The Boy Land Boomer | Page 5

was a New
York boy, not much used to riding, and the management of such a beast
as this one did not come easy. The horse arose upon his forelegs and
nearly pitched Dick over his head, and the youth had to cling fast
around his neck to save himself a lot of broken bones.
"Whoa, there! Gee Christopher, what a tartar! Whoa, I say! If only I
had a whip!" he panted, as the horse began to move around on a pivot.
"Now, why can't you act nice, when I'm in such dire need of your
services? If you don't stop--Whoa! whoa!"
For the horse had suddenly stopped pivoting and started off like a
streak, not up or down the trail, but across a stretch of prairie grass. On
and on he went, the bit between his teeth and gaining speed at every
step. In vain Dick yelled at him, kicked him and banged him on the
head. It was of no use, and he had to cling on for dear life.
"I might as well let him go and jump for it," he thought at last, when
nearly a mile had been covered. "It's just as useless to try to stop him as
it would be to stop a limited express. If I jump off--but I won't, now!"
For the prairie had been left behind, and the bay was tearing along a
rocky trail leading to goodness knew where, so Dick thought. A jump
now would mean broken bones, perhaps death. He clung tighter than
ever, and tried to calm the horse by speaking gently to him.
At first the beast would not listen, but finally, when several miles had
been covered he slackened up, and at last dropped into a walk. He was
covered with foam, and now he was quite willing to be led.

"You old reprobate!" muttered Dick, as he tightened his hold on the
reins. "Now where in the name of creation have you brought me to, and
how am I to find my way back to camp from here?"
Sitting upright once again, the youth tried to pierce the darkness. The
rain had stopped, only a few scattering drops falling upon himself and
the steaming animal, but the darkness was as great as ever.
On two sides of him were forest lands, on the third a slope of rocks and
on the fourth a stretch of dwarf grass. The trail, if such it could be
called, ran along the edge of the timber. Should he follow this? He
moved along slowly, wondering whether he was right or wrong.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
It was a military challenge, coming out of the darkness. Dick stopped
the horse, and presently made out the form of a man on horseback, a
cavalryman.
"I'm a friend who has lost the way," began the youth, when the
cavalryman let out a cry of surprise.
"Tucker's horse, hang me if it isn't! Boy, where did you get that nag?
Tucker, Ross, come here! I've collared one of the horse-thieves!"
In a moment more there came the clatter of horses' hoofs through the
timber, and Dick found himself surrounded by three big and decidedly
ugly-looking United States cavalrymen--troopers who belonged to a
detachment set to guard the Oklahoma territory from invasion.
"A boy and a boomer!" ejaculated the fellow named Tucker. "I saw the
kid over near Arkansas City a couple of days ago. And riding Chester,
too! Git off that hoss, before I kick you off!"
And riding up he caught Dick by the collar and yanked him to the
ground. In an instant he was beside the boy and had produced a pair of
reservation handcuffs.

"Out with your hands, sonny, and be quick about it."
"What for?" asked Dick, somewhat bewildered by the unceremonious
way in which he was being handled. "I didn't steal that horse."
"Too thin, sonny. All you boomers are a set of thieves, and I suppose
you think stealing our hossflesh is the rarest kind of a joke. Out with
those hands, I say, and consider yourself a prisoner of Uncle Sam.
You've nearly ridden Chester to death and for two pins I'd take the law
into my own hands and string you up to the nearest tree. Take that!"
And having handcuffed Dick the cavalryman let out with his heavy
right hand and landed a savage slap that sent the helpless youth
headlong at his feet.
The blow aroused all of the lion in the youth's makeup. As quickly as
he could he leaped up.
"You brute!" he cried. "Why don't you fight fair? Take that, and that
and that!"
Each "that" meant two blows, for Dick could not separate his hands,
and therefore struck out with both at a time--two in the chest,