Читать книгу The X Bar X Boys at Nugget Camp - Roger Garis - Страница 3

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By the time Roy Manley shortened the stirrup that had loosened and slipped down two holes, his brother Teddy was nearly out of sight behind the hunch-backed rise of ground. Roy heard a faint yell as pony and boy disappeared completely.

“Got lightning grease on his heels,” he grumbled, struggling with the stirrup. “Belle, why don’t you take Nell in out of this sun? You and Curly get one on each side of her, and cart her along.”

“Cart me along!” Nell Willis responded indignantly. “Think I’m a bag of potatoes?”

Belle Ada, the girl Roy Manley had addressed, laughed merrily. She was Roy’s sister, a dark-haired, dark-eyed daughter of the plains, thirteen years old, with a gift for practical jokes that was often extremely disconcerting.

Belle Ada, with her two brothers, had been visiting the 8 X 8 ranch, belonging to Peter Ball, a close friend of the two brothers and of their father. Some time before Nell Willis and Ethel, or “Curly,” Carew, had come from the East to see their aunt, Mrs. Ball. Whether it was due to their liking of Western scenery or to the fact that the X Bar X ranch—where Teddy and Roy lived—was within riding distance, is a question still to be determined; but at any rate, they stretched their visit from one month into many months.

They were rapidly growing to look upon the great spaces of the West as their real home. But an incident, such as had just occurred, served to show that they had not quite earned the title of cowgirls.

Nell had been thrown. Her mount stopped suddenly, and the girl had taken the shortest route to the ground, fortunately lauding free of the horse and unhurt aside from a severe shaking up. The pony tossed his head, rolled his eyes significantly, and streaked in the general direction of Chicago, Teddy hot on his trail. Roy’s stirrup had taken that moment to slip.

“Be good now, Nell,” Roy admonished. “You put an awful dent in mother earth, you know. Yay—there she is!” He gave the strap a final tug and then vaulted into the saddle. “If Teddy catches that bronc while his big brother is playing nursemaid to a horse, I’ll never hear the last of it. Got to get me a new pair of stirrups. Get in out of the sun, Nell! We’ll have you—”

“Never mind about the sun!” Nell called. “You rope yourself tight to Star and keep your feet out of the stirrups!”

It is doubtful if Roy heard the remark, however well directed it was, for he had given his pony a quick jab with his heels and was dashing toward the hills behind which his brother had disappeared. Seventeen is not an age which will gracefully admit the superiority of another, even though that other be a brother. Roy wanted very much to catch Nell’s runaway pony before Teddy did.

He bent low over Star’s neck and watched the little spurts of dust fly up as the pony pounded over the dry earth. To his ears came the low murmur of Rocky Run River, a stream which skirted both the X Bar X and the 8 X 8 ranches. The spring sun was melting the mountain snows, and the river was at its highest point.

“If Teddy heads him in the right direction, he can corner him,” Roy muttered. “And that means I’ll arrive just in time to be late. Blame that stirrup! If it had been Curly’s horse it wouldn’t be so bad. But I ought to catch Nell’s bronc—instead of Teddy catching him.”

He did not explain this enigmatical statement, even to himself. It just occurred to him, and re-occurred with added force as the moments passed. He, and not Teddy, should capture the runaway.

“But what chance have I?” he murmured. “I can’t—Sweet daddy, there he is! There he is! He must have doubled back!”

In the distance Roy caught a glimpse of a riderless pony, tail straight out in the wind.

“Here we go, Star!” Roy shouted. “Take him down! Atta baby!”

Star, quick to sense what was wanted of him, swung toward the runaway. He seemed to feel something of his rider’s anxiety, and his breath came more swiftly as he settled down to the task.

Now the other pony saw them, and hesitated, head held high, forefeet straight as poles. Then he bobbed toward the ground as though he were making a bow and was off like a shot.

It never entered Roy’s head to think what had become of Teddy. He was too intent on one thing—catching Nell’s pony and bringing it to her.

“All right, Star,” Roy muttered. “A little of the old fight now.”

He sat in the saddle as though he were part of the horse, a centaur come to life on the plains of the West. As his steed’s feet tapped the ground, to draw apart and then tap again, the boy’s body moved back and forth with a rhythm that was beautiful. Not once was the motion interrupted.

“There he goes—straight for the river!”

It was impossible to tell at that distance whether or not Roy was gaining on the runaway. At times he seemed closer, then a clump of trees would block the boy’s view, and when he again caught sight of the horse it would appear as though he had lost ground.

“Somethin’s got to happen pretty quick,” the boy said aloud. “He can’t go far to the left when he reaches the river on account of the rocks. He’ll have to take the right trail. That means a good long chase unless he gets winded soon—and I don’t think he will. Star, old boy, we’ve got to work!”

The horse nodded his head to shake a bit of foam from his lips, and Roy chuckled. It looked as if Star had understood and agreed.

“So you do know what it’s all about? Well, I won’t talk any more—might disturb you. Anyway, you don’t have to answer me. Just you go along, and we’ll have a speech making contest when this thing’s over—you and me.”

It was characteristic of Roy to think of the unusual even at a moment like this. The idea of him and his horse standing opposite each other and discussing the pros and cons of a question struck him as extremely humorous, and he snickered loudly. Star raised his head inquiringly, and as he did so the pony in front changed its direction and headed for the left.

Roy was jolted out of his mood. The left! That meant the rocks!

“Is he crazy enough to try to get out that way?” Roy ejaculated. “He’ll burst his fool head open, if he does! Reckon I have to reach him before he takes a dive! Be a fine thing for me to tell Nell her pony is waiting to be made into sausages. Step on it, Star!”

To one who did not know the pony, it would seem that Star had already done all the “stepping on it” he was able. But now he drew his ears just a little closer to his head, bunched his muscles a little tighter, and flashed ahead.

This time it was apparent the pursuers were gaining. The white spot on the runaway’s flank was plainly visible.

“Now we have it! Now we have it! Now we have it!” Roy grunted, the words keeping time with the beat of the pony’s feet. “Into the rocks he goes, and in we go after him. ‘Into the valley of death rode the six hundred!’ ‘Mighty is he who wields the sword, but mightier still—’ I forget the rest of that. Good start, though.” He was talking aloud, not conscious of what he was saying, finding the effort necessary to pronounce the words a relief to his pent-up emotions.

Ahead were the rocks, black and forbidding, out of keeping with the placidness of the rest of the scene—a strange contrast to the gentle sloping prairie. At some time in the formation of the earth this portion was fated to retain the characteristics of the early terrain while the surrounding landscape was calmed by some giant hand. Silhouetted bluntly against the sky, the rocks were the bane of cattlemen who had to skirt them in a wide path instead of following the river directly.

Their edges bordered on the water and in storms the river roared sullenly over their shiny backs. Frequently cows were found dead at their base, who, coming to drink, had slipped and been drawn into the turmoil.

“Pretty looking sight,” Roy muttered, glancing toward the black mass. “Just the place a crazy horse would head for. Yep—there he goes!”

The runaway had reached the first of the rocks, and, without stopping a moment, sprang for the lower ledge. Roy fancied he heard the hoofs scrape as the steed pulled himself up.

“We’ve got to do that pretty soon,” the boy said. No thought of abandoning the chase came to him. “Get out the old ground-grippers, Star.”

He came to the ledge, and pulled upward on the reins. With a little whinny Star tensed his muscles and sprang. The ledge was on a level with his chest, but it is one thing to clear a barrier, another to mount it. For a moment it seemed as if the horse and rider must slip back, but, with a supreme effort, the pony forced himself up and stood trembling on the rocky shelf.

“That’s the first of them,” the boy breathed. “Watch it, Star! Take it easy. We can’t rush this.”

As a mountain climber tests the ice before trusting his weight to it, Star touched each bit of rock before placing his hoof on it. Sharp corners and jagged points of rock surrounded them. A misstep would mean a painful, if not fatal, injury.

“And we’re not at the worst part yet,” the boy murmured. “Wait till we reach the edge. Where in thunder is that horse? If he—”

A sound came to his ears, a sound of breaking rock. He waited, and heard a splash.

“Missed that one. He’s not far off, at any rate. All right, Star—up we go!”

He hoped the runaway was standing still, perhaps frightened by the stone his feet had dislodged and sent into the river. He should come into sight soon.

The river roared louder with each step Star took, and the boy knew they were approaching the edge, with a sheer drop to the water below. Higher and higher Star mounted, and at last stood with his forefeet braced against a stone, his widened eyes staring into the depths. They had reached the edge.

Not fifty feet from them was the runaway bronco, his head moving from side to side in bewildered fright, his whole body trembling violently.

Roy whistled softly.

“That way, Star,” he whispered. “Easy, now! Just a little more—”

His hand was on his rope that hung from the saddlehorn. If he could ring the bronc, the rest would be easy, for the pony was much too frightened to resist. He could lead the animal down safely.

Pulling the reins ever so slightly, Roy brought Star to a halt. He was near enough to throw. Carefully he poised the lariat. His knees gripped Star’s side.

The rope whistled overhead, straightened out like a snake. True was the throw, and truly the noose landed, full over the pony’s neck.

Then, from below, came a yell of exultation.

“Atta baby, Roy! Great stuff! I knew you’d make it! I waited until—”

The pony, with the rope about his neck, jerked as though he had been stung with fire. A shrill cry, almost human, burst from him. He leaped forward.

“Roy! Roy! Cut loose! Don’t let him—Oh-h-h!”

It was too late. Star, trying vainly to keep his balance, toppled outward, and Roy, in full view of Teddy, hurtled toward the river that hissed over the waiting rocks below!