GRIT WINS THE BATTLE
The lad appeared to strike the ground head-on. Fortunately, the spot where he landed was covered with soft sand.
"Are you hurt?" asked Big-foot, running to the boy and reaching out to assist him.
"I guess not," answered Tad, rubbing the sand from his eyes and blinking vigorously.
The skin had been scraped from his face in spots where the coarse sand had ground its way through. His hair was filled with the dirt of the plain, and his clothes were torn.
But Tad Butler, nothing daunted, smiled as he pulled himself to his feet.
"You better let that job out. You can't ride that critter!"
"I'll ride him—if he kills me!" answered the boy, his jaws setting stubbornly.
Tad hitched his belt tighter before making any move to approach the pony, which Stallings was now holding by main force. While doing so, the lad watched the animal's buckings observantly.
"What—what happened?" demanded Stallings.
"Foot slipped out of the stirrup."
"Think you can make it?"
"I'll try it, if you have the time to spare."
"It takes time to break a bronch. Don't you worry about that. I don't want you to be breaking your neck, however."
"My advice is that you keep off that animal," declared Professor Zepplin. "You cannot manage him; that is plain."
"Please do not say that, Professor. I must ride him now. You wouldn't have me be a coward, would you?"
Stallings, realizing the boy's position, nodded slightly to the Professor.
"Very well, if Mr. Stallings thinks it is safe," agreed Professor Zepplin reluctantly.
Tad's face lighted up with a satisfied smile.
"Whoa, boy," he soothed, patting the animal gently on the neck.
The pony's back arched and its heels shot up into the air again. Once more Tad petted him.
"No use," said the foreman. "The iron hand is the only thing that will break this cayuse. Don't know enough to know when he's well off. Got your spurs on?"
"Yes."
"Then drive them in when you get well seated."
Tad shook his head.
"I do not think that will be necessary. Guess he'll go fast enough without urging him with the rowels," answered the boy, backing away to wait until the pony had bounced itself into a position where another effort to mount him would be possible.
"Will you please coil up the stake rope and fasten it to the horn, Mr. Stallings?" asked Tad. "I don't want to get tangled up with that thing."
"Yes, if you are sure you can stick on him."
"Leave that to me. I know his tricks now."
Cautiously the rope was coiled and made fast to the saddle horn.
"I'm coming," said Tad in a quiet, tense voice.
"Ready," answered the foreman, with equal quietness.
The lad darted forward, running on his toes, his eyes fixed on the saddle.
Tad gave no heed to the pony. It was that heavy bobbing saddle that he must safely make before the pony itself would enter into his considerations.
Lightly touching the saddle, he bounded into it, at the same time shoving both feet forward. Fortunately his shoes slipped into the big, boxed stirrups, and the rein which lay over the pommel ready for him was quickly gathered up.
Stallings leaped from the animal's head and the cowpunchers made a quick sprint to remove themselves from the danger zone.
They were none too soon.
The broncho at last realized that his head was free. His sides, however, were being gripped by a muscular pair of legs, and his head was suddenly jerked up by a sharp tug at the rein.
"Y-e-e-e-o-w!" greeted the cowboys in their long-drawn, piercing cry.
"Yip!" answered Tad, though more to the pony than in answer to them.
Down went the pony's head between his forward legs, his hind hoofs beating a tattoo in the air.
The feet came down as suddenly as they had gone up. Instantly the little animal began a series of stiff-legged leaps into the air, his curving back making it a very uncomfortable place to sit on.
Tad's head was jerked back and forth until it seemed as though his neck would be broken.
"Look out for the side jump!" warned the foreman.
It came almost instantly, and with a quickness that nearly unhorsed the plucky lad.
As it was, the swift leap to the right threw Tad half way over on the beast's left side. Fortunately, the lad gripped the pommel with his right hand as he felt himself going, and little by little he pulled himself once more to an upright posture.
All at once the animal took a leap into the air, coming down headed in the opposite direction.
Tad's head swam. He no longer heard the shouts of encouragement from the cowpunchers. He was clinging desperately to his insecure seat, with legs pressed tightly against the pony's sides. As yet he had not seen fit to use the rowels.
There came a pause which was almost as disconcerting as had been the previous rapid movements.
"He's going to throw himself! Don't get caught under him!" bellowed Big-foot.
Tad was thankful for the suggestion, for he was not looking for that move at the moment.
The pony struck the ground on its left side with a bump that made the animal grunt. Tad, however, forewarned, had freed his left foot from the stirrup and was standing easily over his fallen mount, eyes fixed on the beast's ears, ready to resume his position at the first sign of a quiver of those ears.
Like a flash the animal was on its feet again, but with Tad riding in the saddle, a satisfied smile on his face. Once more the awful, nerve-racking bucking began. It did not seem as if a human being could survive that series of violent antics, and least of all a mere boy.
All at once the animal came up on its hind legs.
Tad knew instinctively what it meant. He did not need the warning cry of the cowpunchers to tell him what the pony was about to do. Over went the broncho on its back, rolling to its side quickly.
Tad was on the ground beside it, standing in a half-crouching position, with one foot on the saddle horn.
He had jerked the broncho's head clear of the ground with a strong tug on the reins, making the animal helpless to rise until the lad was ready for him to do so.
The cowboys uttered a yell of triumph.
"Great! Great!" approved Bob Stallings.
"Tenderfoot, eh?" jeered Big-foot Sanders. "Hooray for the Pinto!"
Tad's companions gave a shrill cheer.
"Wait. He ain't out of the woods yet," growled Lumpy Bates.
"Think you could do it better, hey?" snapped Curley Adams. "Why, that cayuse would shake the blooming neck off you if you were in that saddle. I never did see such a whirlwind."
"Got springs in his feet, I reckon," grinned Big-foot.
"Don't let his head down till you're ready for the get-away," cautioned the foreman.
Tad suddenly allowed the head to touch the ground, after the pony had lain pinned at his feet, breathing hard for a full minute.
Boy and mount were in the air in a twinkling. As they went up, Ted brought down his quirt with all his strength. It was time the ugly animal was taught that its enemy could strike a blow for himself.
With a quick pause, as if in surprise, the beast shot its head back to fasten its teeth in the leg of the rider. Tad had jerked his leg away as he saw the movement, with the result that only part of his leggin came away between the teeth of the savage animal.
Crack!
Down came the quirt again.
The broncho's head straightened out before him with amazing quickness. He was beginning to fear as well as hate the human being who so persistently sat his back and tortured him.
The pony sprang into the air.
"They're off!" shouted the cowboys.
With amazing quickness the animal lunged ahead, paused suddenly, then shot across the plain in a series of leaps and twists.
Tad shook out the rein, at the same time giving a gentle pressure to the rowels of his spurs.
Maddened almost beyond endurance, the pony started at a furious pace, not pausing until more than a mile had been covered. When he did bring up it was with disconcerting suddenness.
"Whoa, boy!" soothed Tad, patting the little animal on the neck. Again the wide-open mouth reached for the lad's left leg. But this time Tad pressed in the spurs on the right side. The pony tried to bite that way, whereat its rider spurred it on the left side.
This was continued until, at least, in sheer desperation, the animal started again to run. He found that he was not interfered with in this effort. However, when he sought to unseat his rider by brushing against the trunk of a large tree, he again felt the sting of the quirt on his flank.
Gradually Tad now began to work the animal around. After a time he succeeded in doing this, and was soon headed for camp. They bore down, at great speed, to where the cowboys were swinging their hats and setting up a shout that carried far over the plain.
Tad's face was flushed with pride. Yet he did not allow himself for an instant to forget his work. The lad's whole attention was centered on the pony under him. He was determined to make a grand finish that, while exhibiting his horsemanship, would at the same time give the pony a lesson not soon to be forgotten.
"You've got him!" cried Ned Rector as Tad approached, now at a gallop, the animal's ears lying back angrily.
"Don't be too sure," answered Big-foot. "See them ears? That means more trouble."
It came almost before the words were out of the cowpuncher's mouth.
The broncho stiffened, its hoofs ploughing little trails in the soft dirt of the plain as it skidded to a stop. The jolt might have unhorsed Tad Butler had he not been expecting it from some indications that he read in the animal's actions.
Suddenly settling back on its haunches, the broncho rolled over on its side. Tad, with a grin, stepped off a few paces, taking with him, however, the coil of rope, one end of which was still fastened around the beast's neck.
With a snort and a bound, realizing that it was free at last, the little animal leaped to its feet and darted away.
Tad moved swiftly to the right, so as not to get a tug on the rope over the back of the pony.
The coil was running out over his hands like a thing of life. Grasping the end firmly, the lad shook out the rest of the rope, leaning back until it was almost taut.
By this time the animal was running almost at right angles to him.
Tad gave the rope a quick rolling motion just as it was being drawn taut. The result was as surprising as it was sudden. The animal's four feet were snipped from under it neatly, sending the broncho to earth with a disheartening bump.
