CHAPTER II

With necks outstretched, flesh quivering, and eyes white from fear, the ponies flashed across the prairie. Direction was forgotten in the mad rush to escape those dripping fangs now so close.

The ground was uneven, treacherous, and each rider knew that a single misstep would send his horse crashing to earth, the only hope, then, being that the fall, and not the teeth of the ravenous animals, would bring death.

Desperately the boys sought to guide their mounts so as to avoid the frequent badger holes. In a single moment, it seemed, they had left the group of quakermasts behind, and were mounting the side of a small hill.

The broncos were racing side by side, not ten feet apart. After the first hot wave of panic, that minute they had come face to face with what had seemed certain destruction, Teddy and Roy quickly regained control of themselves. The paralyzing shock of fear passed, and left a cool, clear mind, which seemed to register impressions more vividly than ever before. Each rider knew just what he was to do if he hoped to escape alive. It was as though a huge screen were before them, with the words: “Over this hill—swing left—turn—and shoot.” Neither boy said a word to the other, yet almost as one rider they mounted the incline and bore to the left. Then Teddy yelled:

“Now! We’ve gained a little, Roy. You take that big gray hunky. I’ll get the next one—”

Reverberating from the closeness of the hills, the guns roared their challenge. The gray wolf, that appeared to be the leader, whirled about in a circle, snapped at his side, fell, and lay still.

“There’s one down!” Roy shouted, gripping with his knees the sides of the bobbing pony and raising his revolver for another shot. “That may stop ’em!”

The pack, seeing their leader down, hesitated for a moment. Then with the vicious savageness of their breed, they fell upon him.

“Wolf—eat—wolf!” Teddy panted hoarsely. “We’ve got a chance, Roy! A chance!”

Useless it was to dig frantic heels into the ponies’ ribs. They were expending every ounce of energy they possessed, seeking to lose those horrible yappings. Farther and farther away from that surging mass of bodies they coursed, the wind carrying snarls that drove the frightened horses ever onward. For a moment Roy had a vision of a mangled shape in the midst of digging, prying claws and eager teeth, and the boy grew sick with the thought, feeling that perhaps Teddy or himself might be lying there not motionless, but turning and twisting in obedience to a tug here, a pull there!

“Steady, Flash, steady,” Teddy was breathing, the reins tight as iron bands in his hand. “We’re all right now, old boy.”

“We can’t keep this pace up!” Roy called tensely. “We’ll kill the broncs! Pull him up, Teddy!”

Leaning forward, Roy grasped Star’s neck muscles, just below the mane. He talked in a low tone, as evenly as he could, keeping the trembling gasps out of his voice. Behind them the fierce yelps were growing fainter. Gradually the horses took on a calmer, more controlled gallop. Flash snorted noisily.

“All right—I guess,” Roy said doubtfully. He exhaled his breath in a peculiar whistle. Star shook his head and whinnied.

“Easy, easy,” Roy soothed. “Save it, bronc. Teddy, keep your gun out. That pack won’t stay put very long. They’ll come again. We’ve got to head for home as quickly as we can. No time to waste.”

Teddy nodded silently. He, too, realized that the danger was not yet over. But the horses were rapidly recovering their strength, and the boys knew they would be able to respond with another dash when the time came. These riders understood their mounts thoroughly—understood, and loved them.

When a man and a horse are together through long hours of loneliness on the wide plains of the West, when they ride into and out of perils of all sorts, there springs up between them a strange bond, which seems to have something in it other than mere friendship.

So it was with Teddy and Flash, and Roy and Star. Ever since that day they had lost them, when the horses had been stolen from the hitching rail at Eagles, and the boys had risked their lives more than once to recover them, the broncos had come to mean more than mere saddle horses. The story of how they finally caught the horse thieves who had stolen the ponies, and in doing so rid the range of a desperate gang of rustlers, is told in the first book of this series, called “The X Bar X Boys on the Ranch.”

These exciting adventures were followed by many others, when Teddy and Roy searched the mysterious Thunder Canyon for Belle Ada, their sister, and her two friends, who had been kidnapped. Then came a hazardous journey down Whirlpool River, to recover some cattle that had been rustled by Denver Smith and his gang. In the book, just before the present volume, “The X Bar X Boys on Big Bison Trail,” the tale is related of a moving picture company on location and of the part Teddy and Roy played in its affairs. How they aided their cowboy friend, Nick Looker, to recover a legacy left by his uncle, is also told.

Throughout all these experiences the two Manley boys had, as their constant companions, Flash and Star. Many times the horses had been the means of saving the lives of their masters. Thus Teddy and Roy came to know them as few masters know their horses—to know their weaknesses, their strength. And both boys realized that, at this moment, should they be compelled to drive them forward before the wolves, they would again answer as they had before.

Teddy saw that Roy, who was leading, had swerved to the right and was listening intently, his hand cupping his ear.

“They’re still making plenty of noise back there,” Teddy called, but Roy shook his head.

“It’s a different sort of noise. We’ve got to swing pretty wide. They’re on the run again. Listen! Notice that new note?”

Truly there did seem to be a change in the yapping sounds the wolves were making. The boys were on the other side of the hill now, out of sight of the animals, but every moment they expected to see the pack appear over the crest. Teddy rapidly replaced with cartridges the shells that had been exploded, and seized his weapon more firmly.

“It would be worse than useless to face that pack,” he said with a slight shudder. “Where in thunder could they have come from? There hasn’t been a wolf in these parts for years.”

“We’ll talk that over later,” Roy answered shortly. “The thing to do now is to get out of their way. Let’s make time.”

Their shadows had lengthened into long, dark blots as the two boys threw their mounts into a gallop. They rode diagonally away from the pack, gradually edging toward the X Bar X. Night must not overtake them here on the range, while the frenzied beasts were still close upon them. Their best chance lay not in out-distancing them, but in throwing them off their track.

“Stick to this trail,” Roy said. “We’re getting nearer home each minute. Golly, I think we’ve beaten them! Listen! Aren’t they farther away?”

Shrewdly realizing that often one hears that which he hopes to hear, Teddy would not admit that the danger was past. The cries of the wolf pack could still be plainly heard, and there was no means of telling whether they were coming toward the boys or running at right angles to them. It was not necessary for the animals to see the riders to follow them. Both Roy and Teddy knew that a wolf can track a man by the scent, as a dog does, and unless something occurred to shift the attention of the pack they might chase the boys to the very yard of the ranch.

“Provided we can last that long,” Teddy said grimly, finishing his thought aloud. “We may not have a chance to slow ’em up again. Snakes, they sound like a convention!”

“I’ll tell a maverick they do! Well, we can keep going only so far, and then—” Roy dropped his hand to the butt of his gun, which he had replaced in its holster. “We’ll have it out with ’em, I guess. We can never hope to keep this pace up till we reach home.”

The two horses were running freely now, but not with the easy lope natural to them. It was more of a forced canter, as though the steeds could feel their riders’ anxiety, the tense, dogged helplessness of the hunted. Teddy prayed that they at least might keep the beasts out of sight. To hear them is bad enough, but to see them coming on remorselessly was infinitely worse.

Teddy and Roy were riding silently. Their attention was concentrated on keeping their broncos running smoothly and avoiding all ruts and holes which might interrupt the stride. In these moments their skill was invaluable—they sat on their horses as though they were part of them, directing them by slight changes in the position of the reins, by the pressure of their knees.

Before them a small ravine opened. They nosed their horses down, carefully, and headed for the other side. Teddy turned his head as they struck the upgrade.

“Roy! Roy! Flash is limping! I’ll never make it! Here they come!” The boy’s voice was hoarse, cracked. Roy swerved suddenly.

He saw that his brother had spoken the truth. Flash was limping badly, and over the top of the gully poured a tossing flood of brown wolves.

“I reckon, Roy, I’ll stay here,” Teddy panted. His horse faltered, missed a step, and slid backward. Teddy turned him, and halted. “You go on,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll take my chances. I can hold ’em back for a while. Take it, you mangy dogs!” He raised his gun, and pulled the trigger viciously.

“Teddy, save it! We’ll stand right here, and if they want us, they’ll have to plough through hot lead to get us! Steady, bucko! Wait till they—”

Yelping triumphantly, the pack reached the bottom of the gully. Roy could see blood on their jaws, still wet from their recent feast made from their dead comrade. Soon, perhaps, they might obtain another food supply. Roy’s eyes narrowed, and drawing his gun he took careful aim.

“We’ll fire together,” he said in a low voice. “And keep on shooting. But they’ll never stop now to feed. We either win this fight or we don’t. Good luck, ole hoss!”

“Good luck, Brother,” Teddy whispered. It was the first time he had ever used the term.

The wolves came on. They reached a spot fifty yards from the waiting horsemen, who sat quietly, holding their mounts with one hand and their guns with the other. The broncos were trembling violently, but still they stood, not panic stricken now, but placing implicit faith in their masters.

“Let ’em have it!”

Crack! Crack!

The roaring thunder of the guns filled the ravine, drowning the savage cries of the wolves. One of the animals was down, another snapping fitfully at his shoulder. But the pack did not halt, nor even hesitate. Before them was prey far sweeter than their own kind.

“Reckon it’s curtains!” Teddy yelled. “Stick to it, kid! Blast ’em!”

Suddenly, directly behind Roy, a wild shout arose. Guns—many of them—split the air with their reports. There were more yells. A torrent of lead struck into the advancing horde, halted them, turned them, and sent them scampering away, leaving five dead upon the ground. The fight was won, but the bullets that had stemmed the tide had not come from the guns of Teddy and Roy Manley.