Part 22 (2/2)

”Yes, this is Phil. Come here, Phil and meet my young friends.”

The Pony Rider Boys took to the lad at once. He was a manly little fellow, but delicate to the point of being fragile, the lad having only recently recovered from a serious attack of typhoid fever.

”You see what the outdoor life has done for these young gentlemen, Phil,” said Mr. Simms. ”I shall expect you to come back this fall, looking every bit as well as they do now. All get ready for dinner. It will be served in a few moments. Later in the day, we shall move out on the range. Phil, have you packed up your things?”

”Yes, sir. I'm all ready.”

The noon meal was a jolly affair. The herders cooked their own meals out on the range, and after this the boys would eat with them. But to-day they were invited guests in the home of the rancher and hanker. In the meantime Professor Zepplin and Mr. Simms had become interested in each other and already were looking forward to the next few days on the range together, with keen pleasure.

The start was made shortly after three o'clock, the party reaching their destination well before sundown.

The Pony Riders uttered a shout as they descried the white canvas top of the chuck wagon. It was a familiar sight to them. On beyond that was a perfect sea of white backs and bobbing heads, where the great herd was grazing contentedly after its long journey to the free gra.s.s of Montana. The boys had never seen anything like it.

The sheep dogs, too, were a source of never-ending interest. The boys watched the intelligent animals, as of their own accord they rounded up a bunch here and there that they had observed straying from the main herd, working the sheep back to their fellows quietly and without in the least appearing to disturb them.

”What kind of sheep is that over there?” asked Chunky, pointing.

”That's no sheep. That's Billy,” answered Mr. Simms.

”Who's he?”

”The goat. You've no doubt heard of a bell wether?”

”I have,” spoke up Tad.

”That's what Billy is. He leads the sheep. They will follow a leader almost anywhere. In crossing a stream Billy wades in without the least hesitation and they cross right over after him. Otherwise we should have great difficulty in getting them over.”

”Oh, yes, I know a goat. Had one once,” replied Stacy. ”Does he b.u.t.t?”

”Sometimes. His temper is not what might be called angelic. I suspect the boys have been teasing him pretty well. However, you want to look out for some of those rams. They are ugly and they can easily knock a man down. If you are up early in the morning you will see them at play--you will see what they can do with their tough heads.”

”I forgot to tell you,” said Larue in a low voice, ”that some of the men report having encountered Indians during the day.”

”That's nothing new. There are plenty of them around here,” laughed the banker.

”They think they were Blackfeet. The reds were so far away, however, that the men could not make certain.”

”Off the reservation again, eh? Probably think they can pick up a few sheep. Well, look out for them. If you catch them at any s.h.i.+nes just shoot to scare. Don't hit them. We don't want any Government inquiry. I have suspected for a long time that some of them were hiding in the Rosebuds and that the Crow Indians were in league with them. It's only the bad Indians who stray from their reservations, you see,” explained Mr. Simms. ”We have to be on the lookout for these roving bands all the time or they'd steal all we have.”

”I should think you would complain to the Indian agencies,”

suggested the Professor.

”Doesn't pay. They would take it out of us in a worse way, perhaps. They're a revengeful gang.”

One by one the herders came in with their dogs and flocks, rounding the sheep in for the night, having chosen for the purpose a slight depression in the plain. For the first time, the boys had an opportunity to meet the ranchers and compare them with the cattle men they tad known in Texas. They were a hardy lot, taciturn and solemn-faced. The most silent man in the bunch, was Noisy Cooper, who scarcely ever spoke a word unless forced to do so by an insistent question. Bat Coyne had been a cattle man down in Texas, while Mary Johnson--so called because of his pink and white complexion, which no amount of sun or wind could tarnish--was said to have come from the East. He had left there for reasons best known to himself, working on sheep ever since.

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