"That boy's got the making of a great cowpuncher in him," said the foreman, nodding his head approvingly.
Tad's pony was the swifter of the two, and besides, he was riding on an oblique line toward the runaway outfit.
It was the first opportunity the lad had had to show off his skill as a cowman, for none had seen his pointing of the herd on the night of the stampede. He was burning with impatience to get within roping distance of the steer before they got so far away that the cowmen would be unable to see the performance.
"Pull up and turn him, Chunky," called Tad.
"I can't."
"Why not? Turn in a half circle, then I shall be able to catch up with you sooner."
"Can't. The muley won't stop long enough for me to turn around."
Tad laughed aloud. He now saw that it was to be a race between the steer and his own pony. The odds, however, were in favor of the steer, for Stacy Brown was pacing him at a lively gait, and Tad was still some distance behind.
The latter's pony was straining every muscle to overhaul the muley. Tad finally slipped the lariat from the saddle bow. Swinging the great loop above his head, he sent it squirming through the air. At that instant the muley changed its course a little and the rope missed its mark by several feet. Now it was dragging behind the running pony.
By this time Tad had fallen considerably behind. He took up the race again with stubborn determination.