Boy Scouts on the Range

  CHAPTER VII.

  THE STAMPEDE AT THE FAR PASTURE.

  Such a scene of confusion, hurry and mad rushing about of men and horsesas ensued, following the first shout of the alarm, the boys had neverwitnessed. Cow-punchers staggered about under the burden of heavyMexican saddles. They tried to buckle on spurs and saddle and bridletheir wild little horses all at the same time. But confused as the wholeaffair looked to an uninitiated spectator, there was system underlyingit all. Each man knew what was required of him.

  At last all was ready. The last revolver was thrust into the lastholster, and the last cinch was tightened round the belly of the lastexpostulating pony. Mr. Harkness, mounted on a powerful bay horsesomewhat heavier than the others, rapidly explained to the punchers whathad occurred. The cattle were stampeding on the far pasture. Theircourse led direct for the Graveyard Cliffs, a series of precipitousbluffs over which, in the past, many stampeding steers had fallen totheir death.

  Fortunately, the steers had to take a round-about way, owing to variousobstructions. The distance to be traversed by the men, cutting off everyinch possible, was about five miles. It had to be covered in less thanhalf an hour. No wonder the cow-punchers looked to their cinches andother harness details.

  Amid a wild yell from the throats of the score of cowboys who had beenabout the ranch when the summons was first given, the cavalcade sweptforward.

  "Wow! this is riding with a vengeance," shouted Rob, above the roar ofhoofs, in Harry's ear.

  "S-s-s-say!" sputtered Tubby, "I hope my horse doesn't stumble."

  Suddenly a voice close at hand struck in. It was one of the cow-punchersshouting to another.

  "Remember the last stampede, when Grizzly Sam was trampled?"

  "You bet I do. His pony's foot stuck in a gopher hole, and the wholestampede came lambasting on top of him."

  The boys began to look rather serious. Apparently they were off on amore dangerous errand than they had bargained for. It was too late todraw out now, however, and, anyhow, not one of them would, for thiswould have shown "the white feather."

  "Did you give the alarm to the rest of the boys?" asked Rob of Harry,after an interval of silence among the boys.

  "Yes. I only had time to call Simmons's place, but they'll get theothers. Simmons's place is not far from the Graveyard Cliffs, and theboys will be there ahead of us, likely."

  "How about the others?"

  "They have to come from greater distances. They may not arrive till it'sall over."

  It was impossible to see any of their surroundings in the thick cloud ofdust. All about them, as far as the eye could penetrate the densesmother, were straining ponies and shouting cowboys.

  "How can we tell when we get to the place?" asked Tubby.

  "My father is riding up ahead," rejoined Harry; "that big bay of his canmake two feet to a pony's one. He'll call a halt when we get there."

  In the meantime a rumor had been passed from mouth to mouth among thecow-punchers. Moquis had been seen near the far pasture the nightbefore, and open accusations were made that the renegades had startedthe stampede so as to be able to make a feast off the dead cattle incase they swept over the cliffs.

  "Mr. Mayberry hasn't succeeded in rounding them up yet, then," said Rob.

  "No," rejoined Harry, "and I heard one of the punchers say yesterdaythat Indians for miles around are coming into the mountains. I guessthey won't disperse till after the snake dance."

  Suddenly a wild yell from up in front caused them to halt.

  "Got there, I reckon," uttered one of the cowboys. As he spoke there wasbut one question in every mind.

  "Were they in time?"

  As the dust cloud settled, and they were able to make out theirsurroundings, the boys found that they had come to halt on a sort ofplateau. Just beyond this was a sheer drop, as if a great hunk had beencut out of the ground. This drop--which was fully sixty feetdeep,--formed the dreaded Graveyard Cliff, so called, although, as willbe clear from our description, it was more properly a deep, narrowgulch.

  The distance across the yawning crack in the plateau--which wasundoubtedly of volcanic origin--varied from a hundred feet or more tofifteen, and even less. A queerer place the boys had never seen.

  But they had little time to gaze about them. Blinky, who was one of thecrowd of stampede arresters, gave a sudden shout as they came to ahalt.

  "Hark!"

  From far off came a sound that, to the boys, resembled nothing so muchas distant thunder. But unlike thunder, instead of ceasing, it grewsteadily in volume.

  "Here they come!" shouted Mr. Harkness, as the advancing roar grewlouder. The solid earth beneath the boys' feet seemed to shake as thestampede swept toward them.

  Suddenly, a mile or more off, a dark cloud grew and grew until it spreadhalf across the blue sky, wiping it out.

  "They raise as much dust as a tornado," exclaimed Blinky. "Peskycritters! I'd like to get a shot at the Moquis what started them."

  But it was no time to exchange remarks. The face of each man in thatlittle band was grave, and he appeared to be mustering every ounce ofcourage in his body for the struggle that was to come.

  To the boys, as to the men, the situation was clear enough. Across theplateau the stampeding cattle were thundering, headed straight for theGraveyard Cliffs. Behind them, like a mighty wall, rose the sheer faceof a precipice where a bold peak of the range soared upward. Betweenthis wall and the ominously named gorge was the little band of horsemen.They faced the problem of turning the stampede or being swept with itinto the jaws of the deep, narrow gulch. Small wonder that the bravestof them felt his heart beat a little quicker as the cattle rushed on.

  Suddenly Mr. Harkness espied the boys.

  "You boys go back!" he shouted sharply. "I should never have let youcome. This is too dangerous for you."

  "Why, dad, we'll be all right. Let us stay and see it out," protestedHarry.

  "Go back at once, boy," said Mr. Harkness sternly. "You don't know thedanger."

  There was no disobeying the stern command, and the boys, all of themwith the exception of Tubby, regretting the necessity, turned theirponies away. The stout youth was inwardly much gratified at the idea ofavoiding the stampede.

  "Beefsteak is all very fine," he said to himself, "but I like it inside,and not on top of me, at the bottom of a gulch."

  As the boys wheeled their mounts and separated from the main body of thecow-punchers, three other mounted figures swept toward them with wildyells. The newcomers were the three Simmons brothers, the recruits tothe Boy Scouts. With them, and close behind, came Charley and FrankPrice and Jeb Cotton. All had ridden post haste to the spot on receiptof the hastily 'phoned message from headquarters.

  Each boy gave the secret salute of the scouts as he drew rein, andawaited orders. A regular howl of disappointment went up when theylearned that they had been ordered off "the firing line," so to speak.

  "It's a shame," growled Tom Simmons.

  "That's what," assented Jeb Cotton, trying to quiet his little calicopony, which was dancing about, scenting the excitement in the air.Indeed, all the animals seemed to have caught the infection, and wereprancing about, almost unmanageable. Perhaps the increasing thunder ofthe hoofs of the advancing stampede had something to do with it.

  "Well, what are we to do?" demanded Frank Price.

  "Stay here and wait for a chance to help if we see it," said Rob.

  "Oh, pshaw! They're busy. They won't see us. Let's slip in while they'renot looking," urged Bill Simmons.

  "The first duty of a Boy Scout is to obey orders," said Harry Harknessdecisively.

  "It's mighty hard to sit here doing nothing, though," grumbled FrankPrice.

  "That's what our soldiers had to do in many a battle," his brotherCharley reminded him.

  "That's so. I guess we'll have to be patient."

  And now, under the direction of Mr. Harkness, the cattlemen spread outin a long line, so arranged as to be capable of sweeping across thevangua
rd of the cattle in a compact skirmish line rank. Each puncherhad his gun ready for action, and at the word from Mr. Harkness theyrode toward the approaching stampede at a quick lope.

  Up till now the stampede had not been visible. Only the signs of itsapproach were manifest. Suddenly, however, over the crest of a littlerise, there swept into view an appalling spectacle. Hundreds offear-crazed cattle, bellowing as they raced forward, and clashing theirhorns together with a sharp sound, formed the vanguard. Behind them camea huddled mass, goring and trampling each other in their terror.

  The boys' faces paled as they watched.

  "Yow-yow-yow-eee-ee-e!"

  The yells burst from the cattlemen's throats above the noise of thestampede.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  A score of revolver shots crackled as the line swept forward and rode atfull gallop right across the faces of the leaders of the mad rush. Itwas terribly risky work. The slightest stumble would have meant death.At the head of his cow-punchers, like a general leading his forces,rode Mr. Harkness on his big bay.

  Clear across the front of the line the cow-punchers swept withoutappreciably diminishing the speed of the onrush.

  A second time they tried the daring tactics. This time they succeeded inchecking the cattle a little, but only a bare two hundred yards remainedbetween the leaders and the edge of the Graveyard. In this spacegalloped the cow-punchers. Could they stop the advance in time to savethemselves from a terrible death?

  "Father! Father!" shouted Harry, in his painful excitement standing upin his stirrups.

  The boys felt a great sympathy for the rancher's son. If the cattle werenot stopped in the next few minutes a terrible death seemed certain toovertake the brave man and his helpers.

  "Fire at 'em!" yelled Mr. Harkness suddenly.

  This was a desperate last resort. Hitherto, the cow-punchers had beenfiring in the air. Now, however, they leveled their revolvers at theoncoming herd.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Several of the leaders crumpled up and fell to the ground, mortallywounded. In a second they were trampled under foot, but suddenly, aftertwenty or more had been thus slaughtered, the band began to waver. Atlast, with mad bellows, and amid frantic yells from the cowboys, theirranks broke and wavered.

  "Yip-yip-u-ee-ee!"

  The triumphant shrieks of the cowboys rang out as the disorganized herdsplit up.

  "Wow! They've turned 'em!" shouted Harry. "Hooray!"

  The next instant his shout of delight changed to a yell of dismay, andhe turned his pony sharply.

  "Come on, Rob!" he cried. "We've got to get out of here!"

  "They're coming this way!" yelled Tubby, spurring his pony and gallopingoff at top speed, the others following him. As Rob's pony jumpedforward, however, it stumbled and threw the boy headlong. He kept hishold of the reins, fortunately, and was up on its back in a trice. Butthe second's delay had been fatal.

  Sweeping toward the boy, from two points of the compass, were twosections of disorganized stampede. The cattle were trying, according totheir instinct, to reunite.

  "I'm hemmed in," was Rob's thought.

  He switched rapidly round to a quarter where there seemed a chance ofescape, but already it had been closed. The boy was on a sort of island.Behind him was the gorge, deep and terrible. In front of him on twosides, death was closing in on the wings of the wind.