Willard F. Baker

CHAPTER I COMPANY COMING High and clear the sweet, western wind brought over the rolling hills the sound of singing. At least it was singing of a sort, for there was a certain swing and rhythm accompanying the words. As the melody floated toward them, three young cowboys, seated at ease in their saddles, looked up and in the direction of the singer. Thus the song.   "Oh, bury me out on th'... more...

CHAPTER I THE ROUND-UP "Come on, Nort! It's your turn to cut out the next one!" "S'pose I make a mux of it, Bud!" "Shucks! You won't do that! You've roped a calf before!" "Yes, but not at a big round-up like this. If I make a fizzle the fellows will give me the laugh!" "What if they do? Everybody knows you haven't been at it long, and... more...

CHAPTER I BAD NEWS Excited shouts, mingled with laughter, floated on the sunlit and dust-laden air to the ranch house of Diamond X. Now and then, above the yells, could be heard the thudding of the feet of running horses on the dry ground. "What do you reckon those boys are doing, Ma?" asked Nell Merkel as she paused in the act of laying the top crust on a raisin pie. "Land knows,"... more...

CHAPTER I With a rattle and a clatter the muddy flivver stopped with a squeak of brakes in front of Diamond X ranch house. From the car leaped three boys, one of them carrying a small leather pouch. "Here's the mail!" yelled this lad—Bud Merkel by name, and his cousins, Nort and Dick Shannon, added the duet of their voices to his as they cried: "Mail's in! Lots of letters!"... more...

CHAPTER I "Look out there, Bud! Look out! There you go!" "Side-stepping soap dishes! What's the idea? Whoa, there, Sock!" The pinto pony reared, swerved sharply to one side as a black streak shot across the trail almost under his feet and then, when the animal came to a sudden stop, there shot over his head the boy who had given vent to the last exclamation. Bud Merkel came down... more...

CHAPTER I "SOME RIDIN'!" Two riders slumped comfortably in their saddles as the ponies slowly ambled along. The sun was hot, and the dust stifling, a cloud of it forming a floating screen about the horsemen and progressing with them down the trail. One of the riders, a tall, lanky and weather-beaten cowboy, taking a long breath, raised his voice in what he doubtless intended to be a song.... more...

CHAPTER I "Hold up there, you pint o' peanuts! Hold up, I say! Well, for the love of spread eagle! I suppose you boys are lookin' for a job; eh?" The speaker, a typical, raw-boned cowboy, looked down from his pony at three boys seated on a bench at the side of the cook-house. "Whether we are or not, we've got it, Kid," answered one of the seated trio, a well set-up youth... more...