“That’s what father told us to do,” said Larry as he and Tom removed their buckskin money bags and gave them to the ranchman.  “We forgot it, though.”

“Speaking about forgetting, what about the German boy?” asked Mrs. Wilder, who had come to learn the cause of the preparations.

At the mention of Hans the four lads looked at one another in dismay.  But the ranchman came to the rescue, saying: 

“From all Larry and Tom say, I don’t reckon he’ll be keen on hunting.  You can let him help Ned.”

“Ned’s our handy man,” explained Horace in a whisper.  “He drives the grub wagon to Tolopah, and to the boys in their camps.”

“Well, here comes the wagon now,” observed Mrs. Wilder as she caught sight of the big white-covered wagon, called a prairie schooner in the old days, bobbing over the plains about a mile away.

“Oh, don’t let’s wait,” protested Horace.  “We can saddle up and go and meet them.  I’ll make my pony dance and perhaps that will scare Hans so he won’t care to go.”

“All right,” laughed Mr. Wilder.  “Bring up the ponies.  Get Buster for me.”

Running to the wagon shed, the boys gathered the saddles, bridles, some oats and pans and started for the corral.

Opening the big gate, they entered, closed it and then threw their saddles on the ground.

“Always close the gate before you start to get your ponies,” instructed Bill.  “Sometimes they cut up, and if they get out onto the prairie it’s the old Harry of a job to catch them again.

“Now put your oats in your pans.  Watch Horace and me and you’ll see what to do.”

When they had prepared the oat bait, the two Wilder boys began to beat on the pans, calling Buster and the other ponies by name.

The animals, which were at the farther end of the corral browsing, lifted their heads and then came trotting toward them, halting about ten feet away.

“Swish your pans so they can hear the oats,” whispered Bill.

Slowly the ponies approached, as though deciding whether they preferred their oats or their liberty.

“Come, Blackhawk!  Come, Buster!” called Horace.

The boys set the pans on the ground.  For a moment the ponies eyed them and then trotted up, the eight crowding one another to get at the four measures.

“Now’s the time,” breathed Bill.

In a trice the bits were thrust into the ponies’ mouths and the leather over their ears.

Lightning plunged back, but Larry grabbed the reins just in time and held him.

“Push the pan to him,” directed Horace, and, as he smelled the oats, the pony grew still and was soon munching contentedly.

After catching his own mount, Bill had bridled Buster, and as soon as the oats were devoured, all five were saddled with little trouble and the boys were quickly on the backs of four of them, Bill leading the pony for his father.