now any more than to try to
get onto a broncho from the off side? Say, don't you?"

He shook the lad violently.

"N-n-n-o," gasped Stacy. "D-d-does it m-m-make any difference w-w-h-i-ch
side you get on?"

"Does it make any difference?"

The cowboy jerked his own head up and down as if the words he would
utter had wedged fast in his throat.

"Git out of here before I say something. The boss said the first man he
heard using language while you tenderfeet were with us, would get fired
on the spot."

Without taking the chance of waiting until Stacy had mounted the pony,
Lumpy grabbed the boy and tossed him into the saddle, giving the little
animal a sharp slap on the flank as he did so.

At first the pony began to buck; then, evidently thinking the effort was
not worth while, settled down to a rough trot which soon shook the boy
up and thoroughly awakened him.

The rest of the fourth guard had already gone out, Chunky meeting the
returning members of the third coming in.

"Better hurry up, kid," they chuckled. "The cows'll sleep themselves out
of sight before you get there, if you don't get a move on."

"Where are they?" asked the boy.

"Keep a-going and if you're lucky you'll run plumb into them," was the
jeering answer as the sleepy cowmen spurred their ponies on toward camp,
muttering their disapproval of taking along a bunch of boys on a cattle
drive.

In a few moments they, too, had turned their ponies adrift and had
thrown themselves down beside their companions, pulling their blankets
well about them, for the night had grown chill.

Out on the plains the fourth guard were drowsily crooning the lullaby
about the bull that "came down the hillside, long time ago."

It seemed as if scarcely a minute had passed since the boys turned in
before they were awakened by the strident tones of the foreman.

"Roll out! Roll out!" he roared, bringing the sleepy cowpunchers
grumbling to their feet.

Almost before the echoes of his voice had died away, a shrill voice
piped up from the tail end of the chuck wagon.

"Grub pi-i-i-le! Grub pi-i-i-le!"

It was the Chinaman, Pong, sounding his call for breakfast, in
accordance with the usage of the plains.

"Grub pi-i-i-le!" he finished in a lower tone, after which his head
quickly disappeared under the cover of the wagon.

By the time the cowmen and Pony Riders had refreshed themselves at the
spring near which the outfit had camped, a steaming hot breakfast had