Kitabı oku: «Frank Merriwell's Athletes: or, The Boys Who Won», sayfa 12
CHAPTER XXVII – COWBOY PECULIARITIES
After breakfast the little party went out upon the broad veranda.
The sun was still red, but it was growing smaller and hotter as it mounted into the sky.
Its slanting rays lighted up a rolling prairie, illimitable in expanse and stretching away till its irregular, wavy outline was marked against the sky.
Now and then, miles away, small clumps of stunted jack-oaks or mesquite made dark green polka dot spots on the lighter color of the grass, while far away lay a genuine chaparral thicket.
Between the ranch and the chaparral a herd of several hundred cattle were feeding.
Near the ranch house were outbuildings and corrals.
In the vicinity of these a number of cowboys could be seen moving about.
Still urging the boys to make themselves at home, Rodney left them. Before he departed, he sighted a body of horsemen riding down rapidly from the northeast.
“Here come the boys from Tilford’s ranch,” he said. “I knew they’d be the first ones to show up.”
The boys watched the approaching riders with interest. Before long they could be plainly seen, and, as they came near the ranch, they broke into a mad gallop and came tearing across the prairie.
Anything wilder in appearance than those leather-clad “punchers” the imagination could not conceive. They yelled and cracked their quirts, spreading out into a long line, mounted on tough little ponies, which tore over the ground with a twinkling movement of the legs which was bewildering to one accustomed to the movements of an ordinary galloping horse.
Upon the heads of the riders were broad-brimmed hats, some of them being of stiff rawhide and some being the well-known Stetson sombrero, which cost anywhere from eighteen to eighty dollars.
Every man had a handkerchief knotted about his neck, and a cartridge belt, bearing heavy revolvers in open holsters, about his waist.
Their hair was long and unkempt, and their faces were weather-tanned.
Some had on long-legged, high-heeled boots, and some wore leather leggins, while at the heels of every man were heavy, murderous-looking spurs.
With their jangling spurs, flapping ropes and buckskin strings, broad-brimmed hats, bright-colored handkerchiefs, they certainly were a most impressive cavalcade of prairie scamperers.
As they swept toward the corrals near the ranch, Rodney’s men ran out and greeted them with a yell.
In return the Tilford men suddenly jerked out their “guns,” and sent twenty shots into the air. Then they flung the little ponies on their haunches, stopping in an instant with such suddenness that almost any fairly expert rider must have been sent flying headlong over the animal’s ears to the ground.
“There, fellows,” smiled Frank, with a wave of his hand toward the arrivals, “there is a band of genuine wild and woolly cow-punchers. Take a good look at them, for the real cowboy is disappearing, and, in a very few years you will not be able to see a sight like that anywhere on this continent.”
“I suppose they are all right,” said Diamond, “but it is plain enough that they are great bluffers.”
“In what way?” asked Frank, quickly.
“In their get up. There is no reason why they should look so extremely tough beyond their own personal desire to appear like bad men.”
“I think you are wrong, old fellow. Name something about them that they might discard.”
“Their long hair, to begin with. That is pure affectation.”
“Not at all. Long hair is a necessity with them.”
“Get out! How?”
“Well, you know they are exposed to all kinds of weather. Their business is out of doors, rain or shine, and in many changes of climate. They have found by experience that long hair protects their eyes and ears. If they were to keep their hair cut short, many of them would be troubled with sore eyes, pains in the head and loud ringing in the ears.”
“That may be true,” acknowledged Jack; “but just look at those outrageous hats.”
“That is the only sort of hat suitable for cowboys to wear, as it protects from from the sun and from the rain. The very fact that it has been used for generation after generation without changing fashion is enough to indicate that necessity, not vanity, dictated its origin.”
“But see those wretched rawhide affairs.”
“I see them. Those are the cheap hats, and they are made by the cowboys themselves. Years ago every cowboy made his own hat, as manufacturers had not discovered that there was money in making hats for the punchers. An old cattleman once told me how they made their hats.”
“How it peen done, Vrankie? You toldt us dot,” urged Hans.
“When a cowboy wanted to make a hat for himself, he went out and dug in the ground a hole as near the size and shape of his head as he could make it. Then a large, circular piece of rawhide, soft, wet and pliable, was spread over the hole. Next, with a bunch of grass or buckskin, the center of the rawhide was pressed down into the hole till it assumed its size and shape. The surrounding circle of hide, which was to be the brim, was kept flat on the ground by constant patting and pressing with the hands. When the hat was molded, it was left till it was well dried by the sun. Then it was taken to a place where smoke and heat scorched it till it was perfectly waterproof. When it was trimmed with strings and straps, it was ready for use.”
“How about those bright handkerchiefs the men use about their necks? Surely those are worn to attract attention. They might be carried in the pocket quite as well.”
“Wrong again, Jack. Very often when riding at full speed the eyes of the cowboy are filled with mud or sand, and then the handkerchief is ready for use. The man can catch up a corner and wipe out his eyes without pulling in his horse. In sand storms the handkerchief is sometimes called into use as a veil. Having it tied about his neck, the owner of the handkerchief knows it is secure. If he had to take it out and restore it to his pocket every time he used it, he would lose it frequently. Sometimes he uses the handkerchief when his horse is racing along, and the animal stumbles. The handkerchief must be dropped instantly. He could not fail to lose it if it were not tied about his neck.”
“Well, look at those outrageous leather leggins. What are they for?”
“To protect their clothes from the wear and tear of the saddles, from being torn by thorns, mesquite or cactus, and sometimes to protect them from rattlesnakes.”
“Hush! Well, how about the high heels on their boots? I have you there! That is a pure case of vanity, and you must acknowledge it.”
Frank smiled.
“Not at all, my boy. Those boots cost from eighteen to forty dollars a pair, and are made to order. The heels are long and sloping toward the sole of the foot not to make the foot look small, but to keep it from slipping out of the stirrup in a time of danger, when the cowboy’s horse may be tearing along at breakneck speed. Those boots are made to ride in, not to walk in.”
“But the spurs – the spurs!” cried Diamond, triumphantly. “They are outrageous and cruel. Surely those huge implements of torture are made thus to look savage and attract attention.”
“Not a bit of it. Singular as it may seem, the smaller spurs used in the East are much more cruel. They cut the horse; these big spurs do not. They are made big and strong that they may not wear out. Sometimes the only way a cowboy can save his horse from being run down by a mad steer is by using the spur sharply. At such a time it is far better for a horse to be prodded with a steel spur than to have a foot or more of horns run into him, which might result in the throwing of the rider to be trampled to death, and the loss of several hundred cattle. See?”
Diamond looked discomfited.
“At least, on one point I have you,” he cried. “You can’t get around it.”
“Name the point.”
“The fringe – the fringe on their suits. There is pure vanity, you will admit.”
“Quite the contrary. The fringe comes along the outside seam of their trousers and sleeves. There is no sewing there, but the buckskin is slashed in narrow strip and knotted together. That is the purpose the fringe plays. The ends are left to hide the knots and any holes that might be seen gaping between them.”
“Begobs!” cried Barney, in admiration, “it’s yersilf, Frankie, thot knows all about it, but pwhere yez got yer infermation is pwhat Oi dunno.”
“This is not the first time I have been among the cowboys, and I always keep eyes and ears open wherever I am. I have managed to pick up such knowledge as I possess concerning them by watching and listening. They have ever been very interesting to me.”
“Mr. Merriwell, I congratulate you!” cried Sadie Rodney. “I am surprised to find a ‘tenderfoot’ knows so much about cow-punchers.”
“I’d never faound aout half that if I’d lived right with them a year,” declared Ephraim Gallup. “They’re darned pecooler critters, an’ I guess this one comin’ this way is one of the most pecooler ’mongst ’em.”
Indian Charlie had left the others, and was sauntering toward the little party on the veranda.
Sadie Rodney looked serious, and shrank close to Inza, in whose ear she murmured:
“I am afraid of that man. He has asked me to marry him. I have refused him a dozen times, but he persists, and he says he will have me in spite of myself. I do not dare anger him, for there is no telling what he might do.”
Frank heard her words.
“The fellow deserves a good thumping!” he mentally exclaimed.
CHAPTER XXVIII – INDIAN CHARLIE IS SURPRISED
Indian Charlie came swaggering up. He regarded the boys with a glance of supreme contempt.
“Permit me to compliment you on your thoughtfulness, Miss Rodney,” he said, in a most insinuating manner.
The rancher’s daughter looked puzzled and perturbed.
“I do not think I understand you,” she said, slowly.
“Surely you have done your best to make sport for us to-day. You have brought us some rare curiosities.”
Now Bart Hodge had a temper of his own, and he did not fancy being insulted, even though the person who offered the insult was a fire-eating cow-puncher. So Bart murmured:
“Oh, I don’t know! There are others!”
The foreman of the Lone Star looked astonished, and then scowled blackly.
“Were you referring to me, sir?”
Although the words came from his lips like the cut of a whip through the air, Hodge began to whistle in the most unconcerned manner possible, without even looking toward Indian Charlie.
Frank, who was keeping watch of everything, saw the red tide of anger surge into the face of the cowboy, and he knew Charlie was in a most dangerous mood.
Sadie Rodney, rancher’s daughter though she was, showed signs of alarm. She shrank close to Inza, murmuring:
“How did he dare say anything like that? Charlie has been known to shoot a man for less provocation.”
To her astonishment, Inza did not seem at all alarmed, but confidently returned:
“It will be a good thing for him if he tries to shoot any one in this crowd. Those boys can take care of themselves.”
Miss Abigail nodded.
“I am sure that Mr. Merriwell can take care of himself,” she said.
“Und I peen retty to brotect you mit your life!” declared Hans, who was clinging close to the spinster.
With two bounds Indian Charlie was upon the veranda.
“Did you refer to me, sir?” he said, facing Hodge.
Bart surveyed him from head to feet.
“Excuse me,” he said, cuttingly. “I do not think I have the honor of your acquaintance.”
Then he started to turn away.
A snarl came from Indian Charlie’s lips, and his hand fell on the butt of a revolver resting in the open holster at his hip.
He did not draw the weapon.
Frank Merriwell’s fingers closed on the man’s wrist, and Frank’s cool voice sounded in his ear:
“Slow and easy, sir! Don’t do anything rash, for you might regret it. That is, you might if you thought quick enough during the brief time you would be given to regret anything after that.”
The foreman of the Lone Star turned his head and his eyes met those of Frank Merriwell. For some moments their glances fought a silent duel.
“Take your hand from my wrist!”
Charlie hissed the words.
“First take your hand from the butt of that revolver,” said Frank, with perfect calmness.
The cowboy seemed to doubt the evidence of his senses. Was it possible this tenderfoot dared face him – dared touch him? With a sudden wrench he attempted to break from Frank, but, to his surprise, the young Yale athlete gave his wrist a twist, snapping the revolver from his fingers, and, almost at the same instant, snatched the other weapon from its holster.
“These are not suitable for a careless man to handle,” said Merry, as he flung them far out upon the grass.
For a single instant Indian Charlie was dazed. How the trick had been accomplished by this smooth-faced youth he could not conceive, and it filled him with wonder.
That passed in a moment, and he was like a furious tiger, his white teeth gleaming beneath his black mustache.
“That settles you!” he snarled.
He attempted to clutch Frank by the throat, but his hands were brushed aside, and again Merry warned him to go slow and easy.
“There are ladies present,” Frank said. “Have some regard for them, sir. If you wish to settle – ”
But the man had quite lost his self-possession, and he struck at Frank in a wicked manner.
The blow was parried with ease.
An instant later Indian Charlie was stretched upon the veranda.
“I beg your pardon for doing such a thing in your presence, ladies,” came quietly from Merriwell’s lips; “but I was forced into it. As he may make further trouble I beg you to retire.”
“No!” palpitated Inza. “I shall stay here.”
“Me, too,” said Miss Abigail. “Goodness sakes! what dreadful things men are!”
“Shall I sit on him and hold him down, Frank?” yawned Browning, who did not seem in the least disturbed.
“No, let him alone. He – ”
With a leap like a wild creature the man came to his feet. There was a demon in his eyes.
“Look out!” screamed Diamond, suddenly.
A knife flashed in Indian Charlie’s hand, and he darted at Frank.
Browning reached out to grasp the furious fellow, but was too slow.
The knife was driven at Frank by the man, who at that moment was crazed with rage.
Merriwell dodged, caught the fellow’s wrist, gave it another wrench, and the blade fell clanging to the floor.
Both Inza and Sadie had screamed, but the danger was over before they could draw a second breath.
Then Frank laughed. It was the same old dangerous laugh that those who knew him best understood.
Smack! – with all the force he could command he struck the man.
Indian Charlie went down again, but came up like a ball on the rebound.
Frank followed him up, and was on hand to meet him when he arose.
A second blow landed, and the foreman of the Lone Star was sent spinning over the end rail of the veranda to the ground.
He struck on his head and shoulders and lay still.
Some cowboys who had seen the encounter came running up and bent over the fallen man.
One of them, a little bow-legged fellow, after taking a good look at Indian Charlie, arose, and, placing his hands on his hips, stared in profound amazement at Frank Merriwell.
“Wa-al, may I be durned!” he said. “Ef I ever saw anything like that yar, my name ain’t Pecos Pete! He’s knocked Charlie clean out, an’ he ain’t nothin’ but a tenderfoot kid!”
“That’s whatever,” agreed one of the others. “An’ I will allow it wur ther slickest job Hank Kildare ever seen done. Say, young feller, I wants ter shake yer paw!”
Then Kildare, who had a face that was like tanned leather, came up on the veranda and grasped Frank by the hand, wringing the boy’s arm up and down as if it were the handle of a pump.
“Thar ain’t many tenderfeet like you,” he said; “an’ you kin boast o’ bin’ ther fust critter to lay out Injun Charlie.”
“But I wants ter warn yer, youngster,” said Pecos Pete, as he also came up and shook Frank by the hand. “Injun Charlie is bad medicine, an’ he ain’t goin’ ter fergit ye none whatever. When he gits round from this he’ll lay fer yer, an’, ef you know what’s healthy, yer won’t linger round these yar parts.”
“That’s so,” agreed Kildare. “You’ll mosey right lively, an’ take yer friends with yer, fer he may start in ter clean out ther hull bunch, an’ nothin’ but chain lightnin’ will stop him next time. You hear me!”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” smiled Frank, calmly. “I came here with my friends, being invited to attend the tournament here to-day, and we do not propose to be frightened away. If I have further trouble with that man I shall not be so gentle with him.”
“Gentle!” snorted Kildare. “Wa-al, did yer hear that? Gentle! Is that w’at yer calls ther way yer knocked him out, tenderfoot?”
“Gentle!” echoed Pecos Pete. “Why, that last blow o’ your’n would hev knocked down a steer!”
“So yer think you’ll stay?” asked Kildare.
“Sure.”
“Do you carry guns?”
“No.”
“Be yer armed anyway?”
“No.”
“Hyar, take one o’ my shooters.”
“What for?”
“You’ll need it.”
“Oh, I scarcely think so.”
“That’s right,” nodded Pecos Pete – “that’s right, Hank. He won’t need it ef Charlie draws on him. What show’d he have? Charlie is old lightnin’, an’ he’d fill the boy full o’ bullets afore the kid could think o’ reachin’ fer a gun.”
One of the men bending over the foreman of the Lone Star spoke:
“It may be as how Charlie won’t be in condition to do any shootin’ fer some time. He’s stiff as a spike.”
“I hope I did not hurt him seriously,” said Frank, at once. “He forced me to do what I did in self-defense.”
“Don’t let it worry yer, youngster. You’re all right.”
Then they lifted the unconscious man and carried him away toward one of the outbuildings.
CHAPTER XXIX – HANS AND THE BRONCHO
Sadie Rodney drew a deep breath.
“I am sorry, Mr. Merriwell,” she said, “that this unfortunate affair occurred, and I must express my admiration for the manner in which you disposed of that fellow. I can scarcely believe it now. But I fear it will mean more and serious trouble. I shall speak to father about it, and Indian Charlie shall be watched.”
“Don’t let it trouble you,” smiled Frank. “I do not fear that man, and he will not harm me, unless he does so in a treacherous manner.”
Within ten minutes every cowboy about the ranch knew what had happened, and it was not long before they were trooping around to the front of the house to get a look at the tenderfoot who had dared face Indian Charlie and had knocked him out. They stared at the youth doubtingly, and then went away shaking their heads.
“Look at them!” laughed Rattleton. “They won’t believe you could do it, Frank. I’ll bet that some of them think Charlie was struck by lightning.”
“It’s quite likely he will think so himself, when he is able to think at all,” said Hodge. “I thank you for chipping in, Frank; but I should have tried him a whirl if you hadn’t touched him.”
“I saw him reach for his gun, and – ”
“You reached for him. You found him, too. Here come more cowboys!”
Another party of horsemen were seen tearing down toward the ranch, and the wild and reckless manner in which they rode made it a thrilling spectacle.
“Ah!” cried Jack; “those fellows are horsemen! It is not often you see men who can ride like that.”
“Vale, I don’d know!” put in Hans. “You don’d seen me ride a proncho alretty yet, eh? I vos a vonder. Pimeby britty soon I vos goin’ to shown you der sort uf a vild parepack rider I peen. You pet I vill surbrise meinself!”
“That’s right, b’gosh!” grinned Ephraim. “It will be better’n a circus to see ye.”
“Mebbe you don’d think I can’t ride a proncho?” cried Hans, resentfully. “You gif me a chance un I vill shown you.”
“Begorra!” cried Barney; “it’s a chance ye can be afther havin’ now. Come on, ye Dutch chaze.”
“Oh, gone avay mit yourself!” said Hans, quickly. “I nefer ride a pig preakfasts on.”
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed the Vermonter. “I knowed he’d back aout. Why, you couldn’t ride a saw-hoss!”
“Vot?” screamed Hans, angrily. “Don’d you pelief me! I pet myself zwei tollar I can ride der pestest horse vot you never saw! Yaw! I done him any oldt times!”
“Then come on, an’ don’t ye darst back aout.”
Hans was wildly excited. His fat face was flushed and his eyes were bulging. He presented such a ludicrous spectacle that the boys broke into shouts of laughter.
“You hadn’t better try to ride a broncho, Hans,” warned Frank, who feared the fat lad might be injured. “Keep away from the deceptive broncho. Only the most expert horsemen can ride them.”
“Vale, I peen der most exbert horseman vot you nefer saw. Yaw! I profe him to yourself. Come on!”
Hans ran down the steps, tripped over his own feet, and rolled on the grass, producing still more amusement.
“Come on!” he wildly cried, as he struggled up. “You don’d know der kindt uv sduff I vasn’t made uf. Shust you pring me to a hoss vot I don’d peen aple not to ride! You can’t done dot!”
“He’ll nivver dare throy it, b’ys,” grinned Barney. “He’ll back out th’ minute he sees th’ baste. Come on. It’s poiles av shport we’ll be afther havin’ wid him.”
“Come on, fellows!” shouted Rattleton. “Here’s where we have a circus! Hurrah for fun!”
A moment later they were following the fat Dutch boy around to the nearest corral, in the vicinity of which a number of cowboys were gathered.
“Pring der proncho oudt righd avay alretty!” shouted Hans, as he waddled around toward the corral, with the others following him. “I peen goin’ to shown you how to ride him, you pet!”
The cowboys stared at him in astonishment.
“Hey?” cried Hank Kildare, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at the Dutch lad. “Whatever is thet thar ye say?”
“Vere dot proncho vos, ain’d id? I peen goin’ to took a whirl oudt of.”
“Git out! Ye’re crazy! Why, you couldn’t ride a dead cow!”
Hans grew still more excited. His face was red, and he wildly flourished his short arms, fairly choking in his excitement.
“Py ginger! I shown you dot about pritty queek right avay!” he cried. “Uf I don’t ride der vorst proncho I nefer seen you vos a liar!”
The cowboys shouted with laughter.
“Why, dern my eyes!” came from Pecos Pete, who was a veteran “broncho buster,” or horse trainer. “I reckon mebbe I’ll have to git you to show me a few p’ints about ther business.”
“I shown you somedings vot I don’t know,” flung back the excited Dutch boy. “Pring oudt der proncho!”
“Hyar,” said one of the cowboys, dismounting from the tough little beast upon which he had ridden up to the ranch; “hyar’s yer chance. Git right on hyar.”
“Vot am I gifin’ you!” shouted Hans. “Dot peen a drained horses. Vot I vos lookin’ for been a horse dot don’d peen drained alretty yet.”
“I’ll allow as how you’ll find ther critter ain’t trained any too much. You can’t ride him.”
“Vot vill I pet you apout dot?” excitedly demanded the fat boy. “You don’t think I can’t ride him, ain’d id?”
“Wa-al, I judge he’ll make it right lively for ye.”
“Dot seddles id! How I peen aple his pack to ged on?”
Frank interfered, seeing Hans was in earnest about attempting to ride.
“You hadn’t better try it,” he said. “The broncho might kill you.”
“Vot? Don’d you pelief me! Der proncho vot could done dot don’d peen porn alretty yet. Get oud der vay of.”
Hans was determined, and Frank found it useless to argue with him.
“Is the animal vicious?” he asked in an aside of its owner.
“Wa-al, he ain’t bad,” was the slow reply. “He kin buck a leetle, but he’s trained to it, an’ he won’t try it unless I set him at it.”
“Then don’t set him at it, for Hans might be thrown off and killed. Let him ride, and he will be satisfied. It’ll be more sport to hear him boast than it would be to see him flung off and injured.”
The cowboy looked doubtful, but Frank finally succeeded in getting him to agree not to set the broncho to bucking.
Then Ephraim and Barney each got hold of one of Hans’ legs to assist him to mount.
“Are yez riddy?” asked the Irish lad, a twinkle in his eyes, with one of which he winked a signal at the Vermonter, who grinned back knowingly.
“Vait a leedle!” squawked Hans, as he reached up with his short arms and got a hold on the saddle – “vait till I ged me der saddles hold uf!”
“Wal, be ye reddy naow?” asked Ephraim.
“Yaw. Led her went!”
Barney and Ephraim gave a whoop and lifted Hans off his feet. Then, as the broncho shied sideways, they dropped him with a dull thud to the ground, where he struck in a sitting posture, the breath going out of his body with a grunted puff.
The cowboys laughed heartily, and the girls, who were watching from a distance, were much amused, Miss Gale alone looking severe and unruffled.
“Shimminy Gristmas!” gasped the Dutch boy, as soon as he could catch his breath. “Why you done dot, ain’d id? Why you scared der proncho your holler mit? Don’d you know somedings?”
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Ephraim, slapping his thigh. “Darn my pertaturs! but that’s ther funniest thing I ever saw!”
“Hey?” squawked Hans, shaking his fist at the Vermonter. “Vot you don’d peen laughin’ at? I don’d seen nottings funny apoud id!”
He got up slowly and advanced toward the broncho, which was standing quiet enough.
“Begorra! it wur a mistake, me b’y,” declared Barney. “It wur simply an exidint.”
“Oh, id vos an oxident?” said Hans, his suspicions allayed by Barney’s honest manner. “Vale, don’d you led id fail to happen again. Und if dot Yankee poy from Fermonts done dot any more I peen goin’ ter kick uf him der stuffin’s oudt!”
With this threat he prepared to attempt to mount once more.
Barney and Ephraim came forward to lift him. The Irish lad made a significant upward gesture behind Hans’ back, and Ephraim nodded and chuckled.
“Are yez riddy?” Barney asked once more.
“Yaw. Led her gone!”
Then, with all their strength, the mischievous assistants fairly flung the fat boy over the broncho’s back.
Hans came down on the other side, striking the ground with a dull thud, having fallen flat on his back. He lay there a moment, and then slowly reached out toward the sky with his hands, as if trying to catch something.
“Py shimminy!” he exclaimed; “I nefer seen such peautiful fireworks pefore!”
This seemed to amuse the gathering cowboys more than anything that had happened, and their shouts of laughter aroused the fallen lad, who sat up and looked around.
Frank and his friends were amused.
“Vill somepody peen kindt enough to exblain vot habbened,” urged Hans, in a bewildered way.
Barney and Ephraim rushed around and lifted him to his feet, although he regarded them with some suspicion.
“May th’ ould Nick floy away wid a broncho thet won’t shtand still!” cried Barney. “Av th’ baste hadn’t moved thin it’s mounted ye’d been alriddy.”
“Did der proncho move?”
“Move?” cried Ephraim, with a broad gesture. “Does dynamite move if yeou swat it with a brick!”
Hans faced the animal, shaking his fist angrily at the innocent creature.
“Look ad here, Mister Proncho!” he squealed; “uf you don’d done dot again, I peen goin’ to kick uf you der hay oudt! Dot vos peesness! I don’d dislike dot foolin’, und I vant you to misunderstood dot!”
“Thar, b’gosh!” said Ephraim; “I kinder guess the gol darn critter understands it naow!”
“You pet! Now, you put me ub right avay queek pefore he haf forgotten id. Hurry up!”
Again the boys caught hold of Hans, but this time they lifted him onto the back of the broncho, where, with no small amount of awkwardness, he succeeded in getting seated in the saddle.
“Hah!” he cried, triumphantly. “Don’d I toldt you so! Ven I vos retty to done peesness, I vos der poy to got there!”
“Hurrah!” shouted the other boys, waving their caps and hands. “What’s the matter with Dunnerwust? He’s all right! ’Rah! ’rah! ’rah!”
The Dutch boy looked proud as a peacock.
“Look avay oudt now!” he said. “I vas goin’ to shown you der vay to ride.”
Then he tried to start the broncho, but the animal refused to stir.
“Vot peen der madder mit you?” angrily demanded Hans, striking the creature with his hand. “Why you don’d gone along, ain’d id?”
Still the broncho stood quite still, its head down and its short ears tipped back in an ominous manner.
Hans tried in various ways to start the creature up, but was not successful.
“Der proncho peen dead!” he said, in disgust, thumping the animal with his heels.
As if resenting this, the creature suddenly gave a squeal, made a bound into the air, and came down with all four feet close together and its back “humped.”
Dunnerwust shot up from the saddle in a most surprising way.
By chance he came straight down and struck in the saddle again. He tried to catch hold and cling on, but the broncho made another leap.
“Hellup! hellup!” roared Hans, as he again shot into the air. “Dat proncho haf injy-rubber mit his pack in!”
