pace. In the camp, Stallings and the others had begun to show their worriment. Not a trace had been found of boy or herd. The main hope of the foreman was that Tad might come upon a ranch or a town somewhere, in his course, and in that way get help to direct him back to camp. As for the cattle, he feared that they had become so split up that it would be well-nigh impossible to get them together again. During the whole afternoon, Bob Stallings had been riding about his own herd, sweeping the plain with a pair of field glasses. A speck of dust far to the northwest suddenly attracted his attention. Stallings halted his pony, and, sitting in his saddle almost motionless, gazed intently at the tiny point that had come within range of his vision. "I wonder what that is," mused the foreman. "It can't be any of our party, for they would not be likely to be away off there—that is, unless they have rounded up the bunch." Stallings, after a while, wheeled his pony and dashed back to camp. "If any of the men come in, tell them to head northwest and come on as fast as they can." "Do you see anything?" asked the Professor anxiously. "I don't know. I hope I do," answered the foreman, leaping into his saddle and putting spurs to his mount. "It may be some other herd crossing the state," he muttered, keeping his eyes fixed on the speck that was slowly developing into a miniature cloud. The foreman urged his pony to its best pace, and, in the course of half an hour he was able to make out a herd of cattle. That was all he could tell about it. However, it was not long before he discovered a lone horseman working up and down the herd. Stallings was in too great a hurry to use his glasses now. He was driving his pony straight at the yellow mark off there on the plain, without swerving or appearing to exert any pressure at all on the bridle rein. "It's the Pinto, as I'm alive!" he breathed. The horseman with the herd saw him now, and rising in his saddle, waved a hand at the foreman. In a few moments Stallings came rushing up with a shout of joy. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/ill117.jpg" alt=""/></div> <h3>Good for You, Kid!</h3> <hr style="width: 65%;" /> "Good for you, kid! How are you?" "Baked to a turn," answered Tad hoarsely, but with face lighting up joyously. "I never was so thirsty in my life." "What? Haven't you had anything to drink?" "Not a drop in two days." "Great heavens, boy! You head that pony for camp mighty quick. Ride for it! You will have no difficulty in following my trail back. Don't drink much at a time. Take it in little sips," commanded the foreman in short, jerky sentences. "Yes, but what about the herd?" asked Tad Butler. "Never you mind the herd. I'll see to them. You move!" Stallings noticed that the boy sat in his saddle very straight, and he knew well enough the effort it cost him to do so. "I think I'll stay," answered the lad after a moment of indecision. "You'll go!" Tad shook his head. "I've pulled them through, even if I have had quite a time of it. Now I'm going to stay with them. I guess I can stand it as well as any of your men could under similar circumstances. They wouldn't desert the herd, would they?" Stallings glanced at him sharply. "All right," he said. "If you insist upon it. By good rights I ought to order you in. But I understand just how you feel, kid. Here, take a drink of this brandy. It will brace you up," said the foreman, producing a flask from his pocket. "I keep it for emergencies, as the men are not allowed to use it while on duty." "Thank you," answered the boy, with an emphatic shake of the head. "I don't drink." "I understand. But this is medicine," urged the foreman. "It will set you right up." "I haven't the least doubt of it," grinned the boy. "But I don't want to be set up that way. You'll excuse me, Mr. Stallings. Don't urge me, please." The foreman replaced the flask in his pocket, a queer smile flickering about the corners of his mouth. "You are the right stuff, kid," he muttered. "If you stayed in this business you'd be a foreman before you knew it. You are a heap sight better than a lot of them now. Fall in. I'll ride around on the other side of the herd, and urge them along from the rear. You ride up to the right of the line and keep them pointed. Follow our trail. You will make out the main herd very soon." With renewed strength, Tad went at his work, though it was with an effort that he kept his saddle. He was afraid he must collapse before reaching the camp, and his straining eyes kept searching for the herd and the white-topped wagon that he knew held what he needed most of all at that moment—drink and food! Soon Tad and the foreman made out a rising cloud of dust approaching them at a rapid rate. Stallings waved his hand toward the cloud and nodded to Tad, being too far away to call. The lad shook his head in reply. He understood what the foreman meant. Men were coming to their assistance and the boy was to push on for camp alone. The cowpunchers began to laugh as they rode up and observed the boy's tattered condition. "So the Pinto got a dose this time, eh?" jeered Lumpy Bates. "You shut up!" snarled Big-foot Sanders, turning on him menacingly. "He's brought them cows back, and I'll bet a new saddle it's more'n you could have done. Don't you see the kid's near all in? Here you, Pinto, you hike for camp!" he shouted. "I'm staying with the cattle," announced Tad, firmly. "Cattle nothing. It's the camp for yours and mighty quick!" Without waiting for argument Big-foot grasped the reins of Tad's bridle and whirling his own mount about, galloped away, fairly dragging Tad Butler and his tired pony after him. With no reins in his hands the boy was powerless to interfere. All he could do was to sit in his saddle and be towed into camp. "Please don't take me in this way. Let me ride in," he begged as they neared the camp. "All right," laughed Big-foot, slacking up and tossing the reins back over the pony's neck. "It's a terrible thing to be proud, when a fellow's down and out. But I want to say one thing, kid." "Yes?" "There ain't a gamer critter standing on two hoofs than you—bar none. And that goes." Tad laughed happily. "I haven't done anything. I——" "Haven't done anything?" growled Big-foot, riding close and peering down into the boy's scarred and grimy face. "Say, don't pass that out to the bunch. Lumpy'll say you're fishin' for compliments. I don't want to thump him, but, if he passes out any talk as reflects on what you've done for this outfit, I'll thrash him proper." They were now so near to the camp that the Professor and the boys were able to recognize the horsemen. They set up a great shout. "Meet me with a pail of water," yelled Tad. "I'm hot." Pong heard him and almost immediately emerged from the chuck wagon with a tin pail full of water. "Throw it on me, quick," commanded the lad, leaping from his pony. Pong tipped the pail and was about to dash it over the lad when Big-foot suddenly freed a foot from the stirrup. He gave the pail a powerful kick sending it several feet from him, its contents spilling over the ground. "You idiot! You fool heathen!" roared Big-foot. "The Pinto didn't say he wanted boiling hot water thrown on him. He said he was hot. If you wasn't the cook of this outfit, and we'd all starve to death without you, I'd shoot you plumb full of holes, you blooming idiot of a heathen Chinee!" "Allee same," chuckled Pong, showing his gleaming teeth. "What! You climb into that wagon before I forget you're the cook!" fumed Big-foot, jumping his pony threateningly toward the Chinaman. Pong leaped into the protection of his wagon. "Boys," said the big cowman, "the Pinto has come back with the crazy steers. He's rounded up the whole bunch and never lost a critter. Look at him, if you don't believe me. Ain't he a sight?" Tad smiled proudly as he sipped the water which one of the boys had brought to him. "Any man as says he ain't a sight has got a fight on with Big-foot Sanders. And that goes, too!" announced the cowman, glaring about him. "Three cheers for Tad Butler, champion cowpuncher!" cried Ned Rector. "Hooray!" bellowed Big-foot. "Y-e-e-e-o-w!" "Hip-hip, hooray!" chorused the boys, hurling their sombreros into the air. Their wild yells and cat calls made the cattle off on the grazing grounds raise their heads in wonder. "Allee same likee this," chuckled the grinning Chinaman from the front end of the chuck wagon, at the same time making motions as if he, too, were cheering. The boys roared with laughter. Big-foot Sanders grunted and turned his back on the grinning face of Pong. "One of these days I sure will forget that heathen's the cook," he growled. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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