The Broncho Rider Boys on the Wyoming Trail: A Mystery of the Prairie Stampede

“Getting near the end of our long ride, ain’t we, Adrian?” “Another night out ought to finish our great gallop from the Arizona border away up into the Wyoming cattle country, Billie.” “Huh! mebbe I ain’t just glad to hear that news now. This broncho riding business may be all very well for a while; but a fellow can get too much, even of a good thing; ain’t that so, Donald?” “I’ve found that out myself many a time, and ’specially around the Christmas stuffing season, Billie. But you’ll admit that our horses have held out well. Wireless is about as willing as when we started from my home weeks back.” “That’s right, and so is Jupiter here, which is a wonder, considering that I’m nearly as heavy as my two saddle chums combined. Time was when Jupiter kept me guessing which way he had made up his mind to throw me off; but he don’t act like a crazy thing any more.” “No, you cured him of that trick, all right, Billie, though we thought he’d break that stubborn neck of yours in the bargain,” laughed the boy called Adrian. “And you stick to the saddle like a burr these days, because you can ride just as well as—well, you can eat, which is going some, if I do say it,” went on the third of the young riders, whom the fat boy had called Donald. Billie laughed merrily, showing that he was a good-natured chap, and could take a joke, even when it was on himself, which is more than some lads are able to do, the more the pity. While they plod on in this way, heading toward a group of houses where they hoped to find a wayside tavern at which they might secure some sort of a lunch, for they did not wish to stop to do any cooking at noon, we may as well take advantage of the opportunity to introduce these three lively boys to those readers who may not have had the good fortune to meet them before in earlier volumes of this Western series of books. Donald Mackay was the son of a well-to-do ranchman located down along the Arizona border, where he carried on his cattle business at Keystone Ranch; and was at the same time heavily interested in certain copper mines situated among the mountains. Adrian Sherwood was a friend, and a chum of Donald’s, who had spent a long stretch with the Mackays, so that he almost looked upon their home as his own. He was an orphan, and owned a cattle ranch of his own up here in Wyoming, which had for a long time been managed by his Uncle Fred Comstock; but which the young fellow had not visited for a term of years, ever since meeting Donald, in fact. During the last twelve months or so he had been receiving very disappointing returns from his property. All sorts of evil things had apparently swooped down on the valuable ranch, which had once been known under another name, but now went by that of the Bar-S outfit. Adrian had bothered very little about it at first, but as these bad returns continued, his curiosity was aroused; and finally he found himself tempted to visit his property secretly, without warning his uncle of his coming. In this way he hoped to see for himself just what strange things were taking place up here in what was once the finest cattle country, barring none, in all the Wild West. The third member of the trio of riders was named William Stonewall Jackson Winkle. Hence it would go without saying that he came of an intensely patriotic Southern family, one or more of whose members must have ridden with the famous Confederate general in those terrible days of the Civil War; though the Winkles now lived in the North, and Billie’s father was a rich New York lawyer.