"You boys don't have to swallow your food whole," smiled the foreman, observing that the Pony Riders seemed to think they were expected to hurry through their meal as well. "Those fellows have to go out. Take your time. The fourth guard has to eat yet, so there is plenty of time. How did you all sleep?" "Fine," chorused the boys. "And you, Mr. Professor?" "Surprisingly well. It is astonishing with how little a man can get along when he has to." "Who is the wrangler this morning?" asked the foreman, glancing about at his men. "I am," spoke up Shorty Savage promptly. "Wrangler? What's a wrangler?" demanded Stacy, delaying the progress of a large slice of bacon, which hung suspended from the fork half-way between plate and mouth. "A wrangler's a wrangler," answered Big-foot stolidly. "He's a fellow who's all the time making trouble, isn't he?" asked Stacy innocently. "Oh, no, this kind of a wrangler isn't," laughed the foreman. "The trouble is usually made _for_ him, and it's served up hot off the spider. The horse wrangler is the fellow who goes out and rounds up the ponies. Sometimes he does it in the middle of the night when the thunder and lightning are smashing about him like all possessed, and the cattle are on the rampage. He's a trouble-curer, not a troublemaker, except for himself." "I guess there are some words that aren't in the dictionary," laughed Tad. "I think you will find them all there, Master Tad, if you will consult the big book," said the Professor. The meal was soon finished, Pong having stood rubbing his palms, a happy smile on his face, during the time they were eating. "A very fine breakfast, sir," announced the Professor, looking up at the Chinaman. "He knows what would happen to him if he didn't serve good meals," smiled Stallings. "What do you mean?" asked Ned Rector. "Pong, tell the young gentlemen what would become of you if you were to serve bad meals to this outfit of cowpunchers." The Chinaman showed two rows of white teeth in his expansive grin. "Allee same likee this," he explained. "How?" asked Tad. Pong, going through the motions of drawing a gun from his belt, and puffing out his cheeks, uttered an explosive "pouf!" "Oh, you mean they would shoot you?" asked Walter. "I hardly think they would do that, Pong." "Allee same," grinned the Chinaman. "I guess we are pretty sure of having real food to eat, then," laughed Tad, as the boys rose from the table ready for the active work of the day. "We will now get to work on the herd," announced the foreman. "We had better start the drive this morning. When we make camp at noon we will cut out the strays. I trust none of you will be imprudent and get into trouble, for we shall have other things to look after to-day." However, the Pony Riders were destined not to pass the day without one or more exciting adventures. CHAPTER V CUTTING OUT THE HERD