At that instant a man, clad in the dress of a cowboy, leaped from the sidewalk. He caught the angry cowman by the collar. From the way in which the newcomer swung the fellow around it was evident that he was possessed of great strength.

“Stop it!” he thundered.

Tad’s assailant turned on the newcomer with an angry snarl, his rage now beyond all control.

“Let me alone! Let me get at the cub!” he cried, making a vicious pass at the man.

The cowboy’s blow was neatly parried and a mighty fist was planted squarely between his eyes, sending him to earth in a heap.

“Get up!” commanded the man who had felled him.

The cowboy struggled to his feet, standing sullenly before his conqueror.

“Look at me, Lumpy! Didn’t I tell you that I’d ‘fire’ you if you got into any trouble in town to-day?”

The cowboy nodded.

“Is this the way you obey orders? What sort of recommend do you suppose Boss Miller will give you when I tell him I found you trying to shoot up a kid?”

“I don’t care. I ain’t askin’ any recommends. Besides, he he got in ”

“Never mind what he did. I saw it all. Get your pony and back to the camp for yours. Let Bert come in your place. You get no more lay-offs till I see fit to let you. Now, git!”

Thoroughly subdued, but with angry muttered protests, the cowboy, walked down the street, jerking his pony’s head about and swinging himself into the saddle.

“Don’t be rough on the fellow. Let him stay.”

The newcomer turned to Tad, glancing up at the boy inquiringly.

“Young fellow, you’ve got nerve more nerve than sense.”

“Thank you. But I asked you to let the man stay. He won’t do it again,” urged Tad.

“I’m the best judge of that. And as for you, young fellow, I would advise you to ride your pony away from here. First thing I know you will be mixing it up with some of the rest of the bunch. I may not be around to straighten things out then, and you’ll get hurt.”

“Thank you, sir. I think I have as much right here as anyone else. If those are your men I should think you might be able to teach them to respect other people’s rights.”

“What, teach a cowboy?” laughed the other. “You don’t know the breed. Take my advice and skip.”

Tad’s rescuer strode away.

The lad’s introduction to cowboy life had not been of an encouraging nature, though it was difficult for him to believe that all cowboys were like the one he had just encountered.

“Well, you made a nice mess of it, didn’t you?” chuckled Ned Rector, riding up beside his companion a few minutes later. “I didn’t see it, but I heard all about it from Bob Stallings.”

“Stallings? Who’s he?”

“The foreman of the cowboys with whom we are going.”

“And were those the fellows that tried to crowd me off the street?”

“I reckon those were the boys,” said Ned Rector quietly.

“Then, I can see a nice time when we join them. They will have no love for me after what has happened this morning. Where is the camp?”

“I don’t know. Professor Zepplin says it’s about four miles to the west of here.”

“When do we join them?”

“Some time to-night. The foreman says they are going to start at daylight. He’s over at the hotel talking with the Professor now. He was telling the Professor about your mix-up with Lumpy Bates. That’s the name of the cowboy who ran into you. And how he did laugh when I told him you belonged to our crowd,” chuckled Ned.

“What did he say?”

“Said he thought you’d do. He says we can’t use our ponies on the drive.”

“Why not?” asked Tad, looking up quickly.

“Because they are not trained on cattle work.”

“Pshaw! I’m sorry. Have we got to leave them here?”

“No. He says we may turn them in with their herd, and use them for anything we care to, except around the cattle. We shall have to ride some of the bronchos when we are on duty.”

“I think I see somebody falling off,” laughed Tad. “Ever ride one of them, Ned?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ll know more about them after you have.”

“I think I should like to go over and see Mr. Stallings,” declared Tad.

“All right, come along, then.”

They found the foreman of the outfit discussing the plans for their journey with Professor Zepplin, while Stacy Brown and Walter Perkins were listening with eager attention.

“This is Master Tad Butler, Mr. Stallings,” announced the Professor.

“I think I have met the young man before,” answered the foreman, with a peculiar smile.

“Tad, I am surprised that you should involve yourself in trouble so soon after getting out of my sight. I ”

“The boy was not to blame, Mr. Professor. My cowpunchers were wholly in the wrong. But you need have no fears of any future trouble. The bunch will be given to understand that the young gentlemen are to be well treated. You will find no luxuries, but lots of hard work on a cattle drive, young men ”

“Do do we get plenty to eat?” interrupted Stacy Brown apprehensively.

All joined in the laugh at the lad’s expense.

“Chunky’s appetite is a wonderful thing, Mr. Stallings,” said Tad.

“I think we shall be able to satisfy it,” laughed the foreman. “Our cook is a Chinaman. His name is Pong, but he knows how to get up a meal. I believe, if he had nothing but sage grass and sand, he could make a palatable dish of them, provided he had the seasoning. Have you boys brought your slickers with, you?”

“What’s a slicker?” demanded Chunky.

“A rubber blanket that ”

“Oh yes. We bought an outfit of those at Austin,” answered Tad. “Anything else that you wish us to get?”

“The boys don’t carry guns, do they?”

Professor Zepplin shook his head emphatically.

“Most certainly not. They can get into enough trouble without them. We have rifles in our kit, but I imagine there will be little use for such weapons on this trip.”

“You can’t always tell about that,” smiled the foreman. “I remember in the old days, when we used to have to fight the rustlers, that a rifle was a pretty good thing to have.”

“Who were the rustlers?” asked Walter.

“Fellows who rustled cattle that didn’t belong to them. But the old days have passed. Such a drive as we are making now hasn’t been done on so large a scale in nearly twenty years.”

“Why not?” asked Ned.

“The iron trails have put the old cow trails out of business.”

“Iron trails?” wondered Tad.

“Railroads. We men of the plains refer to them as the iron trails. That’s what they are in reality. Professor, do you wish the boys to take their turns on the herd to-night?”

“As you wish, Mr. Stallings. I presume they will be anxious to begin their life as cowboys. I understand that’s an ambition possessed by most of your American boys.”

“All right,” laughed the foreman. “I’ll send them out as I find I can, with some of the other cowpunchers, until they learn the ropes. There is too great a responsibility on a night man to trust the boys alone with that work now. But they can begin if they wish. I’ll see first how the bunch get back from their celebration of the glorious Fourth. You’ll come out and have supper with us?”

“No, I think not. We shall ride out just after supper, if you will have some one to show us the way,” answered the Professor.

“Sure, I’ll send in Big-foot Sanders to pilot you out. You boys need not be afraid of Big-foot. He’s not half so savage as he looks, but he’s a great hand with cows.”

Big-foot Sanders rode up to the hotel shortly after six o’clock. Leading his pony across the sidewalk, he poked his shaggy head just inside the door of the hotel.

“Ki-yi!” he bellowed, causing everybody within hearing of his voice to start up in alarm. “Where’s that bunch of tenderfeet?”

“Are you Mr. Sanders, from the Miller outfit?” asked the Professor, stepping toward him.

“Donno about the Mister. I’m Big-foot Sanders. I’m lookin’ for a bunch of yearlings that’s going on with the outfit.”

“The young gentlemen will join you in a moment, Mr. Sanders. They will ride their ponies around from the stable and meet you in front of the house.”

“You one of the bunch?”

“I am Professor Zepplin, a sort of companion, you know, for the young men.”

“Huh!” grunted Big-foot. “I reckon you’d better forget the hard boiled hat you’re wearin’ or the boys’ll be for shooting it full of holes. Take my advice drop it, pardner.”

“Oh, you mean this,” laughed the Professor, removing his derby hat. “Thank you. I shall profit by your advice, and leave it here when I start.”

“All the bunch got hard boiled ones?”

“Oh, no. The boys have their sombreros,” answered the Professor.

Big-foot grunted, but whether in disapproval or approval, Professor Zepplin did not know. The cowpuncher threw himself into his saddle, on which he sat, stolidly awaiting the arrival of the Pony Riders.

In a short time they came galloping from the stable at the rear of the hotel, and pulled up, facing the cowman.

“This, Mr. Sanders, is Tad Butler,” announced the Professor.

“Huh!” grunted Big-foot again. “Hello, Pinto!” he said after a sharp glance into the freckled face. “Who’s the gopher over there?”

“That’s Stacy Brown, otherwise known as ‘Chunky,’” laughed Tad. “This is Ned Rector, and the young gentleman at your left is Walter Perkins, all members of the Pony Rider Boys’ party. We are ready to start whenever you are.”

For answer, Big-foot touched his pony with a spur, the little animal springing into a gallop without further command. The Pony Riders followed immediately, Tad riding up beside the big, muscular looking cowboy, which position he held for half an hour without having been able to draw a word from him.

Leaving the town due east of them, the party galloped off across the country in a straight line until finally the cowman pointed off across the plain to indicate where their destination lay.

A slow moving mass of red and brown and white met the inquiring gaze of the boys. At first they were unable to make out what it was.

“Cows,” growled the guide, observing that they did not understand.

“What are they doing, Mr. Sanders?” asked Tad.

“Don’t ‘mister’ me. I’m Big-foot. Never had a handle to my name. Never expect to. They’re grazing. Be rounding them up for bed pretty soon. Ever been on a trail before?”

Tad shook his head.

“We have been up in the Rockies on a hunting trip. This is my first experience on the plains.”

“Huh! Got good and plenty coming to you, then.”

“And I am ready for it,” answered the lad promptly. “The rougher the better.”

“There’s the bunch waiting for us. All of them got back from town. The foreman don’t allow the fellows to hang out nights when they’re on a drive like this.”

Now, the rest of the Pony Rider Boys, understanding that they were nearing the camp of the cowboys, urged their ponies into a brisk gallop and drew up well into line with Tad and Big-foot. That is, all did save Stacy Brown, who, as was his habit lagged behind a few rods.

The cowboys were standing about watching the approach of the new arrivals curiously, but not with any great enthusiasm, for they did not approve of having a lot of tenderfeet with the outfit on a journey such as they were taking now. They were bent on grim and serious business man’s work the sort of labor that brings out all that is in him. It was no place for weaklings, and none realized this better than the cowmen themselves.

Yet, they did not know the mettle that was in these four young American boys, though they were to realize it fully before the boundaries of the Lone Star State, had been left behind them.

The Pony Riders dashed up to the waiting cowpunchers with a brave showing of horsemanship, and sprang from their saddles their eyes glowing with excitement and anticipation.

Bob Stallings, the foreman, was the first to greet them.

“Fellows, this is the bunch I’ve been telling you about,” was Bob’s introduction. “Where’s Lumpy?” he demanded, glancing about him with a scowl.

“Lumpy’s over behind the chuck wagon,” answered the cowboy of whom the question had been asked.

“Lumpy!” bellowed the foreman.

The fellow with whom Tad Butler had had such an unpleasant meeting, earlier in the day, came forward reluctantly, a sudden scowl on his face.

“Lumpy, this is Tad Butler. Stick out your fist and shake hands with him!”

Lumpy did so.

“Howd’y,” he growled, but scarcely loud enough for any save Tad to hear.

The lad smiled up at him good-naturedly.

“You and I bumped ponies this morning, I guess,” said Tad. “Maybe I was to blame after all. I’ll apologize, anyway, and I hope there will be no hard feelings.”

“Lumpy!” warned Stallings when he noticed that the cowpuncher had made no reply to Tad’s apology.

“No hard feelings,” grunted Lumpy Bates.

He was about to turn away and again seek the seclusion of the chuck wagon, as the cook wagon was called by the cow boys, when Chunky came rolling along. In the excitement of the meeting the boys had forgotten all about him. The Pony Riders swung their sombreros and gave three cheers for Chunky Brown as he dashed up.

Chunky took off his sombrero and waved it at them.

Just then Chunky met with one of those unfortunate accidents that were always occurring to him. His galloping pony put a forefoot into a gopher hole, going down in a heap.

Chunky, however, kept on.

When the accident happened he was almost upon the waiting cowboys, his intention having been to pull his pony up sharply to show off his horsemanship, then drop off and make them a sweeping bow.

Stacy Brown was possessed of the true dramatic instinct, yet few things ever came off exactly as he had planned them.

As he shot over the falling pony’s head, his body described a half curve in the air, his own head landing fairly in the pit of Lumpy Bates’s stomach.

Cowboy and Pony Rider went over in a struggling heap, with the Pony Rider uppermost.

Stacy had introduced himself to the cowboys in a most unusual manner, and to the utter undoing of one of them, for the boy’s head had for the moment, knocked all the breath out of the surly Lumpy Bates.