The Pony Rider Boys with the Texas Rangers Part 12

So unexpected had been the shot that, for a few seconds, the boys stood dumbfounded.

"I'm shot! I'm shot!" yelled the professor.

Bang!

A bullet whistled close to the head of Tad Butler. Stacy Brown, who was just coming into camp with an armful of dry wood for the campfire, dropped his burden and with a howl made for shelter. Tad and Ned had sprung to one side so as to be out of range, while Walter Perkins had flattened himself on the ground.

"Lie still!" commanded Tad sternly as the professor started to get up from where he had sunk down. "Are you much hurt?"

"I---I don't know."

"Drop that pistol, you!" commanded Tad, glowering at the prisoner.

The man laughed.

"I've got you children now," he sneered. "I'll pick you off unless you do as I tell you. Now you come over here. Walk straight, one hand out. Leave your guns behind. Cut me loose or you're a dead one,"

commanded the prisoner.

"Oh, am I?"

Tad glanced around to make sure that all the boys were out of range.

Then with a quick leap he got entirely out of range of the revolver in the hands of the prisoner. Tad had thought he was out of range before, but the man on the ground had twisted the weapon about until its muzzle was pointing in Butler's direction.

But this time the lad got out of range without question. But he was no better off than before. Reaching for his revolver he made the discovery that he had thrown off his belt with revolver and cartridges before beginning to get supper. The others were in no better shape.

Not a boy had his revolver on, and the professor's weapon was in the hands of the prisoner.

"I know a trick. I've played it once to-day and I can play it again,"

declared Tad, searching for a stone, while the others got well out of the way, watching T. Butler. In an emergency they always looked to him to get them out of their difficulties.

"Professor, you lie still. Don't move. I'll fix this fellow. You had better get a good bit farther off," advised the lad, observing a movement on the part of the mountaineer.

Suddenly the latter braced his head and digging his heels into the ground ran around, pivoting on his head. Tad antic.i.p.ated the movement by running a few seconds in advance. For a few moments it was a race of wits. The lad as yet had not found a stone suited to his immediate requirements. He was using his eyes in this direction as well as watching the prisoner. Once the latter tried a shot at the boy. The bullet pa.s.sed Butler rather too close for comfort, but the Pony Rider Boy appeared not to have heard the shot.

Not a word was being said by the lad's companions. The professor lay where he had fallen, the perspiration streaming from his face and body up the side of the canyon the big eyes of Chunky might have been seen peering through between the bushes at the exciting scene below. All at once Tad stooped over. When he straightened up with a bound that carried him several feet to one side, he held a good-sized stone in his right hand.

"Now will you drop that pistol?" demanded the Pony Rider Boy.

"I'll drop you!" roared the enraged enemy.

No sooner had he uttered the words than Tad, with a well-directed toss, dropped the stone fairly on the stomach of the man on the ground.

The prisoner uttered a yell that might have been heard a quarter of a mile away. Ere the yell had died out another stone landed nearly in the same place. The weapon dropped from the hands of the fellow, falling between his legs where he could not reach it without changing his position materially. This he tried to do in a series of quick twists and wriggles, though the boys knew from the expression on his face that he was suffering great pain. It was not surprising, in view of the fact that two rocks, each weighing from eight to ten pounds, had been dropped on his stomach.

The fellow found no opportunity to recover the lost weapon. Tad was upon him with a rush. Grabbing the mountaineer's feet he dragged the man roughly to one side.

"I guess that will be about all for you, my man. You may push us too far. I shan't promise to let you off so easily if you try any more tricks. Professor, are you much hurt?"

"I---I don't know. I'm bleeding."

"Let's see what he did to you."

A quick examination developed the fact that the professor had sustained merely a flesh wound. It was bleeding very little now. Tad, at the professor's direction, washed and dressed the wound, binding a piece of cloth firmly about the waist.

"There, I guess you will be all right now. You may come down, Chunky.

The fun is all over for the present. How did he happen to get you that way, Professor?"

Professor Zepplin explained how the prisoner had tricked him, declaring his belief in Tad Butler's statement that the prisoner was a bad man.

The professor no longer urged the release of their prisoner. Tad smiled mirthlessly. Perhaps it was better that the professor should have had an object lesson. He would take no further chances with the fellow after that. As for the prisoner, he was fairly frothing at the mouth with rage.

Now that the excitement had come to an end for the moment Stacy Brown went about his task of gathering more wood for the fire. This time he went quite a distance down the canyon, carrying a torch that he might the better find that for which he was in search.

Stacy was busy gathering wood, muttering to himself as was his habit, when all of a sudden he straightened up, conscious that some one was standing beside him. As he rose the fat boy's nose nearly b.u.mped into the muzzle of a revolver. The revolver was backed by a not unpleasant, but stern face.

"Wha---wha-----what---" stammered the fat boy. "Wh---wh---who---"

"Not a sound, young man, if you value your life. Who and what are you?"

"I---I'm a Pu---Pu---Pony Rider Boy."

"A what?"

"A Pu---Pony Rider Boy."

"What are you doing here?"

"Ga---gathering firewood."

"Who is your party?"

"Pro---professor Ze---Zep---Zepplin and the boys," stammered the fat boy, trembling at the knees. "I haven't done anything, but I'm a bu---bu---bad man when I get ma---mad."

The stern-faced stranger grinned appreciatively.

"You are not the fellows who came in at State Line the other day, are you?"

"Ye---yes, we're the bu---bu---bunch."

"Oh, fudge!" groaned the stranger. "And to think I've been to all this trouble to round up a bunch of tenderfeet." The man thrust his revolver into its holster with a grunt of disgust.

"I'm Withem," he snapped.

"So am I," answered Chunky.

"I said, 'I'm Withem,'" repeated the stranger.

"I said I was too," reiterated the fat boy.

"Look here, what are you trying to get at, young man?" demanded the newcomer with a slight show of irritation. "Are you trying to make sport of me?"