The Boy Scouts On The Range Part 10

Suddenly, a mile or more off, a dark cloud grew and grew until it spread half across the blue sky, wiping it out.

"They raise as much dust as a tornado," exclaimed Blinky. "Pesky critters! I'd like to get a shot at the Moquis what started them."

But it was no time to exchange remarks. The face of each man in that little band was grave, and he appeared to be mustering every ounce of courage in his body for the struggle that was to come.

To the boys, as to the men, the situation was clear enough. Across the plateau the stampeding cattle were thundering, headed straight for the Graveyard Cliffs. Behind them, like a mighty wall, rose the sheer face of a precipice where a bold peak of the range soared upward. Between this wall and the ominously named gorge was the little band of hors.e.m.e.n.

They faced the problem of turning the stampede or being swept with it into the jaws of the deep, narrow gulch. Small wonder that the bravest of them felt his heart beat a little quicker as the cattle rushed on.

Suddenly Mr. Harkness espied the boys.

"You boys go back!" he shouted sharply. "I should never have let you come. This is too dangerous for you."

"Why, dad, we'll be all right. Let us stay and see it out," protested Harry.

"Go back at once, boy," said Mr. Harkness sternly. "You don't know the danger."

There was no disobeying the stern command, and the boys, all of them with the exception of Tubby, regretting the necessity, turned their ponies away. The stout youth was inwardly much gratified at the idea of avoiding the stampede.

"Beefsteak is all very fine," he said to himself, "but I like it inside, and not on top of me, at the bottom of a gulch."

As the boys wheeled their mounts and separated from the main body of the cow-punchers, three other mounted figures swept toward them with wild yells. The newcomers were the three Simmons brothers, the recruits to the Boy Scouts. With them, and close behind, came Charley and Frank Price and Jeb Cotton. All had ridden post haste to the spot on receipt of the hastily 'phoned message from headquarters.

Each boy gave the secret salute of the scouts as he drew rein, and awaited orders. A regular howl of disappointment went up when they learned that they had been ordered off "the firing line," so to speak.

"It's a shame," growled Tom Simmons.

"That's what," a.s.sented Jeb Cotton, trying to quiet his little calico pony, which was dancing about, scenting the excitement in the air.

Indeed, all the animals seemed to have caught the infection, and were prancing about, almost unmanageable. Perhaps the increasing thunder of the hoofs of the advancing stampede had something to do with it.

"Well, what are we to do?" demanded Frank Price.

"Stay here and wait for a chance to help if we see it," said Rob.

"Oh, pshaw! They're busy. They won't see us. Let's slip in while they're not looking," urged Bill Simmons.

"The first duty of a Boy Scout is to obey orders," said Harry Harkness decisively.

"It's mighty hard to sit here doing nothing, though," grumbled Frank Price.

"That's what our soldiers had to do in many a battle," his brother Charley reminded him.

"That's so. I guess we'll have to be patient."

And now, under the direction of Mr. Harkness, the cattlemen spread out in a long line, so arranged as to be capable of sweeping across the vanguard of the cattle in a compact skirmish line rank. Each puncher had his gun ready for action, and at the word from Mr. Harkness they rode toward the approaching stampede at a quick lope.

Up till now the stampede had not been visible. Only the signs of its approach were manifest. Suddenly, however, over the crest of a little rise, there swept into view an appalling spectacle. Hundreds of fear-crazed cattle, bellowing as they raced forward, and clashing their horns together with a sharp sound, formed the vanguard. Behind them came a huddled ma.s.s, goring and trampling each other in their terror.

The boys' faces paled as they watched.

"Yow-yow-yow-eee-ee-e!"

The yells burst from the cattlemen's throats above the noise of the stampede.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A score of revolver shots crackled as the line swept forward and rode at full gallop right across the faces of the leaders of the mad rush. It was terribly risky work. The slightest stumble would have meant death.

At the head of his cow-punchers, like a general leading his forces, rode Mr. Harkness on his big bay.

Clear across the front of the line the cow-punchers swept without appreciably diminishing the speed of the onrush.

A second time they tried the daring tactics. This time they succeeded in checking the cattle a little, but only a bare two hundred yards remained between the leaders and the edge of the Graveyard. In this s.p.a.ce galloped the cow-punchers. Could they stop the advance in time to save themselves from a terrible death?

"Father! Father!" shouted Harry, in his painful excitement standing up in his stirrups.

The boys felt a great sympathy for the rancher's son. If the cattle were not stopped in the next few minutes a terrible death seemed certain to overtake the brave man and his helpers.

"Fire at 'em!" yelled Mr. Harkness suddenly.

This was a desperate last resort. Hitherto, the cow-punchers had been firing in the air. Now, however, they leveled their revolvers at the oncoming herd.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Several of the leaders crumpled up and fell to the ground, mortally wounded. In a second they were trampled under foot, but suddenly, after twenty or more had been thus slaughtered, the band began to waver. At last, with mad bellows, and amid frantic yells from the cowboys, their ranks broke and wavered.

"Yip-yip-u-ee-ee!"

The triumphant shrieks of the cowboys rang out as the disorganized herd split up.

"Wow! They've turned 'em!" shouted Harry. "Hooray!"

The next instant his shout of delight changed to a yell of dismay, and he turned his pony sharply.

"Come on, Rob!" he cried. "We've got to get out of here!"

"They're coming this way!" yelled Tubby, spurring his pony and galloping off at top speed, the others following him. As Rob's pony jumped forward, however, it stumbled and threw the boy headlong. He kept his hold of the reins, fortunately, and was up on its back in a trice. But the second's delay had been fatal.

Sweeping toward the boy, from two points of the compa.s.s, were two sections of disorganized stampede. The cattle were trying, according to their instinct, to reunite.

"I'm hemmed in," was Rob's thought.

He switched rapidly round to a quarter where there seemed a chance of escape, but already it had been closed. The boy was on a sort of island.

Behind him was the gorge, deep and terrible. In front of him on two sides, death was closing in on the wings of the wind.

CHAPTER VIII.

HEMMED IN BY THE HERD.