4

“I’m sure glad it’s Saturday, so we can go fishin’ rather’n wastin’ the day in school,” Bobby remarked to Jesse. “You about ready there?”

“Just about.” Jesse picked up his fishing pole and climbed onto Freckles’ back.

“Now I’m set. Let’s go.”

The boys put their horses, Jesse’s pinto and Bobby’s blaze-faced chestnut gelding, into a shuffling walk. With the entire day ahead of them, they were in no particular hurry.

“Where do you want to head, Bobby?”

“How about that spot on Agua Verde Creek? The fish are usually bitin’ there,” Bobby suggested.

“That’s fine with me. And if they’re not, we can go swimmin’,” Jesse agreed.

Walking along in the warm sunshine, the horses were almost as lethargic as their young riders. They meandered up the trail, the boys letting them set their own pace. After about three miles, Freckles suddenly stopped. He

stood stock-still, head high and ears pricked sharply forward. The little pinto’s nostrils flared as he keened the air.

“C’mon, Freckles. Get goin’!” Jesse urged. He drummed his heels on the horse’s ribs. His gelding merely danced sideways, still staring into the distance.

“What’s the matter with your horse?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Jesse replied, again kicking the pinto in his sides. “Let’s go, Freckles!”

“Somethin’s botherin’ him, that’s for certain,” Bobby said. “Either that, or he’s just bein’ stubborn.”

“Maybe. Or dumb,” Jesse answered. He tried to push his horse into motion. Freckles spun sideways, fighting the reins. He let out a loud neigh, then stood nickering.

“Seems like he wants to head up that old side trail to Peter’s Bluff,” Bobby observed. “Maybe we should see why.”

“There’s nothin’ much up there,” Jesse protested. “The fishin’ hole’s straight ahead.”

“I know that, but your horse insists on takin’ that trail. Wait a minute. Listen, Jess!”

“I don’t hear anything,” Jesse complained.

Freckles gave out another neigh. It was answered by a return whinny. Freckles trumpeted again, this time joined by Bobby’s chestnut.

“There’s a horse up there! Monte hears it too!” Bobby exclaimed.

“You’re right! Maybe it’s hurt,” Jesse answered. “We’d better go and find out.”

Jesse released the pressure on his reins. Instantly, Freckles shot up the narrow side trail at a dead run, Bobby’s chestnut at his heels.

They reached the summit of the rise, racing along the base of the bluff. Freckles rounded a bend, then stopped so abruptly Jesse was tossed over his head and thudded to the ground.

Bobby leapt from Monte’s back and hurried to his friend’s side.

“Jesse, you all right?”

“Yeah,” Jesse gasped. “But you were right about pintos bein’ stupid. Dumb horse.”

“He’s not so dumb. Look there!”

Bobby pointed to a black and white gelding, straining at the end of its picket rope. The horse was pawing the ground and whickering frantically.

“That’s Mike! Ranger Clay’s horse!” Jesse exclaimed.

“It sure is. Clay must be in trouble,” Bobby answered.

“We’ve gotta help him. But where’s he at?” Jesse wondered.

“He can’t be too far off. Not without his horse.” Bobby replied.

“Maybe Mike can help us.”

Jesse hurried to the Ranger’s horse.

“Can you show us where Clay is, Mike?”

“Turn him loose,” Bobby suggested. “He might lead us to Clay.”

“Good idea.”

Jesse untied the rope from Mike’s halter. The overo trotted to the embankment, where he stood pawing the dirt and whinnying.

“Down there!” Bobby exclaimed, following the gelding’s gaze.

“Where? I don’t see anything,” Jesse answered.

“There. Half-hidden in the scrub. You can hardly see him.”

Bobby pointed to the still form of a man, barely visible through the thick underbrush.

“I’ve spotted him. Clay!” Jesse shouted.

“He’s not movin’,” Bobby said. “Ranger!”

“Ranger! Hey, Ranger Clay! Ranger Clay!” both boys shouted.

“It’s no use,” Bobby muttered. “He doesn’t hear us.”

“We’ve gotta get him outta there,” Jesse insisted.

“But how?” Bobby answered. “We might be able to climb down that bank, but we’d never be able to pull Clay back up. He’s way too heavy. Besides, what if he’s… dead?”

“We can’t know that until one of us goes down there. You afraid of a dead man?” Jesse asked.

“I. I guess not,” Bobby stammered. “It’s just that, well, I ain’t never seen a corpse up close before.”

“If you’re scared, I’ll go down that bank,” Jesse offered.

“We’ve still gotta figure out how to get him back up,” Bobby reminded him. “Mebbe one of us should ride for help.”

“There might not be enough time for that,” Jesse replied.

“Then we’ve gotta think of somethin’, and quick,” Bobby answered.

“His horse! Bobby, get Clay’s saddle and rope.”

“That’s it!”

Bobby hurried to where Taggart’s saddle lay on the ground. He carried it back to where Mike stood, looking down at his rider and nickering questioningly.

“Get that saddle on him!” Jesse ordered.

Bobby tossed the saddle onto the gelding’s back and tightened the cinches. He took Taggart’s lariat from the saddle and dallied one end around the horn, then tied a loop in the other.

“One of us has gotta go down there and tie this rope around Clay,” he noted.

“I reckon that should be you, since you’re bigger’n I am. It’ll take all the muscle you’ve got to lift that Ranger and slip the lasso under him,” Jesse answered. “That is, unless you’re still too scared.”

“I ain’t scared,” Bobby retorted. “You just keep a tight grip on that rope. Make sure Mike doesn’t move.”

“You can count on me, pardner. But don’t slip, whatever you do. And good luck.”

“Thanks, Jess.”

Bobby gripped the rope and disappeared over the lip of the embankment. Jesse stood at Mike’s head, keeping a tight grip on the pinto’s halter while he stroked the horse’s neck and spoke soothingly to him.

After what seemed an eternity to Jesse, Bobby came back into view, more than halfway down the steep slope.

Bobby slid to the bottom, then scrambled to the downed Ranger.

“Bobby! Are you all right?” Jesse called.

“I’m fine!” Bobby shouted back.

“What about Clay?”

“His head’s all bloody, but he’s still breathin’. He looks in bad shape. We’ve gotta hurry. I’ll get the rope around him, then you have Mike pull him up. Go slow and careful.”

“Don’t worry about me and Mike. Just get that rope tied!”

It was a struggle for the eighty-five pound Bobby to lift the two hundred plus pound Taggart’s upper body and work the rope around the unconscious Ranger. He was exhausted when the lariat was finally under Taggart’s armpits and tied around his chest.

“I’m ready, Jess. Get us outta here!”

“Hold on!”

Jesse urged Mike away from the cliff. Experienced in working cattle, the big gelding realized what was expected of him. He kept the rope taut as he backed slowly from the edge.

“Easy, Mike. Steady, boy. You don’t want to hurt Clay more’n he already is,” Jesse cautioned. “That’s it.

Nice and easy. You’re doin’ fine, Mike. Keep goin’, just like that.”

Moments later, Mike dragged Taggart and Bobby back over the embankment’s rim.

“Stop, Mike! You did great, boy!”

Jesse unwrapped the lariat from Mike’s saddlehorn. The pinto trotted up to Taggart and nuzzled his rider’s face. Taggart’s only response was a barely audible moan.

“We did it, Jess!” Bobby shouted. “We got Clay outta there!”

“We sure did,” Jesse responded. “But we’re still in trouble. He’s not gonna come to, and there’s no way we can get him onto a horse by ourselves. We need a buckboard.”

“That means we’ll have to go for help after all.”

“One of us will. The other will have to stay with Clay.”

“Which one?”

“You’d better, Bobby. Monte’s a lot faster than Freckles.”

“All right, Jess. I’ll head for your place. It’s closest. You gonna be all right until I get back?”

“I’ll be okay. Tell my pa to hurry back here. And have him send my brother for the doc.”

“I’ll be back quick as I can,” Bobby promised.

He gathered Monte’s reins, leapt onto the chestnut’s back, and pushed him into a dead run.