Billie was the best natured bungler any one ever knew. No matter what a mess he made of things, when one of his chums started in to take him to task, his blue eyes would take on such a reproachful expression, while his jolly broad face was apt to expand in such a smile that made it impossible for them to feel in the least degree angry; and so it always ended in a general laugh all around, and Billie solemnly promising never to do it again—until the next time.
These three lads were seen so much on their ponies that they had come to be known all through the section of country where Donald’s father had his ranch as the “Broncho Rider Boys;” and they took considerable pride in living up to their reputation as good horsemen.
Having come out from the mine on this particular day to investigate a place that Corse Tibbals, the superintendent at the Red Spar Mine had told them was worth seeing on account of the view, as well as the fact that it had more venomous reptiles to the square foot than any other section of the State, they had prowled around, and used the glasses Adrian carried, until tired.
Then Donald and Adrian had thrown themselves down, saying they would take it easy for another half hour, when it would be time to make a start on the return trip, if they wished to reach the mine before night set in.
Broncho Billie kept on “rooting,” for he always loved to “browse around” as he called it, in every old place he could find, looking for curious things to add to the collection he was making of strange objects calculated to astonish his boy friends at home in the East, when he returned there later on.
“I’ve heard a heap about that blessed Gila Monster,” he had told the others on several occasions since starting out on this day’s gallop and climb; “and perhaps now we might run across a single
specimen, where there are so many venomous toads and rattlesnakes and such. Oh! don’t shake your wise old heads, and look at me in that way. Just you make sure I ain’t going to touch anything like that! I’ve been duly warned by Si Ketcham the ranch foreman, and also Harris over here at the Red Spar Mine, to keep my distance. But if I could only get a specimen, and stuff it, I’d be a happy Broncho Billie.”
Ten minutes afterward the two who were resting heard him calling to them.
“Oh! just come over here and see the rattlesnake cage I’ve struck, fellows! Must be a regular nest of the varmints, dozens and dozens asunning themselves down in this rocky pit.”
“Hold on there, be careful, Billie, what you do!” called Donald, as he and his chum scrambled to their feet; but it was only to hear a wild screech from the fat boy; and then followed a terribly significant rattling of shale that struck them with a cold chill.