Ted Strong in Montana | Page 7

the sunlight of her
scarlet jacket.
Ted was still studying the situation, riding up and down the edge of the
coulee, trying to figure out some plan of rescue, and noting the cattle
that were down, and which were rapidly being trampled to death by the
other beasts, or being smothered by the snow.
The prospect was not a pleasing one to the young cow boss, for he saw
the profits of the venture fading away hourly.
Suddenly a faint, shrill yell reached his ears, and he wheeled his pony
in the direction from which it came.
Stella's scarlet jacket was coming toward him in a whirlwind of flying
snow, and he rushed toward her.
What could have happened to her? He looked in vain for whatever was
pursuing her, and saw that she was not being followed, but was
swinging her arm above her head with a triumphant gesture.
He slowed his pony down, and soon she dashed to his side.
"You fellows are certainly a bright lot of cow-punchers," she
exclaimed.
"What's the matter now?" asked Ted gloomily.
"Didn't any of you think of scouting down the coulee?"
"I confess I didn't."

"You ought to be laid off the job for a week."
"Why?"
"You can get those cattle out of that hole in an hour."
"We can! How do you know?"
"The coulee runs out about a mile to the west, and straight to the north,
up a wide swale, lies the ranch house in full view."
"Stella, you're all right. But the cattle are bogged, and they can't move
even down the coulee."
"I believe they can."
"How?"
"When the other boys come back from breakfast all of you jump into
the coulee and tramp the snow down as much as you can ahead of the
leaders. Then start them up."
"Bully for you, Stella; you're a better cow-puncher than any of us."
"No, I'm not, but because I don't know as much about it I go at it in a
woman's way, which is a roundabout way, and nearly always foolish to
look at, but sometimes does the work."
This suggestion had the effect of taking a great load from Ted's
shoulders, for if he did not succeed in getting the herd out before night
they would freeze solid in their molds of snow, and then he would
never get half of them out alive.
Presently Bud and the other boys came winging back from breakfast,
and Ted told them of the plan for releasing the cattle, at the same time
praising Stella and giving her all the credit for the idea.
"Peevish peppers, but I'm a tenderfoot," grunted Bud. "Why in Sam
Hill didn't I think o' that myself? I reckon I'm gettin' too old fer ther

cow business. I ought ter be milkin' cows at some dairy farm."
The boys followed Stella's suggestion, and, leaping into the coulee,
wheeled their ponies about until they had a well-beaten road for several
hundred feet toward the west.
Then, cutting out a bunch of about fifty steers, led by a wise old fellow,
the herd leader, whom they called Baldy on account of the spot of
white hair between his horns, drove them along the path. After getting
the bunch going well, the boys drove them with yells and the lashing of
quirts into the deep snow ahead, and would not let them stop.
Another bunch was driven up, and soon there was a smooth road along
the bottom of the coulee to the open ground, over which the cattle
passed to safety.
Stella's good common sense had saved the herd.
CHAPTER III.
THE SIGN-CAMP GHOST.
As the last of the herd came out of the coulee to the open ground, a
cheer went up for Stella, who blushed rosy-red, and told the boys to
hush.
Then the drive to the big pasture began, word having been sent to
McCall to follow with the chuck wagon.
The big pasture ran north from the home pasture, which was near the
ranch house.
It comprised thousands of acres, and was so high that nearly always it
was free of snow, which the strong winds coming down from the
mountains swept as clear as if a gigantic broom had been used.
Back of the pasture lay a range of low mountains, the Sweet Grass they
were called, in which several high buttes towered like sentinels.

The Sweet Grass Mountains had the reputation of harboring a great
many "bad men," both whites and Indians, who had forsaken the
Blackfeet Indian reservation to the west.
The mountain valleys afforded a splendid protection for the cattle, as
did the numerous coulees with which the country was seamed.
The big pasture of the Long Tom was reputed to be the best winter
feeding ground in Montana.