Discovering that he had another rider beside him, the Angel made a desperate effort to run the lad and his pony down that he might break the line and head off to the northwest. Tad beat him over the nose with his quirt again, and the stallion promptly changed its mind, for the pink nose was still tender from the drubbing Tad had given it a short time before.
"The men are lining up for a drive," warned Stevens when the herd thundered by him again. "I'll keep behind you. We're going to try to drive them in this time. They're weakening fast."
"You want me to hold the leader?" asked the boy.
"Yes. Keep him up. Don't give him a second's leeway. The rest will follow him; don't worry about them."
"Where are the other fellows?"
"Over to the east. They're hiding until the herd gets close enough; then they'll appear, raising a big noise. That's the time you and I will have our hands full."
"Strikes me our hands have been pretty full," answered the lad, his face wrinkling into a forced grin.
Bud Stevens slackened the speed of his pony, dropping back and disappearing in the dust cloud.
"After all, I guess the other fellows will have the hardest work," mused the lad. "They've got to stop the rush while all I have to do is to keep on going, following that big, white stallion. I wish I could rope him, but I guess he would have the broncho and myself on our backs in no time."
Tad turned his attention to the work in hand. He did not know just where the other horse-hunters were secreted, but his eyes were fixed on a low-lying butte some distance to the eastward. He saw no other place from which they could carry out the manoeuvre successfully.