“No, I don’t think it’ll be as bad as that; though they git mighty onery sometimes. Don’t you boys give ’em no back talk, and maybe we’ll get out all right.”
The rapid advance of the approaching cowboys could now be heard. Their ponies’ hoofs could also be seen as they flashed in and out under the cloud of dust.
Suddenly there was a terrific volley of yells, and, as the cavalcade drew rein, the cloud rolled away and the boys found they were surrounded by forty or fifty wild-looking fellows, all yelling and shouting. Some of them had revolvers and were firing them in the air. The din was terrific.
“Throw up yer hands, yer Scanderhovian bunch of tenderfeet,” shouted the leader, a big man on a buckskin pony, whose legs were incased, despite the intense heat, in a huge, hairy pair of bearskin “chaps.”
The boys all elevated their hands, and old man Joyce and Bart Witherbee hastened to follow their example.
“Where’s this yar sky schooner yer goin’ a-sailin’ around in, scaring our cattle and driving the critters plumb crazy?” he demanded angrily.
“If you mean our aeroplane, there it is,” said Frank, indicating the machine.
“Wall, there was two of them went over here yisterday, and all the beef critters on the Bar X range is plum stampeded all over the per-arie. We’re goin’ ter stop this, an’ we might as well begin right now. Come on, boys, shoot the blame thing full o’ holes and put a few in ther choo-choo wagin while yer at it.”
The situation was critical indeed.
The boys saw no way of saving their aeroplane, and to add to their troubles they had been informed that their two rivals were in front of them.