The four strong horses, which were to be delivered to a dealer in Boulder, pulled the wagon. Tally understood well how to drive a four-in-hand, but the going was not speedy, accustomed as the passengers were to traveling in fast automobiles.
Tally took the direct road to Boulder because it was the best route to the Rocky Mountain National Park, where Mr. Gilroy wished to examine certain moraines to find specimens he needed for his further work.
The wagon had rumbled along for several hours, and the tourists were now in the wonderful open country with the Rockies frowning down upon them from distant great heights, while the foothills into which they were heading were rising before them.
The road they were on ran along a bald crest of one of these foothills. Turning a bend in the trail, the scouts got their first glimpse of a genuine cattle-ranch. It was spread out in the valley between two mountains, like a table set for a picnic. The moving herd of cattle and the cowboys looked like dots on the tablecloth.
“Oh, look, every one! What are those tiny cowboys doing to the cattle?” called Julie, eagerly pointing to a mass of steers which were being gathered together at one corner of the range.
“I verily believe they are working the herd, Vernon! What say you, – shall we detour to give the scouts an idea of how they do it?” asked Mr. Gilroy.
Mr. Vernon took the field glasses and studied the mass for a few moments, then said, “To be sure, Gilroy! I’d like to watch the boys do it, too.”
“I have never witnessed the sight, although we all have heard about it,” added Mrs. Vernon. “It will be splendid to view such a scene as we travel along.”
Mr. Gilroy then turned to the driver. “Tally, when we reach the foot of this descent, take a trail that will lead us past that ranch where the cowboys are working cattle out of the herd.”
Tally nodded, and at the first turn he headed the horses towards the ranch a few miles away. When the tourists passed the rough ranch-house of logs, a number of young children ran out to watch the party of strangers, for visitors in that isolated spot were a curiosity.
The guide reined in his horses upon a knoll a short distance from the scene where the cattle were being rounded up. Spellbound, the scouts watched the great mass of the broad brown backs of the restless cattle, with their up-thrusting, shining horns constantly tossing, or impatient heads swaying from side to side. All around the vast herd were cowboys, picturesque in sombreros, and chaps with swinging ropes coiled ready to “cut out” a certain steer. Meanwhile, threading in and out of the concentrated mass, other horsemen were driving the cattle to the edge of the round-up.
“What do they intend doing with those they lasso, Gilly?” asked Joan.
“They will brand them with the ranch trade-mark, and then ship them to the large packing-houses.”
Mrs. Vernon managed to get several fine photographs of the interesting work, and then the Indian guide was told to drive on. Seeking for a way out to the main trail again, Tally ascended a very steep grade. Upon reaching the top, the scouts were given another fine view of the valley on the other side of the ridge. The scene looked like a Titanic checkerboard, with its squares accurately marked off by the various farms that dotted the land. But these “dots” really were extensive ranches, as the girls learned when they drove nearer and past them.
The day had been unusually hot for the month of June in that altitude, and towards late afternoon the sky became suddenly overcast.
“Going to get wet, Tally?” asked Mr. Gilroy, leaning out to glance up at the scudding clouds.
“Much wet,” came from the guide, but he kept his horses going at the same pace as before.
Thunderstorms in the Rockies do not creep up gradually. They just whoop up, and then empty the contents of their black clouds upon any place they select, – although the clouds are impartial, as a rule, in the selection of the spot.
Had the storm known that a crowd of tenderfeet were in the ranch wagon it could scarcely have produced a greater spectacle. It seemed as if all the elements combined to make impressive for the girls this, their first experience of a thunderstorm in the Rockies.
Before the sun had quite hidden behind an inky curtain, a blinding flash cleft the cloud and almost instantaneously a deafening crash followed. Even though every one expected the thunder, it startled them. In another minute’s time the downpour began. Wherever water could find entrance, there the howling wind drove in the slanting rain.
“Every one huddle in the middle of the wagon – keep away from the canvas sides!” Mr. Gilroy tried to shriek to those behind him.
Flashes with the accompanying cracks of thunder followed closely one upon the other, so that no one could be heard to speak, even though he yelled at the top of his lungs. The wind rose to a regular gale and the wagon rocked like a cockleshell on a choppy sea. The Indian sat unconcerned and kept driving as if in the most heavenly day, but the four horses reared their heads, snorting with fear and lunging at the bits in nervousness.
The storm passed away just as unexpectedly as it came, but it left the road, which was at best rough and full of holes, filled with water. The wagon wheels splashed through these wells, soaking everything within a radius of ten feet, and constantly shaking the scouts up thoroughly.
“I feel like a pillow, beaten up by a good housekeeper so that the feathers will fluff up,” said Julie.
“I’d rather feel like a pillow than to have my tongue chopped to bits,” cried Ruth, complainingly. “If I have any tongue left after this ride, I shall pickle it for safekeeping.”
“Can’t Featherweight sit still?” laughed Joan.
Mrs. Vernon placed an arm about Ruth’s shoulder to hold her steadier, just as an unusually deep hole shook up everybody and all the baggage in the wagon.
“There now! That’s the last bite left in my tongue! Three times I thought it was bitten through, but this last jolt twisted the roots so that I will have to have an artificial one hinged on at the first hospital we find,” wailed Ruth, showing the damaged organ that all might pity her.
Instead of giving sympathy, every one laughed, and Julie added, “At least your tongue is still in use, but my spine caved in at that last ravine we passed through, and now I have no backbone.”
Just as the scouts began laughing merrily at the two girls the front wagon wheel on the right side dropped into a hole, while the horses strained at the traces. The awful shock and jar given the passengers threw them against the canvas sides, and then together again in a heap.
The babel of shouting, screaming, laughing voices that instantly sounded from the helpless pile of humanity frightened the nervous horses. The leaders plunged madly, but the wheel stuck fast in the hole. Tally held a stiff rein, but the leaders contaminated the two rear horses, and all four plunged, reared, snorted, and pulled different ways at once. The inevitable was sure to happen!
“Jump, Tally, and grab the leaders! I’ll hold them in!” cried Mr. Gilroy, catching hold of the reins.
“Here, Gill, let me hold the reins while you help Tally!” shouted Mr. Vernon, instantly crawling over the front seat and taking the reins in hand.
So Mr. Gilroy sprang out after Tally, and made for one of the leaders while the guide caught hold of the other. But just as the Indian reached up to take the leather, the horse managed to work the bit between his teeth. At the same time, the lunging beasts yanked the wagon wheel up out of the hole, and feeling the release of what had balked their load, the horses began tearing along the road.
Tally dangled from the head of the first horse whose bit he had tried to work back into place. Mr. Vernon held firmly to the reins as he sat on the driver’s seat of the wagon. But Mr. Gilroy was left clear out of sight, standing in the middle of the muddy road, staring speechlessly after the disappearing vehicle. The scouts were tossed back and forth like tennis balls, but