The saddle boys on the plains

“Frank, wake up!”

Possibly that was the first time on record when the late tenderfoot had found a chance to arouse his chum from sleep, and the strange part of it was Frank never knew how it happened that he had been slumbering so heavily on that particular night.

When his comrade shook him he was of course wide awake in a second; and sat up in the tent, that gave very little more than head room for the two.

“Well, what’s wrong?” he asked, in a whisper.

“I happened to wake up, and heard Buckskin snorting to beat the band,” said Bob, his own voice showing evidence of trembling. “Listen, there he goes again, Frank! Doesn’t that sound as if he wanted to let you know?”

“That’s just what it does, Bob!”

Even as he uttered these low words Frank was reaching out for his gun. He felt very queerly about the fact of his not having heard the least sound until his comrade aroused him.

“My! but I must have been in the grip of a nightmare!” Bob heard him mutter.

Both boys now had hold of their guns. Frank was the first to crawl out from the shelter of the small tent. He thrust his head from under the canvas, as a cautious old tortoise might, when taking an observation, in order to make sure the coast was clear.

The moon hung in the western sky. Judging from its position, Frank, who always studied these things, guessed that the hour must be somewhere near half-past one; for the moon was due to set shortly after two on this night.

As he crawled out he found himself in the shelter of the cluster of trees under which the tent had been erected. The fact was of considerable importance just then, since his movements were apt to be screened, should there be any enemies around.

Buckskin was snorting again at a great rate. Frank had given him all the rope when fixing him for the night. He could be heard plunging around; but there seemed an absence of galloping, such as the prairie horse was apt to indulge in when he did not like the way things looked.

Frank’s first thought was that, after all, it might prove to be a false alarm. Perhaps Buckskin had only managed to catch his tether in some root; and finding himself held up short was trying to notify his master, so that Frank could come to his relief.

“What is it?” breathed a voice in his ear, as Bob joined him.

“I don’t know yet,” Frank replied, but from the manner in which he said it, his comrade understood that he fully intended finding out soon.

When Frank started to creep away Bob followed. He did not mean to be left in the lurch, if there was any excitement on foot.

Of course Bob was greatly exercised. He had not been through an experience like this as often as the boy who had spent his life, or at least pretty much all of it, on the range, and hence knew what a cowboy has to endure.

Bob was secretly not a little provoked because his chum had thus far given him no hint whatever as to his suspicions. For, of course, it went without saying that Frank could make a pretty good guess from Buckskin’s actions whether it might turn out to be wolves, a hungry panther, or Indians from the reservation, sneaking around to see what they could pick up on the sly.

When Buckskin stopped his snorting for a few seconds, Frank would himself halt, and appear to be listening intently.

Bob put in such opportunities by using his eyes to the best possible advantage; but he could see absolutely nothing, as yet.

As they were steadily approaching the place where the two horses had been staked out, Bob knew that presently they must arrive at a point where the animals at least could be seen. And then it should be possible to learn the cause of all this commotion.

Now the second animal seemed to join in with fresh vigor. Domino, although not a native of the plains, and hitherto unaccustomed to such perils as existed there, must have been taking lessons from the yellow pony.

“Whew!” Bob whispered to himself, “aren’t they just keeping it up lively, though? Domino is trying to beat the other at his own game, and he can do it, too, every time, once he learns how!”

Frank nudged him with his foot, which was a plain invitation to stop holding any conversation with himself; for Bob’s whisper had been in the nature of a low grumble.

The trample of horses’ hoofs now sounded more clearly; and Bob, using his eyes to the best of his ability, found that he could see a wildly moving form. Undoubtedly this must be Domino, rushing around as far as his rope would permit.

Frank had reached a point where he fancied that a change in their tactics would prove of advantage. Progress in this creeping fashion was too slow. He surprised Bob by suddenly jumping to his feet, and starting forward, at the same time shouting over his shoulder:

“Come on! Horse thieves, Bob!”

He could not possibly have said anything that would have electrified the Kentucky boy more than that. Bob loved his black mount, and it would have almost broken his heart had anyone managed to steal Domino.

He instantly followed Frank in making a forward rush.

There was a confusion of sounds just ahead, amid which could be heard the vicious squealing of the buckskin pony, which, being possibly held a prisoner by its entangled rope, could only let fly with its heels in the hope of beating off the enemy.

Frank could see by now, his eyes being better than those of his chum. He paid no attention to the wildly cavorting Domino, knowing that so long as the black had the benefit of his entire rope it would indeed be a bold, as well as skillful rustler, who could throw a leg over his glossy back.

And, even as they were thus hurrying to arrive upon the scene, a dusky figure suddenly made a flying leap, landing on the back of the yellow pony. Frank saw the man bending forward the very instant he gained his seat. He knew what that action meant, and that a keen knife was being drawn over the holding lariat.

Now Buckskin was free from his tether. He could be seen for the first time rearing in the air, as a cow pony always will when full of spirit, or excited.

Frank had thrown his rifle half way to his shoulder on the impulse of the moment. Then, as if on second thought, he let it drop again; and Bob actually believed he heard him give vent to a chuckle.

“Why don’t you shoot at him, Frank?” the latter cried, excitedly. “Look! he’s going to run away with your horse!”

“Is he?” answered Frank. “Well, perhaps you’ve got another guess coming, Bob. Maybe the shoe is on the other foot; and Buckskin is going to run away with him! Watch what happens, Bob!”

“Oh! look at the pony kick up!” gasped Bob. “But that’s a good rider, Frank. He sticks like a leech, and he may beat the horse at his own game!”

“Wait!”

Frank knew his horse. He had won a victory over the vicious little beast only after the longest fight recorded in the history of Circle Ranch. And among the cow punchers there were few indeed who could stick on the back of Buckskin when he started his bucking tactics.

There the two boys stood, in the shadow of the trees, looking upon as stirring a little scene as could be imagined. Bob clutched his chum’s arm, and almost held his breath with awe as he gazed; for this certainly excelled anything he had ever witnessed.

The intending horse thief was indeed a clever rider. No other could have held his seat on the bare back of that jumping pony for half a minute, with only the assistance of a fragment of rope to give him support.

And it was the admiration Frank felt for the fellow’s grit that really kept him from resorting to his gun to wind matters up. Besides, Frank believed that in due time Buckskin would amply prove that he was able to take care of himself.

Sometimes the maddened pony would seem to have its four hoofs in the air at once. Then, quickly following, Buckskin would raise himself on his hind legs, and make a furious whirl calculated to unseat all but the most expert rider.

The fellow stuck through it all. Three times Frank gave a grunt as he thought the end had come, for he fancied the rider must be toppling from his seat; but in each instance the unknown thief managed to recover himself before it was too late.

Perhaps by this time the fellow would have been only too glad of a chance to make a swift retreat; but the truth was he did not dare throw himself to the ground with that enraged little animal loose. It seemed that he had made a terrible mistake, and could only abide by it now.

So he clung desperately to the back of the buckskin pony, which seemed able to display an astonishing array of tricks in the endeavor to dislodge its hated rider.

Frank heard the rapid pounding of hoofs not far away, and judged from this that the thief had a comrade who was making off as fast as his own horse could take him, leaving the luckless one to his fate.

Of course Frank could have brought his pony galloping toward him at any minute by a shrill whistle that Buckskin had been taught to respect; but he did not give it.

Things were moving along as well as anyone could want; and it looked as though that particular horse thief was bound to learn a lesson he would never forget.

As if not in the least at the end of his resources, the yellow pony now started on a new tack; and Bob’s eye could hardly follow his swift and eccentric motions.

“Oh! there he goes flying, Frank!” the Kentucky lad suddenly gasped.