ar away from them, and never, under ordinary circumstances, out of
their sight. The driver walked beside the mules, while the grinning face
of Pong was always to be seen in the front end of the wagon.

He was the only member of the outfit who never seemed to mind the
broiling mid-day heat. He was riding there on this hot forenoon, never
leaving his seat until the foreman, by a gesture, indicated that the
herd was soon to be halted for its noonday meal. While the cattle were
grazing, the cowboys would fall to and satisfy their own appetites.

After the cattle had finally been halted, three men were left on guard
while the others rode back to the rear of the line. In the meantime Pong
had been preparing the dinner, which was ready almost as soon as the men
had cast aside their hats.

"When it comes to cooking for an outfit like this, a Chinaman beats
anything in the world," laughed Stallings. "At least, this Chinaman
does."

Pong was too busy to do more than grin at the compliment, even if he
fully grasped the meaning of it.

The meal was nearly half-finished when the cowpunchers were startled by
a volley of revolver shots accompanied by a chorus of shrill yells.

"What's up now?" demanded Ned Rector and Tad in one breath.

Every member of the outfit had sprung to his feet.

"Sounds like a stampede," flung back the foreman, making a flying leap
for his pony.

The other cowboys were up like a flash and into their saddles, uttering
sharp "ki-yis" and driving in the spurs while they laid their quirts
mercilessly over the rumps of the ponies.

Tad Butler, Ned Rector and Walter Perkins were not far behind the cowmen
in reaching their own ponies and leaping into their saddles.

Not so with Chunky. He only paused in his eating long enough to look his
surprise and to direct an inquiring look at the Chinaman, while the
others went dashing across the plain toward the herd.

"Allee same likee this," announced Pong, making a succession of violent
gestures that Stacy did not understand.

But the boy nodded his head wisely and went on with his eating.

Out where the grazing herd had been peacefully eating its noonday meal
all was now excitement and action.

Revolvers were popping, cowboys were yelling and the herd was surging
back and forth, bellowing and dashing in and out, a shifting, confused
mass of color and noise.

The boys did not know what to make of it.

"Yes; they are stampeding," decided Ned, riding along