The Pony Rider Boys in Texas Part 34

GRIT WINS THE BATTLE

The lad appeared to strike the ground head-on. Fortunately, the spot where he landed was covered with soft sand.

"Are you hurt?" asked Big-foot, running to the boy and reaching out to a.s.sist him.

"I guess not," answered Tad, rubbing the sand from his eyes and blinking vigorously.

The skin had been sc.r.a.ped from his face in spots where the coa.r.s.e sand had ground its way through. His hair was filled with the dirt of the plain, and his clothes were torn.

But Tad Butler, nothing daunted, smiled as he pulled himself to his feet.

"You better let that job out. You can't ride that critter!"

"I'll ride him--if he kills me!" answered the boy, his jaws setting stubbornly.

Tad hitched his belt tighter before making any move to approach the pony, which Stallings was now holding by main force. While doing so, the lad watched the animal's buckings observantly.

"What--what happened?" demanded Stallings.

"Foot slipped out of the stirrup."

"Think you can make it?"

"I'll try it, if you have the time to spare."

"It takes time to break a bronch. Don't you worry about that. I don't want you to be breaking your neck, however."

"My advice is that you keep off that animal," declared Professor Zepplin. "You cannot manage him; that is plain."

"Please do not say that, Professor. I must ride him now. You wouldn't have me be a coward, would you?"

Stallings, realizing the boy's position, nodded slightly to the Professor.

"Very well, if Mr. Stallings thinks it is safe," agreed Professor Zepplin reluctantly.

Tad's face lighted up with a satisfied smile.

"Whoa, boy," he soothed, patting the animal gently on the neck.

The pony's back arched and its heels shot up into the air again. Once more Tad petted him.

"No use," said the foreman. "The iron hand is the only thing that will break this cayuse. Don't know enough to know when he's well off. Got your spurs on?"

"Yes."

"Then drive them in when you get well seated."

Tad shook his head.

"I do not think that will be necessary. Guess he'll go fast enough without urging him with the rowels," answered the boy, backing away to wait until the pony had bounced itself into a position where another effort to mount him would be possible.

"Will you please coil up the stake rope and fasten it to the horn, Mr.

Stallings?" asked Tad. "I don't want to get tangled up with that thing."

"Yes, if you are sure you can stick on him."

"Leave that to me. I know his tricks now."

Cautiously the rope was coiled and made fast to the saddle horn.

"I'm coming," said Tad in a quiet, tense voice.

"Ready," answered the foreman, with equal quietness.

The lad darted forward, running on his toes, his eyes fixed on the saddle.

Tad gave no heed to the pony. It was that heavy bobbing saddle that he must safely make before the pony itself would enter into his considerations.

Lightly touching the saddle, he bounded into it, at the same time shoving both feet forward. Fortunately his shoes slipped into the big, boxed stirrups, and the rein which lay over the pommel ready for him was quickly gathered up.

Stallings leaped from the animal's head and the cowpunchers made a quick sprint to remove themselves from the danger zone.

They were none too soon.

The broncho at last realized that his head was free. His sides, however, were being gripped by a muscular pair of legs, and his head was suddenly jerked up by a sharp tug at the rein.

"Y-e-e-e-o-w!" greeted the cowboys in their long-drawn, piercing cry.

"Yip!" answered Tad, though more to the pony than in answer to them.

Down went the pony's head between his forward legs, his hind hoofs beating a tattoo in the air.

The feet came down as suddenly as they had gone up. Instantly the little animal began a series of stiff-legged leaps into the air, his curving back making it a very uncomfortable place to sit on.

Tad's head was jerked back and forth until it seemed as though his neck would be broken.

"Look out for the side jump!" warned the foreman.

It came almost instantly, and with a quickness that nearly unhorsed the plucky lad.

As it was, the swift leap to the right threw Tad half way over on the beast's left side. Fortunately, the lad gripped the pommel with his right hand as he felt himself going, and little by little he pulled himself once more to an upright posture.

All at once the animal took a leap into the air, coming down headed in the opposite direction.

Tad's head swam. He no longer heard the shouts of encouragement from the cowpunchers. He was clinging desperately to his insecure seat, with legs pressed tightly against the pony's sides. As yet he had not seen fit to use the rowels.

There came a pause which was almost as disconcerting as had been the previous rapid movements.