The Saddle Boys of the Rockies | Page 9

Get onto it, Bob?"
"Sure I do; and I guessed all that while riding back. But tell me, why
did he pick out my horse, instead of your Buckskin?" asked the
Kentucky boy.

"Look back a little. Who was it gave Peg his little tumble when he was
striking that child? Why, of course it was nobody but Bob Archer. I
saw Peg standing on the porch of the tavern as I galloped after you; and
give you my word, Bob, he had a grin on his face that looked as if it
would never come off. Peg was happy--why? Because he had just seen
you being carried like the wind out of town on a bolting nag. And I
guess he wouldn't care very much if you got thrown, with some of your
ribs broken in the bargain."
Bob proceeded to tell how he had figured on what caused the queer
antics of his horse, and then what his method for relieving the pressure
had been.
"Just what you should have done!" exclaimed Frank, enthusiastically.
"Say, you're getting on to all the little wrinkles pretty fast. And it
worked too, did it?"
"Thanks to the smartness of Domino, it did," replied Bob, proudly.
"Some other horses might have broken away as soon as their rider
dismounted; but he's mighty near human, Frank, I tell you. He just
stood there, quivering with excitement, and pain, till I got the thing off.
But do you know what kind of thorn this is?"
"I know it as well as you would a persimmon growing on a tree in Old
Kentucky; or a pawpaw in the thicket. It's rank poison, too, and will
breed trouble if the wound isn't taken care of in time.
"That's bad news, old fellow. I'd sure hate to lose my horse," remarked
Bob, dejectedly, as he threw an arm lovingly over the neck of the black.
"Oh! I don't think it'll be as bad as that; especially since I happen to
have along with me in my pack some ointment old Hank Coombs gave
me at a time I fell down on one of the same kind of stickers, and got it
in my arm," and Frank opened the smaller of the two packs he had
fastened behind his saddle.
When the ointment was being thoroughly rubbed into the spot where
the barb of the thorn had pierced the flesh of the animal, Domino

seemed to understand what their object was. He gave several little
whinnies, even as he moved uneasily when his master's hand touched
the painful spot.
"Now what's the programme?" asked Bob, after he had replaced the
saddle.
"Just what we decided on before," replied his chum; "a little rest before
we make a start. Twenty-four hours will do Domino considerable good,
too. How did you come out about the duffle you were carrying; any of
it get lost?"
"None that I've noticed. I'll make a round-up and see, before we go any
further," Bob remarked, examining the packages secured behind his
saddle.
"How?" queried Frank, in the terse, Indian style, as he saw that the
other had gone carefully over the entire outfit.
"Everything here, right side up with care. And now I'll have to mount
again, a thing that may not appeal very much to Domino. But it's lucky
I long ago learned the jockey way of riding, with most of the weight
upon the withers of the horse. In that manner you see, Frank, I can
relieve the poor beast more than a little."
Together they rode off slowly. Really, for one day it seemed that the
big black must have had all the running his fancy could wish. Besides,
neither of the boys knew of any reason for haste. As Frank had
suggested, it would perhaps be just as well to allow a certain amount of
time to elapse, before pushing their intended investigation of the
mysteries supposed to hover around Thunder Mountain.
The afternoon had almost half passed when Frank's sharp eyes
discovered a single horseman riding on a course that would likely bring
him across their trail soon.
"Seems to me there's something familiar about that fellow's way of
sitting in the saddle," he observed; and then, reaching for the field

glasses which he carried swung in a case over his shoulder, he quickly
adjusted them to his eyes. "Thought so," he muttered, and Bob could
see him smile as he said it.
"Recognize the rider, then? Don't tell me now that it's Peg, or one of
those slippery cowboy friends he has trailing after him," remarked Bob.
"Here, take the glasses, and see what you think," replied the other,
laughingly.
No sooner had the Kentucky lad taken a single good look than he called
out:
"Who but old Hank Coombs, the