The Border Boys with the Texas Rangers

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” declared Walt with a grin, “but once would be quite enough for me.”

“Anyhow, it didn’t rain,” said the hermit triumphantly. “I told yer it wouldn’t.”

It was all the boys could do to keep from breaking out into hearty laughter at the strange old man who seemed to mind being hit by lightning no more than any ordinary occurrence.

“Waal, now I’ve got to stitch all them rags together agin,” he said presently in a complaining tone, regarding the scattered collection of stuff that had been torn off him by the lightning.

“Gracious! I should think you’d get a new outfit,” declared Jack.

The hermit glowered at him.

“Git a new outfit? What’d I git a new outfit fer? Ain’t them clothes as good as ever? All they want is stitching together agin and they’ll be as good as new.”

So saying, he went outside, for the storm had passed over by this time, and began gathering his scattered raiment.

“Hadn’t you better put on some clothes?” suggested Jack, trying to stifle his laughter.

“Oh, that’s right!” exclaimed the hermit, who had apparently quite forgotten that he was bereft of all garments. He returned to the shack, put on an old blanket, and with this wrapped about him he set about collecting his rags once more, grumbling to himself all the time.

“I s’pose that blame lightnin’ will hit one of my sheep next trip,” he grunted, as if the fact that he had been struck was nothing compared with the loss of one of his sheep.

“Speaking of sheep, we’d better go and see how the ponies are getting along,” said Jack presently.

They ran to the rough shed where the ponies had been tied. Two of them, they found, had been knocked down by a bolt, while the other was half wild from fright. The two that had been struck were just struggling to their feet.

The boys quieted their distressed animals and saddled them up ready to depart from the strange old hermit and his abode.

“You can’t blame the ponies for being scared,” declared Jack with a laugh; “being knocked out twice in one day is pretty tough.”

“Unless you’re a hermit,” laughed Walt, at which they all roared.

Jack handed the hermit some money to pay for their entertainment as they were leaving. The old man took it without a word, except to say that he would have to hurry and stitch a pocket on his rags so as to have some place to put it.

Then, without a word of farewell, he continued picking up his scattered raiment, and the last the boys saw of him he was still intent on his odd task.

CHAPTER XXIV.

BY SHEER GRIT

Owing to the delay caused by the storm, it was late when they reached the Lagunitas Rancho. It was too dark for them to form any idea of the place, but Mr. Reeves, who greeted them warmly, ushered them into a long, low room hung with skins and trophies of the hunt, and ornamented at one end by a huge stone fireplace. The boys were surprised to find the ranch very comfortably furnished, almost luxurious, in fact. Every comfort of civilization was to be found there, even down to a grand piano and a phonograph. After a plentiful supper Mr. Reeves entertained the boys with selections on both of these instruments.

The rancher was married and had three children, but his family was at the time away on a visit to the East. Mr. Reeves said that while he was sorry that the boys had not had an opportunity to meet them, he was glad of their absence in another sense, for times were very troublous along the Border.

It was decided that the boys were not to go on duty that night, but would turn in early and spend the next day getting acquainted with the ranch so that they could ride over it “blindfold,” as Mr. Reeves put it. He informed them that he had six cowboys on duty, but that two of them were not very reliable and could not be depended upon in an emergency.

“I feel much easier in my mind now that I have three of the famous Texas Rangers to help me out,” he said with a kindly smile.

“I hope we shall be able to live up to what the name stands for,” said Jack gravely.

“Bravo, my lad; that’s the proper spirit,” declared the rancher warmly.

The boys slept that night in a comfortably furnished bedroom containing three cots. Before daybreak they were awake and discussing the coming day. Sunrise found them outside the ranch house, eagerly inspecting their new surroundings. But, early as they were, Mr. Reeves had been up before them and was ready to show them around.

“Now, you boys must each pick yourself out a pony,” he said, leading them toward a big corral in which several ponies were running loose.

“But we have our own,” objected Ralph, who knew what western bronchos are when they are first taken out of a corral.

“I know that,” responded Mr. Reeves, “but your ponies are pretty well tuckered out after all they went through yesterday. Fresh mounts will be very much better.”

“You have some fine ones here, too,” said Jack, who had been inspecting the twenty or more cayuses in the corral.

“Yes, Lagunitas is famous for its stock,” was the response. “Will you rope the ones you want for yourselves, or shall I tell a puncher to do it for you?”

“We’d be fine Rangers if we couldn’t rope our own ponies,” laughed Jack.

So saying, he selected a rope from several which were hanging on the corral posts. He tried it out and found it a good, pliant bit of rawhide. In the meantime Walt and Ralph had each taken another “riata” and were testing them.

So far as Ralph was concerned, his knowledge of lariat throwing was strictly limited. He had practiced a bit on the Merrill ranch, but he did not know much about the art – for an art it is to throw a rope with precision and accuracy.

By this time several of the cow–punchers attached to the ranch had assembled and watched the boys critically.

“Watch the Tenderfeet throw a rope, Bud,” said one of them, a short, freckle–faced fellow.

“Waal, I don’t know but that tall one knows how to handle a lariat,” rejoined Bud, fixing his eyes on Jack as he entered the corral with his rope trailing behind him, the loop ready for a swing. As soon as the boys were within the corral they started “milling” the ponies, as it is called, that is, causing them to run round and round in circles. In this work they were aided by the shrill whoops and yells of the cow–punchers, who perched on the fence like a row of buzzards.

A buckskin pony with a white face and pink–rimmed eyes caught Jack’s fancy, and in a jiffy his rope was swishing through the air. It fell neatly about the buckskin’s neck, and Jack quickly brought the little animal up with a round turn on the “snubbing post” in the center of the corral. Then came Walt’s turn and after some difficulty he succeeded in lassoing a small but wiry chestnut animal that looked capable of carrying his weight finely.

Last of all came Ralph. He set his lips firmly and made the best cast he knew how at a sorrel colt that was galloping past him. The cowboys set up a jeering yell as they saw the way he handled his rope, and Ralph flushed crimson with mortification. Again and again he cast his rope, each time failing to land his animal. At last Mr. Reeves ordered one of the punchers to catch the pony for him. Ralph, feeling much humiliated, saw the sorrel caught with neatness and despatch.

“Must have bin practicing ropin’ with yer maw’s clothes line,” grinned the cowboy who had effected the capture as he handed the pony over to Ralph.

While this was going on Jack had secured his heavy stock saddle and approached the buckskin to put it on its back. But the instant the little brute saw the saddle it began a series of wild buckings, lashing the air frantically with its hind feet.

“Now look out for fun!” yelled a cow–puncher.

“The kid’s got hold of old Dynamite,” laughed another.

Jack heard this last remark and realized from it that the pony he had selected was a “bad one.” But he determined to stick it out.

Mr. Reeves came over to his side.

“I wouldn’t try to ride Dynamite, my boy,” he said. “He’s the most unruly broncho on the ranch. Take a quieter one like your chums have.”

“I like this buckskin, sir, and, if you have no objection, I mean to ride him,” spoke Jack quietly.

Something in the boy’s eye and the determined set of his mouth and chin told the ranch owner that it would be useless to argue with Jack.

“At any rate, I’ll send Bud in to help you cinch up,” he volunteered.