water-soaked sombrero. "Come in. The
water's great!"
"Come on, Chunky," called Ned.
"I'll wait and go over in the wagon," decided Chunky.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the foreman. "You will swim, if you
get over at all."
Professor Zepplin, not to be outdone by his young charges, bravely rode his
animal into the stream.
The boys set up a shout of glee when he, too, finally dropped into the river
with a great splash. Instead, however, of allowing the pony to tow him, the
Professor propelled himself along with long powerful strokes of his left hand,
while with the right he clung to the saddle pommel.
"Three cheers for Professor Zepplin!" cried Tad as the German, dripping but
smiling, emerged from the water and scrambled up the bank, leaving his pony to
follow along after him.
The cheers were given with a will.
Stacy Brown, however, was still on the other side with the straggling cattle
which were coming along in small bunches.
"Young man, if you expect to get in for supper, you'd better be fording the
stream," suggested Big-foot Sanders.
The mention of supper was all that Stacy needed to start him.
"Gid-ap!"
The pony slid down the bank on its haunches, Stacy leaning far back in the
saddle that he might not pitch over the animal's head.
"Chunky would make a good side hill rider, wouldn't he?" jeered Ned.
"Depends upon whether he were going up or down," decided Tad.
"Look out! There he goes!" exclaimed Walter.
The boy's mount had mired one foot in a quicksand pocket and had gone down on
its knees. But Chunky kept right on going.
He hit the water flat on his stomach, arms and legs outspread, clawing and
kicking desperately.
The fat boy opened his mouth to cry out for help.
As a result Stacy swallowed all the water that came his way. Floundering
about like a drowning steer, choking and coughing, he disappeared from
sight.
----
CHAPTER VIII
THE APPROACH OF THE STORM
"He's gone down!" cried a voice from the other side of the stream.
Tad sprang down the bank and leaped in, striking out for the spot where Stacy
had last been seen.
Cattle were scattered here and there and the boy had to keep his eyes open to
prevent being run down. He had almost reached the place where he had made up his
mind to dive, should Stacy not rise to the surface, when a great shout from the
bluff caused Tad to turn.
"Whawhat is it?" he called.
"Look! Look!" cried Ned Rector.
"I don't see anything. Is it Chunky? Is he all right?"
"Yes. He's driving oxen just now," answered Ned.
By this time the cowpunchers had joined in the shouting. Tad could see,
however, that they were shouting with merriment, though for the life of him he
could not understand what there was to laugh about.
Several steers were between him and the spot on which the glances of the
others were fixed.
"Come on in," called Ned.
The lad swam shoreward with slow, easy strokes. Then he discovered what they
were laughing at.
Stacy, grasping desperately as he went down, had caught the tail of a
swimming steer. He had been quickly drawn to the surface, and out through an
opening between the treading animals, appeared the fat boy's head.
Chunky was not swimming. He was allowing the steer to do that for him,
clinging to its tail with all his strength. The lad's eyes were blinded for the
moment by the water that was in them. He did not release his hold of the tail
when they had reached the shore, but hung on desperately while the steer,
dragging him along through the mire, scrambled up the bank.
There was no telling how long Stacy might have hung to the animal's tail, had
not Stallings grabbed him by the collar as he rose over the crest of the bank.
Stallings shook him until the water-soaked clothes sent out a miniature rain
storm and the boy had coughed himself back to his normal condition.
"Well, you are a nice sort of cowboy," laughed the foreman. "When you are
unable to do anything else to interest your friends, you try to
water's great!"
"Come on, Chunky," called Ned.
"I'll wait and go over in the wagon," decided Chunky.
"You'll do nothing of the sort," snapped the foreman. "You will swim, if you
get over at all."
Professor Zepplin, not to be outdone by his young charges, bravely rode his
animal into the stream.
The boys set up a shout of glee when he, too, finally dropped into the river
with a great splash. Instead, however, of allowing the pony to tow him, the
Professor propelled himself along with long powerful strokes of his left hand,
while with the right he clung to the saddle pommel.
"Three cheers for Professor Zepplin!" cried Tad as the German, dripping but
smiling, emerged from the water and scrambled up the bank, leaving his pony to
follow along after him.
The cheers were given with a will.
Stacy Brown, however, was still on the other side with the straggling cattle
which were coming along in small bunches.
"Young man, if you expect to get in for supper, you'd better be fording the
stream," suggested Big-foot Sanders.
The mention of supper was all that Stacy needed to start him.
"Gid-ap!"
The pony slid down the bank on its haunches, Stacy leaning far back in the
saddle that he might not pitch over the animal's head.
"Chunky would make a good side hill rider, wouldn't he?" jeered Ned.
"Depends upon whether he were going up or down," decided Tad.
"Look out! There he goes!" exclaimed Walter.
The boy's mount had mired one foot in a quicksand pocket and had gone down on
its knees. But Chunky kept right on going.
He hit the water flat on his stomach, arms and legs outspread, clawing and
kicking desperately.
The fat boy opened his mouth to cry out for help.
As a result Stacy swallowed all the water that came his way. Floundering
about like a drowning steer, choking and coughing, he disappeared from
sight.
----
CHAPTER VIII
THE APPROACH OF THE STORM
"He's gone down!" cried a voice from the other side of the stream.
Tad sprang down the bank and leaped in, striking out for the spot where Stacy
had last been seen.
Cattle were scattered here and there and the boy had to keep his eyes open to
prevent being run down. He had almost reached the place where he had made up his
mind to dive, should Stacy not rise to the surface, when a great shout from the
bluff caused Tad to turn.
"Whawhat is it?" he called.
"Look! Look!" cried Ned Rector.
"I don't see anything. Is it Chunky? Is he all right?"
"Yes. He's driving oxen just now," answered Ned.
By this time the cowpunchers had joined in the shouting. Tad could see,
however, that they were shouting with merriment, though for the life of him he
could not understand what there was to laugh about.
Several steers were between him and the spot on which the glances of the
others were fixed.
"Come on in," called Ned.
The lad swam shoreward with slow, easy strokes. Then he discovered what they
were laughing at.
Stacy, grasping desperately as he went down, had caught the tail of a
swimming steer. He had been quickly drawn to the surface, and out through an
opening between the treading animals, appeared the fat boy's head.
Chunky was not swimming. He was allowing the steer to do that for him,
clinging to its tail with all his strength. The lad's eyes were blinded for the
moment by the water that was in them. He did not release his hold of the tail
when they had reached the shore, but hung on desperately while the steer,
dragging him along through the mire, scrambled up the bank.
There was no telling how long Stacy might have hung to the animal's tail, had
not Stallings grabbed him by the collar as he rose over the crest of the bank.
Stallings shook him until the water-soaked clothes sent out a miniature rain
storm and the boy had coughed himself back to his normal condition.
"Well, you are a nice sort of cowboy," laughed the foreman. "When you are
unable to do anything else to interest your friends, you try to
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