The Pony Rider Boys in Texas Part 3

"The young gentlemen will join you in a moment, Mr. Sanders. They will ride their ponies around from the stable and meet you in front of the house."

"You one of the bunch?"

"I am Professor Zepplin, a sort of companion, you know, for the young men."

"Huh!" grunted Big-foot. "I reckon you'd better forget the hard boiled hat you're wearin' or the boys'll be for shooting it full of holes. Take my advice--drop it, pardner."

"Oh, you mean this," laughed the Professor, removing his derby hat.

"Thank you. I shall profit by your advice, and leave it here when I start."

"All the bunch got hard boiled ones?"

"Oh, no. The boys have their sombreros," answered the Professor.

Big-foot grunted, but whether in disapproval or approval, Professor Zepplin did not know. The cowpuncher threw himself into his saddle, on which he sat, stolidly awaiting the arrival of the Pony Riders.

In a short time they came galloping from the stable at the rear of the hotel, and pulled up, facing the cowman.

"This, Mr. Sanders, is Tad Butler," announced the Professor.

"Huh!" grunted Big-foot again. "h.e.l.lo, Pinto!" he said after a sharp glance into the freckled face. "Who's the gopher over there?"

"That's Stacy Brown, otherwise known as 'Chunky,'" laughed Tad. "This is Ned Rector, and the young gentleman at your left is Walter Perkins, all members of the Pony Rider Boys' party. We are ready to start whenever you are."

For answer, Big-foot touched his pony with a spur, the little animal springing into a gallop without further command. The Pony Riders followed immediately, Tad riding up beside the big, muscular looking cowboy, which position he held for half an hour without having been able to draw a word from him.

Leaving the town due east of them, the party galloped off across the country in a straight line until finally the cowman pointed off across the plain to indicate where their destination lay.

A slow moving ma.s.s of red and brown and white met the inquiring gaze of the boys. At first they were unable to make out what it was.

"Cows," growled the guide, observing that they did not understand.

"What are they doing, Mr. Sanders?" asked Tad.

"Don't 'mister' me. I'm Big-foot. Never had a handle to my name. Never expect to. They're grazing. Be rounding them up for bed pretty soon.

Ever been on a trail before?"

Tad shook his head.

"We have been up in the Rockies on a hunting trip. This is my first experience on the plains."

"Huh! Got good and plenty coming to you, then."

"And I am ready for it," answered the lad promptly. "The rougher the better."

"There's the bunch waiting for us. All of them got back from town. The foreman don't allow the fellows to hang out nights when they're on a drive like this."

Now, the rest of the Pony Rider Boys, understanding that they were nearing the camp of the cowboys, urged their ponies into a brisk gallop and drew up well into line with Tad and Big-foot. That is, all did save Stacy Brown, who, as was his habit lagged behind a few rods.

The cowboys were standing about watching the approach of the new arrivals curiously, but not with any great enthusiasm, for they did not approve of having a lot of tenderfeet with the outfit on a journey such as they were taking now. They were bent on grim and serious business--man's work--the sort of labor that brings out all that is in him. It was no place for weaklings, and none realized this better than the cowmen themselves.

Yet, they did not know the mettle that was in these four young American boys, though they were to realize it fully before the boundaries of the Lone Star State, had been left behind them.

The Pony Riders dashed up to the waiting cowpunchers with a brave showing of horsemanship, and sprang from their saddles their eyes glowing with excitement and antic.i.p.ation.

Bob Stallings, the foreman, was the first to greet them.

"Fellows, this is the bunch I've been telling you about," was Bob's introduction. "Where's Lumpy?" he demanded, glancing about him with a scowl.

"Lumpy's over behind the chuck wagon," answered the cowboy of whom the question had been asked.

"Lumpy!" bellowed the foreman.

The fellow with whom Tad Butler had had such an unpleasant meeting, earlier in the day, came forward reluctantly, a sudden scowl on his face.

"Lumpy, this is Tad Butler. Stick out your fist and shake hands with him!"

Lumpy did so.

"Howd'y," he growled, but scarcely loud enough for any save Tad to hear.

The lad smiled up at him good-naturedly.

"You and I b.u.mped ponies this morning, I guess," said Tad. "Maybe I was to blame after all. I'll apologize, anyway, and I hope there will be no hard feelings."

"Lumpy!" warned Stallings when he noticed that the cowpuncher had made no reply to Tad's apology.

"No hard feelings," grunted Lumpy Bates.

He was about to turn away and again seek the seclusion of the chuck wagon, as the cook wagon was called by the cow boys, when Chunky came rolling along. In the excitement of the meeting the boys had forgotten all about him. The Pony Riders swung their sombreros and gave three cheers for Chunky Brown as he dashed up.

Chunky took off his sombrero and waved it at them.

Just then Chunky met with one of those unfortunate accidents that were always occurring to him. His galloping pony put a forefoot into a gopher hole, going down in a heap.

Chunky, however, kept on.

When the accident happened he was almost upon the waiting cowboys, his intention having been to pull his pony up sharply to show off his horsemanship, then drop off and make them a sweeping bow.

Stacy Brown was possessed of the true dramatic instinct, yet few things ever came off exactly as he had planned them.

As he shot over the falling pony's head, his body described a half curve in the air, his own head landing fairly in the pit of Lumpy Bates's stomach.

Cowboy and Pony Rider went over in a struggling heap, with the Pony Rider uppermost.

Stacy had introduced himself to the cowboys in a most unusual manner, and to the utter undoing of one of them, for the boy's head had for the moment, knocked all the breath out of the surly Lumpy Bates.