"Give him the tenderfoot dance," yelled another. "He ought to be able to dance the fairy lancers on them pinkies."
Ned did not dare refuse. He slipped from his pony, and, limping to the center of the ring which the racing ponies had formed about them, began to dance as the bullets from the revolvers of the cowboys struck the ground, sending up little clouds of dust under his feet. Faster and faster barked the guns, and faster and faster danced Ned Rector.
Stacy Brown was almost beside himself with joy.
"Better look out, or you'll be doing it next," warned Tad.
Evidently the cowboys had not recognized Tom Parry as yet. He might be the next victim.
Finally Tad rode his pony forward, right through the fire of the skylarking cowboys.
"I guess you've had enough fun with him, fellows," he warned. "Let up now."
A jeering laugh greeted the lad's command. Their attention was instantly turned to him.
"Get off that broncho and give us a dance, young fellow," they shouted.
"Thank you, I'm not dancing to-day," smiled Tad Butler.