The cattle had arrived late the previous evening, though the boys had not yet been informed of the fact. The animals were to be allowed to graze and rest for the day, while the cowmen, or such of them as could be spared, were given leave to ride into town in small parties. It was the advance guard of the cowboys whose shots and yells had stirred the people in the street to such sudden activity. On they came, a shouting, yelling mob. Tad turned to look at them now. The sight was one calculated to stir the heart and quicken the pulses of any boy. But the face of Tad Butler reflected only mild curiosity as he gazed inquiringly at the dashing horsemen, each one of whom was riding standing in his stirrups waving sombrero and gun on high. What interested the freckle-faced boy most was their masterful horsemanship. "Y-e-e-e-o-w!" exploded the foremost of the riders. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! As many puffs of white smoke leaped into the air from the revolvers of the skylarking cowmen. "W-h-o-o-o-p-e!" they chorused in a mighty yell, letting go at the same time a rattling fire. "Y-e-e-e-o-w!" As they swept down toward the spot where Tad was sitting on his pony, the cowboys swung into line six abreast, thus filling the street from curb to curb. This time, however, instead of shooting into the air, they lowered the muzzles of their revolvers, sending volley after volley into the street ahead of them, the leaden missiles viciously kicking up the dirt into miniature clouds, like those from heavy drops of rain in advance of a thunder squall. Tad's pony began to show signs of nervousness. "Whoa!" commanded the boy sharply, tightening his rein and pressing his knees firmly against the animal's sides. The prancing pony was quickly mastered by its rider, though it continued to shake its head in emphatic protest. "Out of the way, you tenderfoot!" yelled a cowman, espying the boy and pony directly in his path. Tad Butler did not move. "Y-e-e-e-o-w!" shrieked the band in a series of shrill cries. When they saw that the boy was holding his ground so calmly, their revolvers began to bark spitefully, flicking up a semicircle of dust about the pony's feet, causing the little animal to prance and rear into the air. At this Tad's jaws set stubbornly, his lips pressing themselves firmly together. The boy brought his quirt down sharply on the pony's flank, at the same time pressing the pointless rowels of his spurs against the sides of the frightened animal. Though Tad determinedly held his mount in its place, he was no longer able to check its rearing and plunging, for the wiry little animal was wholly unused to such treatment. Besides, a volley of revolver bullets about its feet would disturb the steadiest horse.