Dave Porter at Star Ranch; Or, The Cowboy's SecretStratemeyer, Edward
General
Dave Porter at Star Ranch; Or, The Cowboy's Secret
Stratemeyer, Edward
Cowboys -- Juvenile fiction; Ranch life -- Juvenile fiction; West (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction
With Dave once more on his back, the pony tried new tactics. Around and
around he went in a circle, sending the dust of the corral flying in all
directions. Then, like lightning, he reversed, nearly breaking his own
neck, and causing Dave to slip far down on the outer side. But the youth
hung to the saddle, and, leaning forward, slapped the bronco a smart
crack on the neck. This he followed up with a blow on the head.
The effect was just what the boy desired. The pony forgot all his
tricks, and leaping high into the air, he shot off like a streak toward
the corral gate. Once outside, he headed for the open plains, going with
the speed of a racer on the track.
"They're off!" cried Roger.
"Don't let him throw you!" yelled Todd.
"Can't we ride after 'em?" queried Phil.
"Sure we can ride after 'em," responded Todd. "An' we better do it, too,
fer there ain't no tellin' what that pony will do to Dave," he added,
anxiously, and with a black look at Yates, which made the other cowboy
cast his eyes to the ground.
On and on sped the bronco, with Dave sitting firmly in the saddle. So
long as the pony kept going, the lad felt he had nothing to fear. But he
was on the alert, for he did not know but that the animal would play
another trick at any instant.
"Go on, old boy!" he muttered. "We've got miles and miles of prairie
ahead of us. Run till you are tired! But remember, you've got to carry
me back," he added, grimly.
Soon the ranch house and the corral were mere specks in the distance,
and then even these faded from view. The pony kept to the open country,
and not once did he slacken his speed.
"I guess he'll drop into a walk when his wind is gone," thought Dave.
But the pony's breathing apparatus showed no sign of giving out. Dave
allowed his eyes to turn back, and calculated he had gone two or three
miles. "Maybe we had better turn back now," he murmured, and tried to
guide the steed in a circle. But this was a failure. The pony kept
straight ahead, running due eastward, as the youth could see by the sun.
"All right, go as far as you please," said Dave, grimly. "If you can
stand it, so can I," and he settled in the saddle.
Another two miles were covered, and then the bronco commenced to slacken
his speed. Dave was on guard at this, and it was well to be, for, a
second later, the pony once more tried the trick of flinging his rider
over his head. But the effort was a failure, and in return Dave dug his
knees deeply into the steed's ribs. Then off went the pony on a run
again.
This time the bronco did not cover over a mile before dropping into a
walk. Then Dave tried again to turn the animal, but without success.
"Don't want to go back, eh?" said the youth. "Well, you've got to, and
that is all there is to it!" And he hit the pony a sharp slap on the
neck and dug his knees into the animal's ribs as before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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