The Saddle Boys of the Rockies | Page 7

plainsmen, and
went galloping off.
Two minutes later the shadowy figure of the man flitted away from the
line of horses that remained. If his purpose had been to steal the black
he must have changed his mind, for there was no break in the chain of
horses that stood there, impatiently scraping the ground with their
forefeet.
A little later out came Frank and Bob, each bearing a compact bundle
which they quickly fastened back of their saddles.
Bob was the first to mount, and this action was hurried because he
hardly knew what to make of the restless actions of Domino. The
animal seemed to be dancing up and down as though he had stirred up a
hornet's nest, and the little insects were charging his exposed legs.
No sooner was Bob in the saddle than the horse gave a shrill neigh, and
dashed off like a crazy creature. Indeed, a less experienced rider than
Bob would have been instantly thrown by the sudden and unexpected
move, something that Domino had never been known to attempt before.
Frank looked up in astonishment. His practiced eye told him in an
instant that the sudden violent dash had not been engineered in the least
by his chum; but was altogether the result of fright on the part of
Domino. Why, the big and powerful black acted as though he had gone
wild, jumping madly about, now fairly flying off to one side, only to
whirl and dance and leap high in the air, until every one within seeing
distance was staring at the strange spectacle. And this, too, in a town
where bucking broncos were a common sight.

Frank had gained his saddle, and was chasing after his friend, but just
then the black had taken a notion to run, and apparently nothing in that
country could overtake him while his present savage mood held out.
"What ails the beast?" Frank asked himself, as he drew rein and
watched the other passing beyond range of his vision among the
stunted mesquites outside of the edge of the town. "He acts like a
locoed horse; but there isn't a bit of the poison weed growing within
twenty miles of here. And why was Peg Grant standing on the stoop of
the tavern grinning as I rode past? Can he have had a hand in this
sudden crazy spell of the black? Spanish Joe knows all the tricks of
putting a thorn under a saddle, that will stab the horse when the rider
mounts. Is that the trouble now? If it is then it's lucky my chum knows
as much as he does about managing a horse, or he would never come
back alive from that mad ride. And all I can do is to sit here, wait for
his return, and watch Peg Grant and his cronies!"
CHAPTER III
OLD HANK COOMBS BEARS A MESSAGE
If there was one thing Bob could do well, it was to ride. Born in
Kentucky, where horses take a leading part in the education of most
boys, Bob had always spent a good part of his time in the saddle.
Hence, when he came out here to the plains, the cowboys of the ranch
found that, in his own way, he was well versed in managing the fine
black horse he brought along with him.
Of course there were dozens of tricks which these daring riders of the
plains could show the tenderfoot from the South; but when it came
down to hard riding Bob was able to hold his own.
When his powerful horse bolted in such a strange fashion Bob simply
kept his seat, and tried to soothe Domino by soft words. For once the
remedy failed to produce any immediate effect. The animal seemed
fairly wild, and tore along over the open country like mad.

"He never acted like this before in all his life," thought Bob, as he
found considerable difficulty in keeping his saddle, such were the
sudden whirls the black made in his erratic course.
But although he had by no means learned all the things known to old
cowmen, Bob had picked up quite a few points since arriving at the
ranch. He had even heard of a mean trick practiced by revengeful
Mexicans, and others, when they wished to place a rival's life in
danger.
"Something has happened to him since we went into that store," Bob
said again and again, as he puzzled his wits to hit upon an explanation
for the animal's remarkable antics. "Now, what could it have been?
Would any fellow be so mean as to fasten some of those prickly sand
burrs under his tail? Or perhaps it's a poison thorn under the saddle!"
This last idea seemed to strike him as pretty near