The Pony Rider Boys in Texas Part 29

There before him he saw the long, yellow arms of the Chinaman protruding above the surface of the river. This time, Tad was determined that the cook should not escape him. Tad made a long, curving dive not unlike that of a porpoise.

This time the lad's hands reached the drowning man. The long, yellow arms twined themselves about the boy, and Tad felt himself going down.

With rare presence of mind the boy held his breath, making no effort to wrench himself free from the Chinaman's grip. He knew it would be effort wasted, and, besides, he preferred to save his strength until they reached the surface once more.

Half a dozen cowpunchers had plunged their ponies into the river, and were swimming toward the spot where Tad had been seen to go down, while the foreman was shouting frantic orders at them. The wagon had been ferried to the other side, and Stallings had run to his pony, on which he was now das.h.i.+ng madly along the river bank.

"Look out that you don't run them down!" he roared. "Keep your wits about you!"

"They're both down, already!" shouted a cowboy in reply.

"We'll lose the whole outfit at this rate," growled another. Yet, not a man was there, unless perhaps it may have been Lumpy Bates, who would not have risked his own life freely to save that of the plucky lad.

After going down a few feet, Tad began treading water with all his might. This checked their downward course and in a second or so he had the satisfaction of realizing that they were slowly rising. The current, however, was forcing them up at an angle.

This, to a certain extent, worked to the boy's advantage, for the Chinaman was underneath him, thus giving Tad more freedom than had their positions been reversed.

"There they are!" cried Big-foot Sanders as the Chinaman and his would-be rescuer popped into sight.

"Go after them!" commanded Stallings.

Urging their ponies forward by beating them with their quirts, the cowboys made desperate efforts to reach the two.

Tad managed to free one arm which he held above his head.

"The rope! He wants the rope! Rope him, you idiots!" bellowed the foreman.

Big-foot made a cast. However, from his position in the water, he could not make an accurate throw and the rope fell short.

Tad saw it. He was struggling furiously now, ducking and parrying the sweep of that long, yellow arm, with which Pong sought to grasp him.

A quick eddy caught the pair and swept them out into the center of the stream, around a bend where they were caught by the full force of the current. This left their pursuers yards and yards to the rear.

Tad saw that they would both drown, if he did not resort to desperate measures. Drawing back his arm, the lad drove a blow straight at Pong's head, but a swirl of the current destroyed the boy's aim and his fist barely grazed the cheek of the Chinaman.

Quick as a flash, Tad Butler launched another blow. This time the Chinaman's head was jolted backwards, Tad's fist having landed squarely on the point of the fellow's jaw.

But Pong was still struggling, and the lad completed his work by delivering another blow in the same place.

"I hope I haven't hurt him," gasped the boy.

Tad threw himself over on his back, breathing heavily and well-nigh exhausted. He kept a firm grip on the cook, however, supporting and keeping the latter's head above water by resting the Chinaman's neck on his arm as they floated with the current.

In the meantime, Stallings was das.h.i.+ng along the bank roaring out his orders to the cowboys, calling them ash.o.r.e and driving them in further down. Yet, each time it seemed as though the floating pair drifted farther and farther away.

But Tad Butler was still cool. Now that he was getting his strength back, he began slowly to kick himself in toward sh.o.r.e, aiding in the process by long windmill strokes of his free arm.

He did not make the mistake of heading directly for the sh.o.r.e, but sought to make it by a long tack, moving half with the current and half against it. The lad had made up his mind that the cowboys would never reach them and that what was to be done must be done by himself.

"Can you make it?" called Stallings.

"Yes. But have some one--on the other side--toss me a rope--as soon as possible. I don't know--whether Pong--is done for--or not," answered the boy in short breaths.

Stallings plunged his pony into the current and swam for the other side.

Reaching there, he galloped at full speed toward the point for which Tad seemed to be aiming.

The foreman rode into the water until it was up to his saddle and where the pony was obliged to hold its head high to avoid drowning.

There the foreman waited until the lad had gotten within roping distance.

"Turn in a little," directed Stallings. "You'll hit that eddy and land out in the middle, if you don't."

A moment more and the foreman's lariat slipped away from the circle it had formed above his head.

Tad held an arm aloft, and the loop dropped neatly over it. Stallings pulled it and Tad grasped the rope after the loop had tightened about his arm.

"Haul away," he directed.

The foreman turned his pony about and slowly towed cook and boy ash.o.r.e.

The cowboys, observing that Tad was being hauled in, headed for the sh.o.r.e. Reaching it, they put spurs to their ponies and came down to the scene at a smas.h.i.+ng gait.

Leaping off, they sprang into the water, picking up Tad and the Chinaman and staggering ash.o.r.e with them.

The lad was pale and s.h.i.+vering. They laid him down on the bank. But Tad quickly pulled himself to his feet.

"I must look after Pong," he said.

"You let the heathen alone," growled Big-foot Sanders. "Us tenderfeet'll look after him. That's what we are, a bunch of rank tenderfeet. You're the only seasoned, all around, dyed-in-the-wool, genuwine cowpuncher in the whole outfit. That's the truth."

Tad smiled as he hurried to where the foreman was working over the unconscious cook.

"Is he dead?" asked the lad, apprehensively.

"Dead? Huh!" grunted Curley Adams. "Heathen Chinese don't die as easy as that."

After a few minutes the cook went off into a paroxysm of choking and coughing. Then he opened his eyes.

Chunky Brown was standing near, blinking down wisely into the yellow face of Pong.

"You fell in, didn't you?" he asked solemnly.

"Allee samee," grinned the yellow man, weakly.

CHAPTER XVII