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by Frank Gee Patchin

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Title: The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico

Author: Frank Gee Patchin

Release Date: January, 2004  [EBook #4991]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on April 7, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN NEW MEXICO ***




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                    The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico

 or

 The End of the Silver Trail

by Frank Gee Patchin, 1910
  _________________________________________________________________

  CHAPTER I

 SOMETHING IN THE WIND

"What was that?"

"Only one of the boys in the seat behind us, snoring."

"Sure they're asleep?"

"Yes, but what if they're not? They are only kids. They wouldn't
understand."

"Don't you be too sure about that. I've heard about those kids. Heard
about 'em over in Nevada. There's four of them. They call themselves
the Pony Rider Boys; and they're no tenderfeet, if all I hear is true.
They have done some pretty lively stunts."

"Yes, that's all right, Bob, but we ain't going to begin by getting
cold feet over a bunch of kids out for a holiday."

"Where they going?"

"Don't know. Presume they'll be taking a trip over the plains or
heading for the mountains. They've got a stock car up ahead jammed
full of stock and equipment."

"Scarecrows?"

"No. Good stock. Some of the slickest ponies you ever set eyes on.
There's one roan there that I wouldn't mind owning. Maybe we can make
a trade," and the speaker chuckled softly to himself.

A snore louder than those that had preceded it, caused the two men to
laugh heartily.

The snore had come from Stacy Brown. Both he and Tad Butler were
resting from their long journey on the Atlantic and Pacific train.
Further to the rear of the car, their companions, Ned Rector and
Walter Perkins, also were curled up in a double seat, with Professor
Zepplin sitting very straight as if sleep were furthest from his
thoughts. They were nearing their destination now, and within the hour
would be unloading their stock and equipment at Bluewater.

"They're asleep all right," grinned one of the two men who occupied
the seat just ahead of Stacy and Tad. "Is old man Marquand going to
meet us at the station?"

"Oh, no. That wouldn't be a good thing. Might attract too much
attention. Told him not to. We'll get a couple of ponies at Bluewater
and ride across the mountains. But we've got to be slick. The old man
is no fool. He'll hang on to the location of the treasure till the
last old cat's gone to sleep for good."

"Any idea where the place is?"

"No. Except that it's somewhere south of the Zuni range."

A solitary eye in the seat behind, opened cautiously. The eye belonged
to Stacy Brown. The last snore had awakened him, and he had lain with
closed eyes listening to the conversation of the two men.

He gave Tad a gentle nudge, which was returned with a soft pressure on
Stacy's right arm as a warning that he was to remain quiet.

"Do you know what the treasure consists of?"

"Maybe a mine, but as near as I could draw from Marquand's talk it is
jewels and Spanish money which one of the old Franciscan monks had
buried. The Pueblos knew where it was, but they sealed the place up
after the Pueblo revolution in 1680, and it's been corked tight ever
since."

"How'd Marquand get wise to it?"

"From an old Pueblo Chief whose life he saved a few months ago. The
old chief died a little while afterwards, but before he went, he told
Marquand about the treasure."

"Didn't suppose a redskin had so much gratitude under his tough skin.
Does the old man know where the place is?"

"No, not exactly. That's where we come in," grinned the speaker. "We
are going to help him find it."

"And then?"

"Oh, well. There's lots of ways to get rid of him."

"You mean?"

"He might tumble off into a canyon, or something of the sort, in the
night time. Here's the place."

The train was rounding a bend into the little town of Bluewater.

"Sit still," whispered Tad. "I want to get a look at those fellows so
I'll know them next time I see them."

The Pony Rider boy left his seat, and hurrying to the forward end of
the car, helped himself to a drink of water from the tank; then slowly
retraced his steps.

As he walked down the car, he took in the two men in one swift,
comprehensive glance, then swung his hands to his companions at the
other end of the car, as a signal that they were arriving at their
destination.

"Know 'em?" whispered Stacy as Tad began pulling his baggage from the
rack.

"Never saw either before. Better get your stuff together. This train
is fast only when it stops. It drags along over the country, but when
it gets into a station it's always in a hurry to get away," laughed
Tad.

A few minutes later the party of bronzed young men sprang from the car
to the station platform, where they instantly became the center of a
throng of curious villagers.

Readers of the preceding volumes of this series are already too well
acquainted with the Pony Rider Boys to need a formal introduction. As
told in "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ROCKIES," the lads had set out
from their homes in Missouri for a summer's vacation in the saddle.
That first volume detailed how the lads penetrated the fastnesses of
the Rockies, hunted big game and how they finally discovered the Lost
Claim, which they won after fighting a battle with the mountaineers,
thus earning for themselves quite a fortune.

In "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN TEXAS," the boys were again seen to
advantage. There they joined in a cattle drive across the state as
cowboys. They played an exciting part in the rough life of the cowmen,
meeting with many stirring adventures. It will be remembered how, in
this story, Tad Butler saved a large part of the herd, besides
performing numerous heroic deeds, including the saving of the life of
a member of the party from a swollen river. At the end of their
journey, they solved a deep mystery-- a mystery that had perplexed and
worried the cattle men, besides causing them heavy financial loss.

In "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN MONTANA," the scene shifted to the old
Custer Trail, the battle ground of one of the most tragic events in
American history. The story described how Tad Butler overheard a plot
to stampede and kill a flock of many thousand sheep; how after
experiencing many hardships, he finally carried the news to the owner
of the herd; then later, participated in the battle between the cowmen
and sheep herders, in which the latter emerged victorious.

It will be recalled too, how the Pony Rider Boy was captured by the
Blackfeet Indians and taken to their mountain retreat, where with a
young companion he was held until they made their escape with the
assistance of an Indian maiden; how they were pursued by the savages,
the bullets from whose rifles singing over the heads of the lads as
they headed for a river into which they plunged, thus effectually
throwing off the savage pursuers; and finally, how in time they made
their way back to the camp of the Pony Riders, having solved the
mystery of the old Custer Trail.

After these exciting adventures, the lads concluded to cut short their
Montana trip and go on to the next stage of their journeyings, which
was destined to be even more stirring than any that had preceded it.
How Tad Butler and Stacy Brown proved themselves to be real heroes,
was told in "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE OZARKS."

For a long time, an organized band of thieves had been stealing stock
in the Ozark range, baffling all efforts to apprehend them. The boys
had been warned to guard their own stock carefully, but despite this,
their ponies were stolen from camp, one by one and in a most
mysterious manner, until not an animal was left. Then, one by one, the
Pony Rider Boys became lost until only Tad and Stacy remained. They
were facing starvation, and it will be recalled how Tad Butler made a
plucky trip to the nearest mining camp for assistance. There the boys
were imprisoned underground by a mine explosion; escaping from which,
they met with perils every bit as grave, and from which they were
eventually rescued by Stacy himself.

Through the disaster, the lads solved the Secret of the Ruby Mountain,
thus putting an end for good to the wholesale thieving in the Ozark
range.

Though the Pony Rider Boys had suffered many hardships in their
journeyings, those that lay before them were destined to try them even
more. In "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ALKALI," they faced the perils of
the baking alkali desert. It will be recalled how they fought
desperately for water when all the usual sources of supply were found
to have run dry; how Tad and Stacy Brown were captured by a desert
hermit and thrown into a cave; how, after their escape, they were lost
in the Desert Maze, and how after many hardships, they finally
succeeded in making their way to camp, dragging behind them a wild
coyote that Tad had roped when the boys were beset by the wild beasts
in the dead of night.

Nothing daunted by their trying experiences the Pony Rider Boys set
out on the concluding trip of the season-- a journey over the historic
plains and mountains of New Mexico. After a long railroad ride, they
had finally arrived at the town of Bluewater, from which they were to
begin their explorations in the southwest.

A guide was to meet and conduct them across the mountains of the Zuni
range and so on to the southern borders of the state.

By the time they reached the platform of the station, the stock car
had been uncoupled and was being shifted to a side track where they
might unload their belongings at their leisure.

"I wonder where that guide is," said Tad.

"He was told to be here," answered the Professor.

"Never mind; we can unload better without him," averred Ned, starting
off at a brisk trot for their car which had been shunted alongside the
platform at the rear of the station.

With joyous anticipation of the new scenes and experiences that lay
before them, the lads set briskly to work, and within an hour had all
the stock and equipment removed from the car.

There was quite an imposing collection, with their ponies, their
burros, tents and other equipment, the latter lying strewn all over
the open level space beyond the station.

"Looks as if a circus had just come to town," laughed Walter.

"We've got a side show, anyway," retorted Ned.

"What's our side show?"

"Chunky's that."

"No; he's the clown. The rest of us are the animals, only we're not in
cages."

"Hey, fellows, see that funny Mexican on the burro there," laughed
Chunky. "Guess he never saw an outfit like ours before."

The lads could not repress a laugh as they glanced at the figure
pointed out by Stacy.

The man was sitting on the burro, his feet extended on the ground
before him, hands thrust deep into trousers pockets. He was observing
the work of the boys curiously. The fellow's high, conical head was
crowned by a peaked Mexican hat, much the worse for wear, while his
coarse, black hair was combed straight down over a pair of small,
piercing, dark eyes. The complexion, or such of it as was visible
through the mask of wiry hair, was swarthy, his form thin and
insignificant.

Stacy Brown strode over to him somewhat pompously.

"You speak English?" questioned the boy.

"Si, seņor."

The Mexican's lips curled back, revealing two rows of gleaming, white
teeth.

"I'm glad to hear it. I didn't think you could. We are looking for a
guide who was to have met us here to conduct us over the mountains.
His name is Juan. It'll be something else when he does show up. Do you
know him?"

"Si, seņor."

"Isn't he coming to meet us?"

"Si, seņor."

"Well, I must say he's taking his time about getting here. Where is
he?"

"Juan here, seņor."

"Here? I don't see him," answered the lad, looking about the place.

"Me Juan," grinned the Mexican. "You?"

"Never mind the seņor. I'll take for granted I'm a seņor, or whatever
else you think. Say, fellows, come here," commanded Stacy.

"Well, what's the matter?" demanded Ned, approaching, followed by the
other boys.

"This is it," announced Stacy, with a wave of his hand toward the
Mexican.

"What is it?" sniffed Ned.

"This."

"Chunky, what are you getting at?" questioned Walter.

"Perhaps this gentleman will know where we may find our guide,"
interrupted the Professor, coming up. "Seņor, do you know one Juan--"

"Yes, he knows him," grinned Stacy. "He's very well acquainted with
the gentleman."

"Then where may we find this Juan

"That's Juan-- that's your guide," Stacy informed the Professor.

"You-- are you the guide?"

"Si, seņor."

The Professor opened his eyes in amazement. The burro, on the other
hand, stood with nose to the ground sound asleep, oblivious to all
that was taking place about him.

"Why didn't you make yourself known-- why haven't you helped us to
unload?" demanded the Professor in an irritated tone.

"Me no peon. Me guide."

"He's a guide," explained Stacy. "Guides don't work, you know,
Professor. They are just ornaments. He and the burro are going to pose
for our amusement."

The boys laughed heartily. Professor Zepplin uttered an exclamation of
impatience.

"Sir, if you are going with this outfit you will be expected to do
your share of the labor. There are no drones in our hive."

"No; we all work," interposed Stacy.

"And some of us are eaters," added Ned.

Juan shrugged his shoulders and showed his pearly teeth.

At the Professor's command, however, Juan stepped off the burro
without in the least disturbing that animal's dreams and lazily began
collecting the baggage as directed by the Professor. After the
equipment had been sorted into piles, the boys did it up into neat
packs which they skillfully strapped to the backs of the burros of
their pack train. Juan, lost in contemplation of their labors, forgot
his own duties until reminded of them by Stacy, who gave the guide a
violent poke in the ribs with his thumb.

Juan started; then, with a sheepish grin, became busy again.

It was no small task to get their belongings in packs preparatory to
the journey; but late in the afternoon the boys had completed their
task. They had had nothing to eat since early morning. But they were
too anxious to be on their way to wait for dinner in town.

After making some necessary purchases in the village, the procession
finally started away across the plain.

"You'll never get anywhere with that sleepy burro, Juan," decided the
Professor, with a shake of the bead.

"Him go fast," grinned the Mexican.

"So can a crab on dry land," jeered Ned.

Just then the guide utter a series of shrill "yi-yi's," whereupon the
lads were treated to an exhibition such as they never had seen before.

The sleepy burro projected his head straight out before him, while his
tail, raised to a level with his back, stuck straight out behind him.
The burro, seemingly imbued with sudden life, was off at a pace faster
than a man could run.

It was most astonishing. The boys gazed in amazement; then burst out
in a chorus of approving yells.

But it was the rider, even more than the burro, that excited their
mirth. His long legs were working like those of a jumping jack, and
though astride of the burro, Juan was walking at a lively pace. It
reminded one of the way men propelled the old-fashioned velocipedes
years before.

A cloud of dust rose behind the odd outfit as the party drew out on
the plains. Their ponies were started at a gallop, which was necessary
to enable them to keep up with the pace that Juan had set.

"Here! Here!" shouted the Professor.

Juan never looked back.

"We're leaving the pack train. Slow down!"

Laughingly the lads pulled their ponies down to a walk; then halted
entirely to enable the burros to catch up with them. By this time the
pack animals had become so familiar with their work that little
attention was necessary on the part of the boys. Now and then one more
sleepy than the rest would go to sleep and pause to doze a few minutes
on the trail. This always necessitated all hands stopping to wait
until the sleeper could be rounded up and driven up to the bunch.

Juan had disappeared. They were discussing the advisability of sending
one of the boys out after him when he was seen returning. But at what
a different gait! His burro was dragging itself along with close to
the ground, while Juan himself was slouching on its back half asleep.

"You must have a motor inside that beast," grinned Tad.

"Him go some, seņor?"

"Him do," answered Stacy, his solemn eyes taking in the sleepy burro
wonderingly.

"Better not waste your energy performing," advised the Professor. "We
shall need what little you have. We will make camp here, as I see
there is a spring near by. Help the boys unpack the burros."

"Si, seņor," answered the guide, standing erect and permitting his
burro to walk from under him.

With shouts and songs the lads, in great good humor, went to work at
once, pitching their camp for the first time on the plains of New
Mexico. There was much to be done, and twilight was upon them before
they had advanced far enough to begin cooking their evening meal.

  CHAPTER II

 IN THE ZUNI FOOTHILLS

A sudden wail from the guide attracted the attention of the party to
him at once. "Now what's the matter?" demanded Tad, hurrying to him.

The guide had thrown himself prone upon the ground and was groaning as
if in great agony, offering no reply to the question.

"Are you sick?"

"Si, si, seņor," moaned Juan.

"Where?"

"Estomago-- mucho malo."

"Your stomach?"

"He's got a pain under his apron," diagnosed Stacy solemnly.

"Been working too hard," suggested Ned.

In the meantime the guide was rolling and twisting on the ground,
glancing appealingly from one to the other of them.

"Professor, hadn't you better fetch your medicine case and dose him
up?" asked Tad.

"Yes, I'll attend to him."

"Give him a good dose while you are about it," urged Ned. "Something
that will cure his laziness at the same time."

The Professor brought his case; then, remembering something else in
his kit that he wanted, he laid the case down and hurried back to his
tent. However, Stacy opened the case, selecting a bottle, apparently
at random, drew the cork and held the bottle under Juan's nose.

"Smell of this, my son. It'll cure your estomago on the run."

"Be careful, Chunky, what are you doing there?" warned Tad. "You
shouldn't fool with the medicines. You--"

His further remarks were cut short by a sudden yell of terror and pain
from Juan.

The guide leaped to his feet choking, gasping, while the tears ran
down his cheeks as he danced about as if suddenly bereft of his
senses.

"Now you've gone and done it," growled Ned. "He never moved so fast in
his life, I'll wager."

Juan was running in a circle now, shrieking and moaning. Professor
Zepplin approached them in a series of leaps. He could not imagine
what new disaster had overtaken the lazy Mexican.

"Here, here, here, what's the trouble now?" He demanded sternly. "Stop
that howling!"

"Chunky's been prescribing for your patient in your absence," Ned
informed him.

The Professor grabbed the wild guide by the collar, giving him a
vigorous shake. When he released his grip, Juan sank to the ground in
a heap, moaning weakly.

"What's that you say? Stacy prescribed--"

"I-- I let him smell of the bottle," explained Stacy guiltily.

"What bottle?"

Stacy slowly picked up the offending bottle and handed it to the
Professor.

"Ammonia! Boy, you might have put his eyes out! Never let this occur
again. Remember, you are not to touch the medicines under any
circumstances whatever!"

"Yes, sir," agreed Chunky meekly, while Ned Rector strolled away,
shaking with laughter.

"Drink," begged the patient.

"Fetch him some water," directed Professor Zepplin.

"No, no, no, seņor," protested Juan, gesticulating protestingly.

"What do you want?"

"Guess he wants something stronger than water," suggested Ned.

"Si, si, si," agreed the guide, showing his white teeth in an
approving grin.

"You won't get anything stronger than that in this outfit, unless you
cook yourself some coffee," muttered Tad.

"That's what's the matter with him," decided Chunky, who had been
observing the sick man keenly.

"Guess we drew a prize when we got Juan," announced Walter.

"Give him some medicine, anyway," urged Ned. "He is sick-- let him
take the dose."

"Let him have the worst you've got in your case, Professor," added
Tad, with a laugh.

A grim smile played about the corners of Professor Zepplin's mouth as
he ran his fingers over the bottles in his medicine case. Finally,
selecting one that seemed to fit the particular ailment of his
patient, he directed Chunky to fetch a spoon.

By this time Juan was protesting volubly that he was "all better" and
did not need the medicine. The Professor gave no heed to the fellow's
protestations.

"Open your mouth," he commanded.

Juan shut his teeth tightly together.

"Open your mouth!" commanded the Professor sternly. "We want no sick
men about this camp. It will fix you in a minute."

But the guide steadfastly refused to separate the white teeth.

"Boys, open his mouth while I pour the medicine down him," gritted the
Professor.

They required no urging to do the Professor's bidding. Tad and Ned
ranged themselves on either side of the patient, while Chunky sat on
the guide's feet. Almost before he was aware of their purpose the boys
had pried his jaws open and into the opening thus made professor
Zepplin dropped the concoction he had mixed.

The effect was electrical. Juan leaped to his feet as if elevated by
springs, uttering a yell that might have been heard a mile or more on
the open plain. But Juan did not run in a circle this time. Acting
upon the mathematical theory that a straight line is the shortest
distance between two points, the guide made a break for the spring,
howling like a madman. The Pony Rider Boys looked on in amazement.

Juan fell on his knees before the spring, dipping up the water in his
hands.

"What did you give him, professor?" grinned Tad.

"Hot drops!" answered the man of science tersely.

"Not that stuff you fed me when I ate too much honey in the Rockies?"
questioned Stacy.

"The same."

"Wow! I had ten drops and it felt like a pailful when it got inside of
me."

"How much did you give Juan?" questioned Walter.

"Twenty drops," answered Professor Zepplin without the suspicion of a
smile on his face this time.

The Pony Rider Boys added their yells to those of the guide, only with
a difference. The more Juan drank of the spring water, the more did
the hot drops burn.

All at once he sprang up and started for the plain.

"Catch him!" commanded the Professor.

With a shout the lads started in pursuit. They overhauled the guide
some twenty rods from camp, he having proved himself fleet of foot.
Then again, the fire within him perhaps helped to increase his natural
speed.

"I burn! I burn!" he wailed as the boys grabbed and laughingly hustled
him back to camp.

"You'll burn worse than that if you ever ask for liquor in this
outfit," retorted Ned. "We don't use the stuff, nor do we allow anyone
around us who does."

"How do you feel now?" grinned the Professor as they came up to him
with their prisoner.

"He's got a whole camp-fire in his little estomago," announced Chunky
solemnly, which sally elicited a loud laugh from the boys.

"Give him some olive oil," directed the Professor. "I think the lesson
has been sufficiently burned into him "

But considerable persuasion was necessary to induce Juan to take a
spoonful of the Professor's medicine. He had already had one sample of
it and he did not want another. Yet after some urging he tasted of the
oil, at first gingerly; then he took it down at a gulp.

"Ah!" he breathed.

"Is it good?" grinned Tad.

"Si. Much burn, much burn," he explained, rubbing his stomach.

"Think you want some liquor still, Juan, or would you prefer another
dose of my magic drops?"

"No, no, no, seņor!" cried Juan, hastily moving away from Professor
Zepplin.

"Very well; any time when you feel a longing for strong drink, just
help yourself to the hot drops," said the Professor, striding away to
his tent, medicine case in hand.

The guide, a much chastened man, set about assisting in getting the
evening meal, but the hot drops still remained with him, making their
presence known by occasional hot twinges.

Supper that night was an enjoyable affair, though it was observed that
the guide did not eat heartily.

"Do you think he really had a pain?" asked Walter confidentially,
leaning toward Ned.

"Pain? No. He wanted something else."

"And he got it," added Stacy, nodding solemnly.

A chorus of "he dids" ran around the table, stopping only when they
reached Juan himself.

  CHAPTER III

 INDIANS!

"Juan, did you see two men get off the train at Bluewater yesterday
when we did? One of them had a big, broad sombrero like mine?" asked
Tad, riding up beside the guide next day while they were crossing the
range.

"Si."

"Know them?"

"Si," he replied, holding up one finger.

"You mean you know one of them?"

The guide nodded.

"Who is he?"

"Seņor Lasar."

"Lasar. What's his other name?"

"Juan not know."

"Did they stop in the village?"

"No. Seņors get ponies, ride over mountain," and the guide pointed
lazily to the south-west.

"Where did they go? Do you know?"

Juan shrugged his shoulders, indicating that he did not.

"What is Mr. Lasar's business?"

Again the guide answered with a shrug. He seemed disinclined to
discuss the man in whom Tad Butler was so much interested. Up to that
time the lad had been too fully occupied with other matters to think
of the conversation he and Stacy had overheard on the Atlantic and
Pacific train. Now it came back to him with full force.

"Know anybody by the name of Marquand in this country?" he asked,
taking another tack.

Juan said he did not, and then Tad gave up his questioning.

"I was asking Juan about the two men who sat ahead of us in the train
yesterday," he explained to Chunky, as the fat boy joined them.

"Wha'd he say?"

"One is named Lasar, but he did not know the other one. I can't help
believing that those fellows were plotting to do some one a great
injury."

"So do I," agreed Chunky. "I guess we had better not say anything
about it to the others, but we'll try to find out who this man Lasar
is, and who Mr. Marquand is. Then we'll decide what to do next."

Their further conversation was interrupted by the voice of the
Professor, announcing that they would halt for their noonday meal. All
other thoughts left the mind of Stacy Brown when the question of food
was raised. He quickly slipped from his pony, running back to hurry
the burros along so as to hasten the meal for which he was yearning.
Only one burro was unpacked, as it was the intention of the outfit to
push on soon after finishing their lunch.

While the guide, under Ned's direction, was making it ready, Tad and
Chunky strolled off to climb a high rock that they had seen in the
vicinity and which, they thought, might give them a good view of the
plains to the southwest on the other side of the range.

They had promised to be back in half an hour, but circumstances arose
that caused them to delay their return considerably.

After threshing through the bushes, over sharp rocks and through
miniature canyons, they gained at last the object of their quest. The
distance had been further than they had imagined.

"We'll have to make a short trip of it up to the top and back," said
Tad. "It has taken us almost all our time to get here. But we'll have
a look, anyway."

They soon gained the top of the rock, which stood some twenty feet
higher than the crest of the mountain on which it rested.

"Isn't this great?" exclaimed Tad.

"Might think we were in the Rockies."

"Or the Ozarks."

"I hope we don't have as much trouble here as we did in that range.
Our guide is not much better than the Shawnee we had for a time on
that trip. I can't see the foothills, but the plain on beyond is
pretty clear."

"Hope we don't have to chase all over the desert for water. I--"

Tad grasped his companion by the sleeve and jerked him violently to
the rock.

"What's up? What's the matter with you?" protested Stacy.

"Keep still, some one's coming."

The lad's keen ears had caught a sound which Stacy had entirely failed
to hear. It was the sound of horses making their way through the
bushes. There were several in the party, Tad could tell by the sounds,
and having in mind the man Lasar, he thought he might perhaps learn
something of advantage by remaining quietly on the top of the rock.

All this he explained in a few brief words to his companion. Then both
boys crouched low, peering over the cliff, having first removed their
sombreros.

What they saw, a few moments later, surprised them very much indeed.

The horsemen in single file suddenly appeared out of a draw to the
east and headed for the rock where the lads were in hiding.

"Look! Look!" exclaimed Tad in a low, suppressed voice.

"I-n-d-i-a-n-s!" breathed Chunky.

They seemed to rise right up out of the ground, as one by one they
emerged from the draw to the more level rocks that lay about the
hiding place of the Pony Rider Boys.

"I wonder who they are?" questioned Tad.

"They look savage. I wonder if they'd hurt us, Tad?"

"I don't know. I do know, though, that I wouldn't trust those ugly
faces one second. I thought the Blackfeet were savage, but they're not
to be compared with these redskins."

A full dozen of them had, by this time, come into view. They sat
huddled on their ponies, their painted faces just appearing above the
gayly colored blankets in which they were enveloped.

"They must be cold," muttered Chunky. "Shouldn't think they'd need bed
clothes around them this time of the year."

"Not so loud, Chunky," warned Tad.

"Know what they are, Tad?"

"I wouldn't say positively, but somehow they look to me like Apaches."

Tad's surmise was correct. The twelve warriors were members of the
savage band that had in past years caused the Government so much
trouble and bloodshed.

"They're off their reservation, if they are Apaches," whispered the
lad.

"What does that indicate, Tad?"

"I don't know. They may be on the warpath; then, again, they may be
down here after game. I'm not sure even, if there is any game here.
We'll lie still until they get by us. That's the best plan; don't you
think so?"

"Yes."

"Lie perfectly still, Chunky. The little bushes in front of us will
screen us, providing we don't move about. Indians have quick eyes,
though they do look as if they were half asleep."

"They're getting off their horses, Tad. What does that mean?"

"I don't know."

Tad peered through the bushes, noting every move that the redskins
made. At first he thought they had discovered him and were about to
surround the rock and take him prisoner. But he soon saw that such was
not their intention. Tethering their ponies, the Indians cast their
blankets on the ground, after having first picked out a suitable
place.

"They're making camp," whispered Tad.

One after another of the savages took out his pipe, and soon the odor
from burning tobacco was wafted to the nostrils of the hidden Pony
Rider Boys.

"Guess they're going to get some dinner," decided Stacy, observing
that the strangers were gathering brush.

This was the case. The ponies had been staked where they could browse
on the green leaves, and now their masters were about to satisfy their
own appetites.

Tad groaned.

"What is it?" questioned Stacy apprehensively.

"They will be here half of the day at least. I know a little about
Indians, having been captured by them once. The difference is that my
Indians were in a hurry to get somewhere. These fellows seem to have
all the time in the world. They're waiting-- killing time for some
reason. You'll see, after they finish their dinner, that they will
smoke some more, then lie down for a catnap."

"And-- and what'll we be doing?"

"We'll be hiding on the top of this rock, Chunky."

"Wish I had my rifle."

"Lucky for both of us that you haven't."

The lads had been talking in whispers, but the words fairly froze in
their mouths, when, upon glancing down they saw the eyes of a savage
fixed upon them.

"On your life, don't move a muscle, Chunky," whispered Tad, as soon as
he had recovered his wits.

Tad was not sure that the Indian saw them, yet there could be no doubt
that the savage eyes were burning into their very own.

Soon, however, the Indian dropped his glances to his pipe bowl and the
boys breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't move yet, Chunky," directed Tad.

It was a wise command, for almost instantly the Indian glanced in
their direction again, and, as if satisfied, emptied his pipe and
stretched out on his blanket. The two lads breathed sighs of relief.

"Did he see us, do you think, Tad?"

"No. At first he thought he saw something up here, but he changed his
mind after a little, as you observed."

By this time the redskins were cooking their midday meal, and the odor
nearly drove Stacy frantic. It made him realize how hungry he was. He
pulled a leaf from a bush and began chewing it in hopes of wearing off
the keen edge of his appetite.

"How long we got to stay here?" he demanded. "I've a good notion to
get up and walk back to camp. They don't dare hurt us."

"Lie still!" commanded his companion sternly. "I have a plan that we
may be able to put into operation. We can't do it now, though."

The lads waited, Tad almost with the patience of an Indian, Chunky ill
at ease and restless.

"Can't you lie still? What ails you?"

"My stomach's fighting my appetite. Hear 'em growl at each other?"

"S-h-h-h."

"I don't care. I'd 'bout as soon be scalped as to starve to death."

The braves had by now filled their stomachs, gulping their food down
without the formality of chewing it at all. Stacy's amazement was
partly mixed with admiration as he observed the food disappear with
such rapidity.

Now the braves had begun puffing at their pipes. After a time, one by
one laid down his smoking bowl and stretched himself out for a nap,
just as Tad had said they would. The savages were spread out so that
they had a very good view of three sides of the rock on which the two
lads were perched, but the fourth side was hidden from them. Tad
decided that, as the Indians showed no intention of moving, they were
going to remain where they were until night.

"I want you to follow me, Chunky," Butler said, determined to try his
plan. "You will have to move absolutely without a sound. Look before
you put down foot or hand. Be sure where you place them. We'll wait a
few minutes until they're sound asleep."

"What you going to do-- sneak?"

"Try to get back to camp. The others will be coming along looking for
us pretty soon, if we don't get away. The Indians might resent being
disturbed, and perhaps make trouble."

"Tell me when you're ready, then."

Some minutes had elapsed and the lads could plainly hear the snores of
their besiegers.

"Now!" whispered Tad.

At the same time he began crawling toward the edge of the rock at
their rear. Stacy was close upon his heels.

The side which the boys were to descend was much more precipitous than
the one they had come up by, but offered no very great difficulties
for two nimble boys. Proceeding with infinite caution, they gained the
ground without a mishap.

"We'll walk straight on in this direction, until we get out of sight;
then we can turn to the left and hurry to the camp."

Stacy nodded. As he did so his eyes were off the ground for a few
seconds. Those few seconds proved his undoing.

The lad stepped on a stone that gave way under him, turning his ankle
almost upon its side.

"Ouch!" yelled Chunky.

"Now you've done it," snapped Tad. "We'll have the whole pack of them
down on us. Can you walk?"

"I-- I don't know. I'll try."

"Take hold of my hand. You've got to run."

The redskins were on their feet in an instant. A few bounds carried
them around the rock whence the exclamation had come. By this time Tad
had dragged his companion into the bushes but not quickly enough to
elude the keen eyes of the savages.

The Indians uttered a short, sharp cry, then aimed their rifles at the
figures of the two fleeing Pony Rider Boys.

Tad saw the movement. He threw himself prone upon the ground, jerking
Chunky down beside him.

They were screened from the eyes of the enemy, for the moment.

"Crawl! Crawl!" commanded Tad.

On hands and feet the boys began running rapidly over the ground, on
down into a narrow gulch. If they could gain the opposite side they
would be safe, as it was unlikely that the Indians would follow them
there. To do so, the boys were obliged to cross an open space. They
had just reached it, when their pursuers appeared behind them. Once
more the Indians raised their rifles, their fingers exerting a gentle
pressure on the triggers.

  CHAPTER IV

 ON THE TRAIL OF JUAN

"Look out! They're going to shoot!" cried Tad.

The lads quickly rolled in opposite directions.

"Hallo-o, Tad!"

The call was in the stentorian voice of Professor Zepplin, to which
Ned Rector added a shout of his own.

Fearing that some ill had befallen Tad and Stacy, the others had
started out after them. Following them came Walter and the lazy
Mexican.

"We're down here! Look out for the Indians!" warned Tad in a loud
voice.

"You're crazy!" jeered Ned. "Come out of that. What ails you fellows?
The dinner's stone cold and Professor Zepplin is all in the stew."

Tad scrambled to his feet, with a quick glance at the top of the
ridge, where, but a moment before, half a dozen rifles had been
leveled at Chunky and himself.

Not an Indian was in sight. Tad was amazed. He could not understand
it. Grabbing Stacy by an arm he hurried him up the other side of the
gulch, where they quickly joined their companions.

"What does this mean?" demanded the Professor.

"Hurry! We must get out of this. It's Indians!"

"They-- they wanted to scalp us," interjected Stacy.

"But you runned away, eh? Brave man!" chuckled Ned.

"Indians! There are no Indians here.

"I'll tell you about it when we get to camp. They were just about to
shoot at us when you appeared up here."

"'Pache bad Injun," vouchsafed Juan.

"Were those Apaches?" questioned Tad.

The guide shrugged his shoulders.

"I was sure they were, though I do not think I ever saw an Apache
before. They don't live about here, do they, Juan?"

"'Pache off reservation. Him go dance. Firewater! Ugh!" making a
motion as if scalping himself.

"I'm hungry," called Stacy.

"Yes; so am I," added Tad. "But I think we had better not wait to eat.
We can take a bite in the saddle while we are moving."

Stacy protested loudly at this, but Tad's judgment prevailed with the
Professor, after the boys had related their experience in detail. All
hands began at once to pack up the few belongings that had been taken
from the burro, and once more they started on their way, moving
somewhat more rapidly than had been the case in the early part of the
day.

"I don't suppose there will be much use in our hurrying, Professor,"
said the lad, after they had been going a short time. "I know enough
about Indians to be sure those fellows will follow us until they
satisfy themselves who and what we are. They are up to some mischief,
and they thought we were spying on them. Otherwise, I do not believe
they would have tried to shoot us. Don't know as you could blame them
much."

"I am inclined to agree with you, Master Tad. It will be good policy
not to pay any attention to them if we discover any of them. Just go
right along about our business as if we didn't see them at all."

"And you're not likely to," grinned Tad. "Where did you say they were
going, Juan?"

"'Pache, go dance."

"He means they're bound for a pow-wow somewhere. That explains it,"
nodded the lad.

The rest of the day passed without incident. Not a sign of the Indians
did the boys see. As a matter of fact, the roving redskins were as
anxious to keep out of the sight of the Pony Riders as the boys were
to have them do so.

The party enjoyed the trip over the mountains immensely; and, when, a
few days later, they made camp in the foothills on the southern side
of the Zuni range, the boys declared that they had never had a better
time.

Professor Zepplin decided that they would remain in that camp for a
couple of days, as be desired to make some scientific investigations
and collect geological specimens. This suited the rest of the party,
who were free to make as many side trips as they wished, into mountain
fastnesses or over the plains to the south of them.

Early in the day the guide asked permission to go away for an hour or
so. They noticed that he had been uneasy, apparently anxious to get
away for some reason unknown to them.

"He's got something up his sleeve," decided Tad, eyeing Juan narrowly.

"You may go, but we shall expect you back in time for the noon meal,"
the Professor told him.

"Give me money," requested the guide.

"Certainly. Let me see, you have worked a week. I gave you five
dollars when we started out. You were to have ten dollars a week while
you were with us. That leaves five dollars due you," announced the
Professor.

"Me work week. Me want ten dollars."

"But, my man, I've already paid you five dollars, which pays you for
half of the week. Here is the five dollars for the other half. That's
all I owe you. Do you understand?"

"Si seņor. But Juan work one week," protested the guide.

"Let me show him," interrupted Tad. He drew ten marks in the sand with
a stick, separating them into two groups of five. "Here are ten marks,
Juan. We'll call them ten dollars. Understand?"

"Si."

"Well, here are the first five marks in the dirt that the Professor
paid you. How many does that leave?"

"Five," gleamed the white teeth.

"Right. Go to the head of the class," interrupted Stacy.

"Chunky, you keep out of this. You'll mix him up."

"Guess somebody's mixed up already," retorted the fat boy.

"Five is right," continued Tad. Five dollars is what we owe you. Is
that clear now?"

"Si, seņor. But I work one week. Juan earn ten dollar--"

"I'll tell you what to do," interjected Ned. "Start all over again.
You begin work to-day; Juan, and we'll pay you ten dollars for every
week from now on. You haven't worked for us before to-day, you know."

The lads laughed heartily, but Juan merely showed his teeth,
protesting that he had earned ten dollars.

"Here," said Tad, thrusting a five dollar bill at him. "You take this.
It's all we owe you. If you see any of your friends, you ask them how
much we owe you. They'll tell you the Professor is right."

Juan took the money greedily, still protesting that they owed him ten
dollars, because he had worked a week. Mounting his burro, he rode
away; at once falling into the marvelous speed that he had shown them
on the first day out.

The lads shouted with laughter as they saw burro and rider disappear
among the foothills, both running for all they were worth, Juan
uttering his shrill "yi-yi's," as he pedaled the ground.

That was the last they saw of the Mexican guide that day. The rest of
the day was employed in games, trick riding, rope throwing and the
like. Stacy found some horned frogs, which were of considerable
interest to the boys. Chunky made the discovery that the frogs liked
to have their backs scratched with a stick, and the frogs of the
foothills probably never spent such a happy day in all their lives as
Chunky and his stick provided for them that afternoon.

Late in the day, it dawned upon the boys that Juan was still absent.
They consulted with the Professor about this, upon his return from a
collecting trip along the foot of the mountains. But the Professor was
sure Juan would be in in time for supper.

Such was not the case, however. After the meal had been finished Tad
announced his intention of riding off in the direction Juan had gone,
to see if the guide could not be found.

"I'll go with you," announced Stacy.

"All right; come along," said Tad, tightening his saddle girths.
"We'll have a fine gallop."

"Be careful that you do not get lost, boys," warned the Professor.

"Can't get lost. All we have to do is to follow the foothills. We
shall probably find Juan and his burro sound asleep on an ant-hill
somewhere. He's positively the laziest human being I ever set eyes
on."

"Better take along five dollars to bait him with," suggested Ned.

"I've got my stick," said Stacy. "I'll tickle the back of the burro
and its rider, just as I did the frogs."

"You try that on the burro and he'll kick you into the middle of next
week," warned Walter.

"Yes," laughed Tad. "Did you see him kick when Juan tossed a tomato
can against his heels this morning ? Kicked the can clear over a tree
and out of sight."

"He'd make a good batter for the Chillicothe baseball team," suggested
Chunky. "He'd be the only real batter in the nine. They could turn him
loose on the umpire when they didn't need him on the diamond. Wouldn't
it be funny to see some umpires kicked over the high board fence?"

"Come along if you are going with me."

Stacy swung into his saddle, and, galloping off, caught up with Tad,
who was in a hurry to get back to camp before dark.

"Keep your eyes to the right, Chunky, and I'll look on the left. If
you see anything that looks like a lazy Mexican and a lazy burro, just
call out."

"I'll run over them, that's what I'll do," declared the fat boy.
"Hello, there's a fellow on horseback."

"I see him."

The lads changed their course a little so as to head off the solitary
horseman, who was loping along in something of a hurry.

"Howdy," greeted the lad.

"Evening, stranger. Where you hail from and where to?"

"We're in camp back here. I'm looking for our guide, a Mexican named
Juan. He went away this morning and we haven't seen him since."

"And you won't so long as his money holds out," laughed the horseman.

"Then, you've seen him? Will you tell me where I may find him?"

"Sure thing, boy, but I reckon you'd better not be going any further?"

"Why not?"

"He's over yonder, gambling with some renegade Apaches."

"Apaches!" exclaimed the lads in one voice. "Those must be the same
fellows we saw up in the range. But how do you suppose he knew they
were over there?"

"He? Those Greasers know everything except what they ought to know--
especially if there's any games of chance going on."

"Will you please tell me how we can reach the place? We want to make a
very early start in the morning, and I don't like to take a chance of
his not getting back in time."

"If ye're bound to go, keep right along the edge of the foothills. You
can't miss the place. Better keep away if you don't want to be getting
into a mix-up. There's going to be lively doings over there pretty
soon," warned the stranger.

"How do you mean? I've seen Indians before. Guess they won't hurt us
if they let Juan pow-wow with them."

"This is different, young man. They're going to hold a fire dance
to-night--"

"A fire dance?"

"Yes."

"I thought they weren't allowed to do that any more?"

"They ain't, but they will. There's a bunch of Sabobas from over the
line. They're the original fire eaters. They come over here kind of
secret like. Then there's Pueblos, 'Paches, and bad ones from every
tribe within a hundred miles of here. Been making smoke signals from
the mountains for more'n a week past--"

"I saw that yesterday and thought it was intended as a signal."

"Right."

"But you don't think there will be any danger in just going after our
guide, do you?"

"Boy, they'll be letting blood before morning, even if the Government
doesn't drop down on the picnic and clean out the whole bunch of them.
There is sure to be trouble before morning."

"Thank you," said Tad, touching his pony;

"Going on?" questioned the horseman.

"Yes; I'm going to fetch Juan," replied Tad, touching spurs to his
pony and galloping away, followed by Stacy Brown.

The horseman sat his saddle watching the receding forms of the two
Pony Rider Boys until they disappeared behind a butte in the
foothills.

"Well, if those kids ain't got the sand!" he muttered.

  CHAPTER V

 A DARING ACT

"If you don't want to go with me you may go back, Chunky. Perhaps one
would not be as likely to get into trouble as two. You can find your
way, can't you?"

"I go back? Think I'm a tenderfoot? Huh! Guess I ain't afraid of any
cheap Wild West Indians. I'm going with you, Tad."

"Very well; but see to it that you keep in the background. You have a
habit of getting into trouble on the slightest provocation."

"So do you," retorted Stacy.

The ponies had been urged to their best pace by this time. Twilight
had fallen and darkness would settle over them in a very short time
now, though a new moon hovered pale and weak in the blue sky above.
Tad knew this, so he did not worry about the return trip.

"We should be sighting the place pretty soon," he muttered.

"I see a light," announced Stacy.

"Where?"

"To the right. Over that low butte there."

"Yes; that's so. I see it now. You have sharp eyes," laughed Tad.

"I can see when there's anything to see."

"And eat when there's food to be had," added Tad.

"Think those are the Indians that wanted to shoot us, Tad?" he asked,
with a trace of apprehension in his voice.

Tad glanced at his companion keenly;

"Getting cold feet, Chunky?"

"No!" roared the fat boy.

"I beg your pardon," grinned Tad. "I didn't mean to insult you."

"Better not. Look out that you don't get chilblains on your own feet.
May need a hot mustard bath yourself before you get through."

They rounded the butte. A full quarter of a mile ahead of them
flickered a large fire, with several smaller blazes twinkling here and
there about it. Shadowy figures were observed moving back and forth,
some with rapid movements, others in slow, methodical steps.

"There must be a lot of them, Tad."

"Looks that way. I wonder where we shall find the guide."

Both boys fell silent for a time, and as they drew nearer to the scene
pulled their ponies down to a walk. Tad concluded to make a detour
half way round the camp in order to get a clump of bushes that he had
observed between them and the redskins. From that point of vantage he
would be able to get a closer view, and perhaps locate the man for
whom he was looking.

Riding in, they were soon swallowed up in the shadows.

"Hold my pony a moment," directed Tad, slipping to the ground.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere, just this minute. I'm going to look around."

The lad peered through the bushes until, uttering a low exclamation,
he turned to his companion.

"I see him. He's over on the other side--"

"Who? Juan?"

"Yes. Now I want you to remain right here. Don't move away. I'll tie
my pony so he won't give you any trouble. Sit perfectly quiet, and if
any Indians come along don't bother them. I'm going around the
outside, so I don't have to pass through the crowd, though they seem
too busy to notice anyone."

Tad slipped away in the shadows until he came to a spot opposite where
he had caught a glimpse of the lazy Mexican.

He discovered Juan in the center of a circle of dusky Indians who were
squatting on the ground. Some of the braves were clothed in
nondescript garments, while others were attired in gaudy blankets.
These were the gamblers.

At that moment their efforts were concentrated on winning from Juan
the wages of his first week's work with the Pony Rider Boys. A blanket
had been spread over the ground, and on this they were wagering small
amounts on the throw of the dice, a flickering camp-fire near by dimly
lighting up the blanket and making the reading of the dice a difficult
matter for any but the keenest of eyes. The sing-song calls of the
players added to the weirdness of the scene.

Tad waited long enough to observe that the guide lost nearly every
time, the stolid-faced red men raking in his coins with painful
regularity.

"It's a wonder he has a cent left. But they're not playing for very
large amounts, as near as I can tell."

Each time the Mexican lost he would utter a shrill "si, si," then
lured by the hope that Dame Fortune would favor him, reached greedily
for the next throw.

"It's time for me to do something," muttered Tad.

Stepping boldly from his cover, he walked up to the edge of the
circle.

"Juan!" he called sharply.

"Si," answered the Mexican, without looking up.

"Juan!"

This time the word was uttered in a more commanding voice.

"You come with me!"

The guide, oblivious to all beyond the terrible fascination of the
game he was playing, gave no heed to Tad Butler's stern command. Three
times did Tad call to him, but without result. One of the red men cast
an angry glance in the Tad's direction, and then returned to his play.

Without an instant's hesitation, Tad sprang over into the center of
the circle, and grasping Juan by an ear, jerked him to his feet.

Red hands fell to belts and dark faces scowled menacingly at the
intruder.

"You come with me, Juan!"

Juan sought to jerk away, but under the strong pull on his ear, he did
not find it advisable to force himself from his captor's grip.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You're lucky if Professor
Zepplin doesn't give you another dose of hot drops for this. I suppose
these Indians sat down to rob you," growled Tad.

"No, no, no," protested Juan.

By this time the Indian gamblers had leaped to their feet, an ugly
light in their eyes that boded ill for the Pony Rider Boy who had
interrupted them in the process of fleecing the Mexican.

With one accord they barred the way in a solid human wall. Tad found
himself hemmed in on all sides. It had been easy to gain an entrance
to the circle, but getting out of it was another matter.

"This man belongs to me," he said with as much courage in his tone as
he was able to command. "You will please step aside and let us go.
You're breaking the law. If you offer any resistance I'll have the
government officers after you in short order."

He could not have said a worse thing under the circumstances. At first
they took him for a spy, possibly a Government spy. Now they were sure
of it, for had not the lad told them so himself?

With a growl, one who appeared to be the most important personage in
the group drew his sheath knife and sprang straight at the slender
figure of Tad Butler.

Tad acted without an instant's hesitation.

Stepping aside quickly; he cleverly avoided the knife-thrust. At the
same instant, while the Indian was off his balance, not yet having
recovered from the lunge, the Pony Rider Boy's fist and the Indian's
jaw met in sudden collision.

The impact of the blow might have been heard more than a rod away.

The red man's blanket dropped from his shoulders; he staggered
backward, made a supreme effort to pull himself together, then dropped
in a heap at the feet of the boy who had felled him.

Without waiting for the astonished red gamblers to recover their wits,
Tad grasped an arm of the Mexican and sprang away into the bushes.

He had done a serious thing, even though in self-protection. He had
knocked down an Apache brave with his fist. The sting of that blow
would rest upon the savage jaw until the insult was wiped out by the
victim himself.

  CHAPTER VI

 THE FIRE DANCE OF THE RED MEN

The Indians made a sudden move to pursue the lad who had done so
daring a thing. One of their number restrained them, pointing to the
fallen brave, as much as to say, "Revenge is for him!"

With a shrug of their shoulders the Indians sank down and resumed
their game as stoically as before. They gave no further heed to the
unconscious Apache, who still lay just outside the circle where he had
been knocked out by Tad's blow.

"Hurry! Hurry!" commanded the lad, fairly dragging his companion
along. "They'll be after us in a minute."

Yet before the minute had elapsed Tad had halted suddenly, his
wondering eyes fixed upon the scene that was being enacted before him.

About a pit of red hot coals, naked save for the breech clouts they
wore, swayed the bodies of half-a-dozen powerful braves.

They were the fire dancers and Tad was gazing upon a scene that
probably never will he seen again in this country-- the last of the
fire dances-- a secret dance of which it was to be supposed the
Government agents knew nothing.

Back and forth waved the copper-colored line, right up to the edge of
the pit of glowing coals, uttering a weird chant, which was taken up
by others who were not in the dance.

The voices of the chanters grew louder, their excitement waxed higher,
as the thrill of song and dance pulsed through their veins.

All at once, Tad was horrified to see one of the dancers leap into the
air, uttering a mighty shriek. While still clear of the ground the
dancer's body turned, then he dove head first into the bed of hot
coals. He was out in an instant.

The chant rose higher as the remaining dancers followed the leader
into the burning pit and out of it. So quickly did they move that they
seemed not to feel the heat, and from Tad's point of vantage, he was
sure that none was burned in the slightest.

Juan tried to pull away. But Tad held him in a firm grip.

Now that the dancers had passed through the fire unscathed, others
followed them, some no more than touching the live coals, then
bounding out on the other side of the pit; others remaining long
enough to roll swiftly across the glowing bed.

Excitement was rapidly waxing higher and higher. The red men were in a
dangerous mood. It boded ill for the paleface who sought to interfere
with their carnival at this moment.

"Come!" whispered Tad in a low, tense voice. "We've got to get out of
this mighty quick! Chunky's probably half scared to death, too."

Tad did not go far. He had scarcely taken half a dozen steps when a
frenzied yell, a series of shrill shrieks sounded in the air. The
sounds seemed to come from all directions at once.

"What's that?"

"Me not know."

"Somebody's running a pony. I hear it coming. It's headed right for
that bunch of crazy savages. Probably an Indian gone mad."

It was not an Indian who was the cause of this new disturbance, as the
lad discovered almost immediately afterward.

"Yip, yip! Y-e-o-w! W-o-w!"

The yells were uttered in the shrill voice of Stacy Brown.

"It's Chunky!" groaned Tad. "Here's trouble in earnest!"

They never knew just how it happened, and Chunky could not tell them,
but in all probability the excitement had been too much for the fat
boy!

He had moved closer when the dancing began, and the fever of it got
into his veins until his excitement had reached a pitch beyond his
control.

With a series of howls and yells, the fat boy drove the rowels of the
spurs deep into his pony's aides.

The animal dashed forward at a break-neck pace.

Stacy headed straight for the glowing pit, yelling with every leap of
the pony.

Tad gazed spellbound. He seemed powerless to move. He had been deeply
affected by the scenes he had seen; but this was different. The lad
held his breath.

Reaching the edge of the pit, Stacy's pony rose in the air, clearing
the bed of coals in a long, curving leap.

Two red men had just risen from their fiery bath. The hind hoofs of
the pony caught and bowled them over.

"Run to the camp and get help! Take my pony! Ride for your life! Don't
lose a second!" gasped Tad, giving the lazy Mexican a shove that sent
him stumbling until he had measured his length upon the ground.

Juan picked himself up slowly; and, crawling away into the bushes, lay
down to rest or hide.

Stacy's pony landed fairly in the center of a bunch of half-clothed
savages; some of whom went down under the pony when it landed on them
so unexpectedly.

The next instant the fat boy had been jerked from the animal's back,
to which he was clinging desperately.

With a yell the redskins hurled him toward the fire. But the force of
the throw had not been quite strong enough. Stacy landed on the edge
of the pit, rolling half into it, the upper part of his body being on
the ground to which he was hanging, yelling lustily. His shod feet
were in the fire, however, but as yet he did not realize that his
clothes were burning.

Tad Butler sprang quickly from his hiding place.

"Crawl out!" he roared. "You'll be burned alive!"

"I-- I can't. I fell in," piped Stacy, all his bravery gone now.

Tad leaped across the intervening space and bounded to the side of his
companion.

"Ouch! I'm on fire!" shrieked Stacy.

Tad grabbed and hauled him from his dangerous position. One of Tad's
feet slipped in while he was doing so. By this time the clothes of
both lads had begun to smoulder.

"Run for it! Better be burned than scalped!" shouted Tad.

Holding to Chunky's arm the Pony Rider Boy started to run. He was
tripped by a moccasined foot before they had gone ten feet. Both boys
fell headlong. Ere they could rise half a dozen mad savages were upon
them.

The lads were jerked roughly to their feet, Chunky shivering, Tad pale
but resolute. There was nothing that he could say or do to repair the
damage that his companion had done.

One whom the lad took to be a chief, from his head-dress and
commanding appearance, pushed his way into the crowd about the two
boys, hurling the red men aside with reckless sweeps of his powerful
arms.

"Ugh!" he grunted, folding his arms and gazing sternly at the two
prisoners.

"Who you?"

Tad explained as best he could.

"Why you do this?"

"My friend here got excited," Tad declared.

"Huh! Lie!"

Tad's face burned. He could scarcely resist the impulse to resent the
imputation that the savage had cast upon him. He conquered the
inclination with an effort.

"Sir, we had no wish to interfere with you. We came here to get one of
our men who had come here to gamble. If you will release us we will
return to our camp and give you no further trouble. I promise you
that."

"T-h-h-h-at's so," chattered Chunky.

"Keep still," whispered Tad. "You'll get us into more trouble."

The chief appeared to be debating the question in his own mind, when
one of the men, whom Tad recognized as a member of the gambling
circle, whispered something to the chief.

The chief's eyes blazed. Uttering a succession of gutteral sounds, he
gave some quick directions to the red men near him.

"He makes a noise like a litter of pigs," muttered Chunky.

Acting upon the chief's direction two braves grabbed the lads, and
hurried them away, Tad meanwhile watching for an opportunity to break
away. Had he been alone, he felt sure he could do so safely. But he
would not leave his companion, of course.

The Apaches took the boys a short distance from the camp, planked them
down roughly with their backs to a rock.

"Now, I wonder what next?" muttered Tad.

While one of the braves stood guard over them, the second trotted back
to the camp, returning after a few minutes with a third savage who
carried a rifle.

The boys were sure then that they were to be shot.

"Huh! You run, brave shoot um!" warned one of the first pair, after
which parting injunction the two captors strode away, leaving their
companion to guard the boys.

For a few moments the Indian walked up and down in front of them,
keeping his eyes fixed on the lads. Tad noted that he walked rather
unsteadily. Finally, the guard sat down facing them, some ten feet
away.

"Well, you've certainly gone and done it this time, Chunky," said Tad
in a low voice. "What on earth made you do a crazy thing like that?"

"I-- I don't know."

"Well, it's too late for regrets. All we can do will be to make the
best of our situation and watch for an opportunity to get away."

For several minutes the boys sat gazing at the stolid figure before
them. Tad's mind was working, though his body was not.

"Make believe you're going to sleep, but don't overdo it," whispered
Tad.

This was something that Stacy could do, and he did it with such
naturalness that Tad could not repress a smile.

"That Indian is dazed from his excitement, and if we make him think
we're asleep he's likely to relax his vigilance," mused Tad, as the
two boys gradually leaned closer together, soon to all appearances
being wrapped in sleep. Little by little the Indian's head nodded.

Finally he toppled over to one side, the rifle lying across his feet.

Tad and Chunky remained motionless.

The Indian snored.

The boys waited. Soon the snores became regular. The moment for action
had arrived.

Tad pinched Chunky.

"Huh! Wat'cher want?"

The fat boy had in reality been asleep.

"For goodness sake, keep quiet!" begged Tad in a whisper. "Don't you
know there's an Indian with a gun guarding us? He's asleep. Come, but
be quiet if you value your life at all. Anyway; remember that I want
to save mine."

Stacy was wide awake now. Together the lads crawled cautiously away,
every nerve on the alert. Over by the pit of live coals the uproar
was, if any thing, louder than before.

The boys gave that part of the camp a wide berth.

"Now get up and run!" commanded Tad. "Raise your feet off the ground,
so that you won't fall over every pebble you come to."

Tad and Chunky clasped hands and scurried through the bushes, making
as little noise as possible, and rapidly putting considerable distance
between them and the sleeping red man who had been set to watch them.

"Having lots of fun, ain't we, Tad?"

"Fun! You're lucky if you get off with a whole scalp--"

"Wow!" exclaimed Stacy.

The lads brought up suddenly.

At first they were not sure what had disturbed them, that is, Tad was
not. This time Stacy had seen more clearly than his companion.

"Ugh!" grunted a voice right in front of them, and there before their
amazed eyes stood an Indian. To their imaginations, he was magnified
until he appeared nearly as tall as the moonlit mountains in the
background.

For one hesitating instant the lads stood staring at the figure
looming over them.

With an angry growl the red man bounded toward them. He had recognized
the boys and was determined that they should not escape him.

It was Stacy Brown's wits that saved the situation this time. As the
Indian came at them the fat boy dived between the savage's naked legs,
uttering a short, sharp yelp, for all the world just like that of a
small dog attempting to frighten off a bigger antagonist.

There could be only one result following Chunky's unexpected tactics.
Mr. Redskin flattened himself on the ground prone upon his face.
Somehow the fellow was slightly stunned by the fall, not having had
time to save himself from a violent bump on the head.

"Run for it, Chunky! He'll be after us in a second."

The lads made a lively sprint for the open. In a moment, observing
that they were not being followed, they halted, still in the shadows
of the bushes. All at once Tad stumbled over an object in the dark. At
first he thought it was another Indian, and both boys were about to
run again, when the voice of the prostrate man caused them to laugh
instead.

"Si, si, seņor," muttered the fellow.

"Juan? It's Juan! Get up! You here yet?"

They pulled the lazy guide to his feet, starting off with him, when
all at once Tad happened to think that one of the ponies was back
there somewhere among the Indians.

"You stay here, and don't make a fool of yourself this time!"
commanded Tad.

"Where are you going?"

"After your pony. You hang on to Juan. I'll hold you responsible for
him, Chunky."

"Guess I can take care of a lazy Mexican if I can floor a redskin,"
answered Stacy proudly.

But Tad was off. He had not heard the last remark of his companion. In
picking his way carefully around the camp to where he had seen a lot
of ponies tethered, Tad found a Navajo blanket. He quickly possessed
himself of it, throwing it over his head, wrapping himself in its
folds.

He was now in plain sight of the wild antics of the dancers, who,
still mad with the excitement of the hour, were performing all manner
of weird movements. For a moment, the lad squatted down to watch them.
He had been there but a short time when a voice at his side startled
him, and Tad was about to take a fresh sprint when he realized that it
was not the voice of a savage.

"Young man, you'd better light out of here while you've got the
chance," said the stranger.

Turning sharply, Tad discovered a man, who, like himself, was wrapped
in a gaudy blanket. He was unable to see the man's face, which was
hidden under the Navajo.

"Who are you?" demanded the lad sharply.

"I'm an Indian agent. I only got wind of this proposed fire dance late
this afternoon. These men will all be punished unless they return to
their reservations peaceably. If they do, they will be let go with a
warning."

"Do they know you're here?"

"They? Not much," laughed the agent.

"But supposing they ask you a question?"

"I can talk all the different tribal languages represented here. You'd
better go now. Where are you from?"

Tad explained briefly.

"Well, you have had a narrow escape tonight. If they catch you again
they'll make short work of you."

"They won't catch me. Thank you and good-bye."

"Don't go that way. Strike straight back; then you will have an open
course."

"I'm going after my companion's pony. I think I know where to find
it," answered Tad, wrapping the blanket about himself and stealing
across an open moonlit space without attracting attention.

The Indian agent watched him curiously for a moment; then he rose and
followed quickly after Tad.

"That boy is either a fool-- which I don't think-- or else he doesn't
know the meaning of the word 'fear.'"

Tad did not find Stacy's pony where he had expected. Indian ponies
were tethered all about, singly and in groups, while here and there
one was left to graze where it would.

"What sort of a looking pony is yours?" questioned the agent, coming
up to him.

"A roan."

"Then I think I know where he is. He was not like the horses in this
vicinity, which attracted my attention to him."

The agent led the way, in a roundabout course, to the south side of
the camp, where they began looking over the animals. Occasionally a
redskin would pass them, but no one gave either the slightest heed.

"Here he is," whispered Tad."

"Lead him off. Don't mount just yet."

Tad did as the agent had suggested. But all at once something
happened. Tad's blanket had dropped from his shoulders, revealing him
in his true colors. An Indian uttered a yell. Tad sprang into his
saddle and put spurs to the pony. In a moment more than a dozen
redskins had mounted and started yelling after him, believing he was
stealing a pony.

Tad headed away to the south to give his companions a chance to get
out of the way, and the savages came in full cry after him.

  CHAPTER VII

 FLEEING FROM THE ENEMY

A shrill cry was wafted to the boy.

After a few moments Tad realized that they were no longer on his
trail. He knew the cry had been a signal, warning them to halt. What
he did not know, however, was that the Indian agent had been
responsible for the signal; that he in all probability had saved the
boy's life.

The lad, after satisfying himself that the Indians had abandoned the
chase, at once circled about, coming back to the point where he had
left Chunky and the Mexican. They were both there waiting for him.

"What was all that row?" demanded the fat boy. "We were having a
little horse race, that's all," grinned Tad grimly; "Hurry along,
now."

They reached their own camp in safety an hour later. The two boys had
much to relate, and as the narration proceeded, Professor Zepplin
shook his head disapprovingly.

"Young gentlemen, much as I have enjoyed this summer's outing, it's a
wonder I haven't had nervous prostration long before this. It'll be a
load off my mind if I get you all back in Chillicothe without anything
serious happening to you."

"I think," suggested Tad, "that we had better strike camp at once and
move on. The moon is shining brightly, and Juan ought to have no
trouble in leading the way."

"Yes; that will be an excellent idea. You think they may give as
further trouble?" questioned the Professor.

"They may before morning. They're getting more ugly every minute."

"Everything worth while seems to happen when I am not around,"
protested Ned.

"Good thing you weren't along," replied Stacy. "You'd been scared
stiff. It was no place for tenderfeet."

"You-- you call me a tenderfoot?" snapped Ned, starting for him.

"Stop quarreling, you two!" commanded Tad. "We've had all the fighting
we want for one night. Get busy and help strike this camp. Guess none
of this outfit could truthfully be called a tenderfoot. We've all had
our share of hard knocks, and we'll have enough to look back to and
think about when we get home and have time to go over our experiences
together this winter."

The thought, that at any minute the half-crazed savages might sweep
down on them hastened the preparations for departure. The Pony Rider
Boys never struck camp more quickly than they did in the soft southern
moonlight that night.

All at once Juan set up a wail.

"What is it-- what's the trouble now?" demanded Tad.

"My burro. I go for him."

"You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll walk, or ride a pack animal,"
answered Stacy. "You don't deserve to have a burro."

"Here's his old burro now," called Walter, as a shambling object, much
the worse for wear, came stumbling sleepily into camp.

The boys set up a shout that was quickly checked by Tad.

"If the burro can find the way what do you think an Indian could do,
fellows?"

"That's right," agreed Professor Zepplin. "We had better keep quiet--"

"And hit the trail as fast as possible," added Tad. "Daylight must
find us a long ways from here."

"And ride all night-- is that what you mean?" complained Stacy.

"Yes; it'll give you an appetite for breakfast."

"I've got one already."

"That goes without saying," agreed Ned.

"Come, come, Juan!" urged Tad, observing that the guide was doing
nothing more in the way of work than rubbing the nose of his prodigal
burro. "Aren't you going to help us?"

"Yes; what do you think we're paying you good American dollars for?"
demanded Ned.

"I think some of the Professor's hot drops would be good for what ails
him," observed Stacy Brown. "I'll get the Professor to give him a dose
right now."

"No, no, no! Juan no want fire drops."

"All right; get busy, then."

He did. Not since the last dose of the Professor's medicine had he
shown such activity. Very soon after that the camp had been struck and
the party was ready to take up its journey.

Tad took a last look about, to make sure that nothing had been left.

"I think I'll put out the fire," he said, tossing the bridle reins to
Stacy, while he ran over to the dying camp-fire, whose embers he
kicked apart, stamping them out one by one. "No use leaving a trail
like that for any prowling redskin."

They were quickly under way after that, Juan leading the way without
the least hesitancy. He and the burro worked together like a piece of
automatic machinery.

"He might better walk and lead the burro," said Stacy, who had been
observing their peculiar method of locomotion. "Should think it would
be easier."

The moon was dropping slowly westward, and the party was using it for
a guide, keeping the silver ball sharply to their right. Juan on the
other hand had hitched his lazy chariot to a star.

By this star he was laying his course to the southward. The Pony Rider
Boys enjoyed their moonlight trip immensely; and a gentle breeze from
the desert drifting over them relieved the scorching heat of the late
afternoon and early evening.

"Guess the Indians are not going to bother us," said Walter, riding up
to Tad just before daylight.

"Probably not. They will be in too much trouble with the Government,
after last night's performances, to give much thought to chasing us.
And besides, I don't see why they should wish to do so. Had they been
very anxious to be revenged on us, most likely they would not have
allowed us to get away as they did."

"Was it very terrible, Tad?" asked Walter Perkins.

"What, the dance, or what happened afterwards?" laughed the lad.

"Both?"

"Well, I'm free to confess that neither was exactly pleasant. When
they caught Chunky I thought it was all up with us. Hello. There's Mr.
Daylight."

Glancing to the left the boys saw the sky turning to gray. A buzzard
screamed overhead, laying its course for the mountains where it was
journeying in search of food.

"What's that?" demanded Stacy, awakening from a doze in his saddle.

"Friend of yours with an appetite," grinned Ned.

"I thought it sounded like breakfast call," muttered Stacy, relapsing
into sleep again, his head drooping forward until, a few minutes
later, he was lying over the saddle pommel with arms thrown loosely
about the pony's neck

Ned, observing the lad's position, suddenly conceived a mischievous
plan. Unnoticed by the others, he permitted his own pony to fall back
until he was a short distance behind Stacy. The others were a little
way ahead.

Ned rode slowly alongside his companion, as he passed, bringing the
rowel of his spur sharply against the withers of Chunky's mount.

The effect was instantaneous.

The fat boy's mount, itself half asleep, suddenly humped its back, and
with bunching feet leaped clear of the ground.

"Hello, what's the matter back there?" called Ned, who by this time
was a full rod in advance of his companion.

Stacy did not answer. He was at that moment turning an undignified
somersault in the air, his pony standing meekly, awaiting the next act
in the little drama.

The fat boy landed on the plain in a heap.

"Are you hurt, Chunky?" cried Tad anxiously, slipping from his saddle
and running to his companion.

"I-- I dunno, I-- I fell off, didn't I?"

"You're off, at least," grinned Ned. "What was the matter?"

"I-- I dunno; do you?"

"How should I know? If you will go to sleep an a bucking broncho, you
must expect things to happen."

Stacy, by this time, had scrambled to his feet; after which, he began
a careful inventory of himself to make sure that he was all there. He
grinned sheepishly.

Satisfying himself on this point, Stacy shrugged his shoulders and
walked over to his pony with a suggestion of a limp.

"Now that we have halted we might as well make camp for a few hours,
get breakfast and take a nap," suggested the Professor.

The boys welcomed this proposition gratefully, for they were beginning
to feel the effects of their long night ride, added to which, two of
them had had a series of trying experiences before starting out.

In the meantime, Stacy Brown had been examining his pony with more
than usual care.

Tad observed his action, and wondered at it. A moment later, the fat
boy having moved away; Tad thought he would take a look at the animal.
He was curious to know what Stacy had in mind.

"So that's it, is it?" muttered Tad.

He found the mark of a spur on the pony's withers. While it had not
punctured the skin, the spur had raked the coat, showing that the
rowel had been applied with considerable force.

Tad, with a covert glance about, saw Ned Rector watching him.

"You're the guilty one, eh?" he demanded, walking up to Ned.

"S-h-h-h," cautioned Ned. "He'll be redheaded if he knows I am to
blame for his coming a cropper."

"Chunky's not so slow as you might think. But that wasn't a nice thing
to do. It's all right to play tricks, but I hope you won't be so cruel
as to use a spur on a dumb animal, the way you did, even if he is an
ill-tempered broncho. You might have broken Chunky's neck, too."

Ned's face flushed.

"It was a mean trick, I'll admit. Didn't strike me so at the time.
Shall I ask Chunky's pardon?"

"Do as you think best. I should, were I in your place."

"Then, I will after breakfast."

Ned got busy at once, assisting to cook the morning meal, while Juan
led the ponies out to a patch of grass and staked them down. While the
Pony Rider cook was thus engaged, he felt a tug at his coat sleeve.

Turning sharply, Ned found Stacy at his side. Stacy's face was flushed
and his eyes were snapping.

"What is it, Chunky?"

"Come over here, I want to talk with you."

They stepped off a few paces out of hearing of the others, Tad smiling
to himself as he observed Stacy's act.

"Well, what's the matter, Chunky?"

"I can lick you, Ned Rector!"

"Wha-- what?"

"Said I could lick you. Didn't say I was going to, understand. Just
said I could--"

"Like to see you try it."

"All right; it's a go."

Ere Ned could recover from his surprise, Stacy Brown had launched
himself upon his companion. One of Stacy's arms went about Ned's neck,
one foot kicked a leg from under Ned, and the two lads went down in
the dust together.

It had happened in a twinkling.

"Here, here! What's going on over there?" shouted the Professor,
starting on a run, while the other lads were laughing.

Chunky was sitting on the chest of his fallen adversary, Ned
struggling desperately to throw the lad off.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" crowed Chunky, in imitation of a rooster,
flapping his hands on his thighs, in great good humor with himself.

Professor Zepplin grabbed him by the collar, jerking Stacy Brown from
the fallen Pony Rider Boy.

Ned scrambled to his feet, and, with a sheepish grin on his face,
proceeded to brush the dust from his clothes.

"Downed you, did he?" questioned Tad.

"It wasn't fair. I didn't know he was going to try."

"Neither did the Russians when the Japs sailed into them at Port
Arthur," laughed Walter. "And they got what was coming to them."

"So did I. Chunky, I deserve more than you gave me. If you want to,
beat me up some more."

"Now, isn't that sweet of him?" chortled Stacy. "I fell off my pony,
then I fell on you, and we'll call it quits, eh, Ned?"

Ned put out a hand, which Stacy grasped with mock enthusiasm.

"We sure will."

"I'd like to know what this is all about?" questioned Walter.
"Something's been going on."

"I made his pony throw him over," admitted Ned.

Stacy nodded with emphasis.

"He found it out and jumped on me."

"I'll turn you both over my knee if you try to repeat these
performances," warned the Professor.

Linking arms, Stacy and Ned started for the breakfast table, humming,

"For he's a jolly good fellow,"

and a moment later all four of the lads were standing about the
breakfast table, singing the chorus at the top of their voices.

  CHAPTER VIII

 ASLEEP ON THE SLEEPY GRASS

The slanting rays of the sun got into the eyes of the Pony Rider Boys.
Four arms were thrown over as many pairs of eyes to shut out the
blinding light.

"Ho-ho-hum!" yawned Chunky.

Cocking an impish eye at his companions, he observed that each had
fallen into a deep sleep again.

The fat boy cautiously gathered up a handful of dry sand and hurled it
into the air. A shower of it sprinkled over them, into their eyes and
half-opened mouths.

Three pairs of eyes were opened, then closed again.

Encouraged by his success, Stacy chuckled softly to himself, then
dumped another handful of sand over his companions.

But he was not prepared for what followed.

Three muscular boys hurled themselves upon him. Instantly the peaceful
scene was changed into a pandemonium of yells. Down came the tent
poles, the canvas rising and falling as if imbued with sudden life.

Professor Zepplin, startled by the racket, roused himself and sprang
from his own tent. Observing the erratic actions of the tent in which
the boys had been sleeping, he instantly concluded that something
serious had happened.

"Boys! boys!" he cried, running to the spot, frantically hauling away
the canvas. "What has happened? What has happened?"

They were too busy to answer him. When finally he had uncovered what
lay below, he found his charges literally tied up in a knot, rolling
and tumbling, with Stacy Brown lying flat on his back, each of his
three companions vigorously rubbing handfuls of sand over his face,
down his neck and in the hair of his head.

"I think I'll take a hand in this myself," smiled the Professor. He
ran to his tent, returning quickly. In his hands he carried two pails
of water.

Unluckily for the boys, they had failed to observe what he was doing.
Nor did they understand that they were in danger until the contents of
the two pails had been dashed over them.

There were yells in earnest this time. The water turned the dirt into
mud at once, and their faces were "sights." Stacy's face had been
protected, in a measure, by the other boys who were bending over him
rubbing in the sand.

The unexpected bath put a sudden end to their sport, and they
staggered out shouting for vengeance. They did not even know who had
been the cause of their undoing.

The Professor, as he walked away smiling, had handed the pails to the
grinning Juan with instructions to refill them.

The unfortunate Juan, bearing the pails away, was the first person to
catch the eyes of the lads, as they rubbed the sticky mud out of them.

With a howl they projected themselves upon him. Juan's grin changed
instantly to an expression of great concern. He went down under their
charge, with four boys, instead of three, on top of him.

"Duck him!" shouted some one.

"Yes! Douse him in the spring!" chorused the boys.

Juan cried out for the Professor, but his appeals were in vain.

Shouting in high glee the lads bore him to the spring from which they
got their water. They plumped him in, not any too gently, again and
again.

"Now roll him in the sand," suggested Ned.

They did so.

The wet clothing and body made the sand stick to him until the lazy
Mexican was scarcely recognizable.

At this point Professor Zepplin took a hand. He came bounding to the
scene and began throwing the boys roughly from their unhappy victim.
Perhaps be was not greatly disturbed over the shaking up the guide had
sustained, but of course he confided nothing of this to the boys.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves-- for four of you to pitch on
to one weak Mexican! I'm surprised, young gentlemen."

"But-- but-- he ducked us," protested Ned.

"He did nothing of the sort."

"What-- didn't duck us? Guess I know water when I feel it," objected
Walter.

"You were ducked, all right, but it is I, not Juan, who am responsible
for that."

"You?" questioned the lads all at once.

The Professor nodded, a broad grin on his face.

"But he had the pails."

"I gave them to him, after pouring the water over you. That's what is
known as circumstantial evidence, young gentlemen. Let it be a lesson
to you to be careful how you convict anyone on that kind of evidence."

"Fellows," glowed Chunky, "we've made a mistake. Let's make it right
by ducking the Professor."

The boys looked over Professor Zepplin critically.

"I guess we'd better defer that job till we grow some more," they
decided, with a laugh.

The next fifteen minutes were fully occupied in cleaning up and
putting on their clothes. They were all thoroughly awake now, with
cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling after their violent exercise. The
guide had rather sullenly washed off the wet dust that clung to his
face and hands.

"Never mind the clothes, Juan," advised Ned. "It'll brush off as soon
as it gets dry. We'll take up a contribution to buy you a clothes
brush. Ever see one?"

Juan grinned.

"You promise not to gamble the money away if we give it to you?"

"Si."

"Shell out, fellows. Ten cents apiece. That ought to salve his injured
feelings."

Ned passed the hat, all contributing.

"That makes forty cents. Here, Professor, you haven't put in your ten
yet. It'll take just fifty cents to paste up Juan's injuries."

"That reminds me of a fellow I heard about once," announced Stacy.

"Are you going to tell a story?" questioned Ned.

"If you will keep still long enough," replied Stacy.

"Then me for the bunch grass. It's like going to a funeral to hear
Chunky try to tell a story."

"Let him tell it," shouted the lads.

"Go on, Chunky. Never mind Ned. He'll laugh when he gets back to
Chillicothe," jibed Walter.

"I heard of a fellow once--"

"Yes; you told us that before," jeered Ned.

"Not the one we ducked in the spring, was it?" grinned Tad.

"Who's telling this story?" demanded Stacy belligerently.

"You are, I guess. I won't interrupt again."

"Well, did I say this fellow was a boy?"

"No."

"Well, he was-- he's grown up now. He rushed into a drug store--"

"Was anything chasing him?" asked Ned innocently.

Stacy gave no heed to the interruption.

"And he said to the man in the store, 'Please, sir, some liniment and
some cement?'"

"'What?' asked the clerk all in a muddle. You see, he'd never had a
prescription like that to fill before. It made him tired, 'cause he
thought the kid was making fun of him."

"'What-- what's the trouble? What do you want liniment and cement
for?'

"'Cause,' said the boy to the pill man, ''cause mom hit pop on the
head with a plate.'"

For a moment there was silence, then the boys roared. But Ned never
smiled.

"Laugh, laugh! Why don't you laugh?" urged Walter.

"Laugh? Huh! I laughed myself almost sick over that a long time ago.
Read it in an almanac when I was in short trousers."

"The ponies! The ponies!" cried Juan, rushing up to them, waving his
arms, then running his fingers through his long black hair until it
stood up like the quills of a porcupine.

"What!" queried the Pony Rider Boys in sudden alarm. "What's the
matter with the ponies?"

Juan pointed to the place where the stock had been tethered after they
arrived at the camp.

There was not an animal to be seen anywhere on the plain.

"Gone!" gasped the lads, with sinking hearts.

"No, no, no. There!" stammered the guide.

With one accord the boys ran at top speed to the spot indicated by
Juan.

There, stretched out in the long grass lay bronchos and burros.

"They're dead, the ponies are dead, every one of them!" cried the lads
aghast.

  CHAPTER IX

 THE MIDNIGHT ALARM

"What's this, what's this?" demanded the Professor, striding up.

"Look! Look! The ponies are dead!" exclaimed Ned excitedly.

"What do you suppose could have happened to them?" stammered Walter.

"Is it possible? What's the meaning of this, guide?"

Juan shrugged his shoulders and showed his white teeth.

In the meantime Tad had hurried to his own pony, and was down on his
knees examining it. Placing his hands on the animal's side, he
remained in that position for an instant, then sprang up.

"They're not dead, fellows! They're alive!"

"Asleep," grumbled Ned disgustedly.

"But there's something the matter with them. Something has happened to
the stock," added Tad.

"Only a false alarm," nodded Stacy.

"Think so? Try to wake your pony up," advised Tad.

Stacy had already hurried to his own broncho, and now began tugging at
the bridle rein, with sundry pokes in the animal's ribs.

"I can't. He's in a trance," wailed Stacy, considerably startled.

That expression came nearer to describing the condition of the stock
than any other words could have done.

"Guide, what do you know about this?" questioned the Professor. "Has
some one been tampering with our animals?"

Juan shrugged his shoulders with an air of indifference.

"No bother bronchs."

"Then will you please tell us what is the matter with them?"

"Sleepy grass!"

"Sleepy grass?" chorused the lads.

"Of course they're asleep all right," added Ned. "But whoever heard of
sleepy grass?"

"He means they're sleeping on the grass," Stacy informed them.

"Ah! I begin to understand," nodded the Professor. "I think I know
what the trouble is now. The guide is no doubt right."

The boys gathered around him, all curiosity.

"Tell us about it, Professor. We are very much mystified?" said the
Pony Riders.

"A long time ago I remember to have read, somewhere, of a certain
grass in this region that possessed peculiar narcotic properties--"

"What's narcotic?" interrupted Stacy.

"Something that makes you go to sleep when you can't," explained Tad
Butler, rather ambiguously.

"When eaten by horses or cattle it is said to put them into deep
sleep. The Rockefeller Institute, I believe, is already making an
analytical test of the grass."

"Please talk so I can understand it," begged Stacy.

"Yes; those words make my head ache," scowled Ned. "Even the guide is
making up faces in his effort to understand."

"He does understand. He understands only too well. For many years this
grass has been known. Cows turned out for the day would fail to return
at night--"

"To be milked," interjected Stacy.

"And an investigation would disclose them sleeping in some region,
where the sleepy grass grew

And the fat boy hummed:

"Down where the sleepy grass is growing."

"Travelers who have tied out their horses in patches of the grass for
the night have been unable to continue their journey until the animals
recovered from their strange sleep. Thus the properties of the grass
became known."

"Indians use 'em to tame bad bronchos," the guide informed them.

"Just so."

"But, when will they wake up?" questioned Tad.

"Mebby sun-up to-morrow," answered Juan, glancing up at the sky.

"What, sleep twenty-four hours?" demanded Ned.

"Si."

"Preposterous."

"Then, then, we've got to remain here all the rest of the afternoon
and night-- is that it?" demanded Tad.

"It looks that way."

"And you knew about this stuff, Juan?" questioned Tad.

"Si."

"Well, you're a nice sort of a guide, I must say."

"You ought to be put off the reservation," threatened Stacy, shaking a
menacing fist in front of the white teeth.

In the meantime, Tad had gone over to the animals again, and, taking
them in turn, sought to stir them up. He found he could not do so. The
ponies' heads would drop to the ground after he had lifted and let go
of them, just as if the animals were dead.

"Gives you a creepy feeling, doesn't it?" shivered Walter.

"I should say it does," answered Ned.

"Well, what is it, Chunky?" asked Tad, who observed that Stacy had
something on his mind that he was trying to formulate into words.

"I've got an idea, fellows," he exploded.

"Hold on to it, then. You may never get another," jeered Ned.

"What is it, Master Stacy?" asked the Professor.

"Then-- then-- then-- that's what Juan and his burro have been eating
all the time. I knew there was something the matter with them."

A loud laugh greeted the fat boy's suggestion.

"Guess he's about right, at that," grinned Tad.

"A brilliant thought," agreed the Professor. "Boys, I must have some
of that grass. I shall make some experiments with it."

"Experiment on Chunky," they shouted.

"No; he sleeps quite well enough as it is," smiled the Professor.

"I want some of it too-- no, not to eat," corrected the fat boy. "I'll
feed it to my aunt's cat when I get back; then he won't be running
away from home every night."

"Better unload the rest of the equipment, boys," advised the
Professor. "If we must remain here all night we might as well make the
best of it."

Without their ponies, the lads spent rather a restless afternoon. They
had not fully realized before how much a part of them their horses had
become until they were suddenly deprived of them.

In the meantime, the bronchos slept on undisturbed.

"I've got another idea," shouted Stacy.

"Keep it to yourself," growled Ned. "Your ideas, like your jokes,
graduated a long time ago."

"Is there sleepy grass in the Catskill Mountains!" persisted Stacy.

"We don't know, and we don't--"

"I know there is, and that's what put Rip Van Winkle to sleep for
twenty years," shouted the fat boy in high glee. "See, I know more
than--"

"Yes; you're the original boy wonder. We'll take that for granted,"
nodded Ned Rector.

Tad, however, was not inclined to look upon their enforced delay with
anything like amusement. To him it had its serious side. He had not
forgotten that they had been fleeing from the Indians. When he got an
opportunity to do so, without his companions overhearing, he
approached the Professor.

"I think it would be a good plan for us to have a guard over our camp
to-night."

"On account of?"

"Yes."

"Very well; I think myself that it would be a prudent move. Have Juan
sit up, then."

"No, he's a sleepy bead. Suppose we boys take turns?"

"Very well; arrange it to suit yourselves. I presume we ought to do
something of the sort every night. It might have saved us some trouble
on our Ozark journey had we been that prudent. Arrange it to suit you.
I'll take my turn

"No; we can do it, Professor. You go to bed as usual. We'll draw lots
to see who takes the different watches. With the four of us we'll have
to take only two hours apiece. That won't be bad at all."

The other boys, after the plan had been explained to them, entered
into it enthusiastically. Walter was to take the first trick, Ned the
next, Chunky the third and Tad the fourth.

And they were to take their guns out with them. The Professor agreed
to this, now that they had become more familiar with firearms. As a
matter of fact, all the boys had developed into excellent marksmen,
though Tad was recognized as the best shot of the party.

Professor Zepplin, during the afternoon, gave each of them a lesson in
revolver shooting, using for the purpose, his heavy army revolver.
They did pretty well with this weapon, but, of course, were not nearly
as expert with it as with the rifle.

Evening came and the stock was still sleeping soundly. There was
nothing the boys could do but let them sleep, though the fact of all
the ponies and burros lying about as if dead began to make the Pony
Riders nervous. Night came, and with it semi-darkness, the moon being
overcast with a veil of fleecy white clouds, which cast a grayish film
over the landscape. The lads joked each other about having the
"creeps," but none would admit the charge.

Walter, with rifle slung over his right shoulder, went out on the
first watch with instructions to go at least two hundred yards from
camp and keep walking around the camp in a circle. This would protect
them from surprises on all sides. Ned decided not to retire until he
had taken his guard trick, in view of the fact that he was to go on at
eleven o'clock. But Stacy, proposing to get all the sleep he was
entitled to, turned in early. The rest did not disturb him. The boys
were unusually quiet that evening, perhaps feeling that the
responsibility of the safety of the camp rested wholly upon their
youthful shoulders.

Ned came in at one o'clock, after having taken his turn, unslung his
rifle, drew the cartridges then put them back in the magazine again.

"I might need them before morning," he told himself.

Chunky being sound asleep, Ned grabbed him by a foot giving him a
violent pull.

"Wat'cher want? Get out!" growled the fat boy sleepily.

"Get up and take your watch!" commanded Ned.

"Who's afraid of Indians?" mumbled Stacy.

This time Ned took the lad by the collar, jerked him to his feet and
shook him until Stacy yelled "Ouch!" so loudly as to awaken the entire
camp.

It took some time, however, to get Stacy himself awake sufficiently to
make him understand that he had a duty to perform. Finally, however,
he shouldered his rifle, after surreptitiously helping himself to a
sandwich from the cook tent. Then be marched off, munching the bread
and meat.

"See here," snapped Ned, running after him. "You're not measuring off
your distance. Come back and pace it off."

"How many?"

"Two hundred yards. Stretch your fat legs as far as they'll go, then
you'll have a yard, more or less."

Stacy started all over again, forgot the count, came back, then tried
it again. Even at that he was not sure whether he had gone one hundred
yards or five.

He was awake enough, now, to observe his surroundings. The cool
breezes of the night were tossing the leaves of the cottonwoods near
the water course to the west of them, while here and there in the
foliage might be heard the exultant notes of a mocking bird.

Stacy shivered.

"Guess it's going to freeze to-night," he decided, beginning his
steady tramp about the camp of the Pony Rider Boys.

Muttering to himself, as was his habit when alone, Stacy kept on until
finding himself opposite the ponies, he decided to go over and look at
them. All were asleep. Not one had awakened since going down under the
powerful influence of the "sleepy grass."

"I'd like to eat some of that stuff myself, right now," Chunky decided
out loud. "I'd have a good excuse for going to sleep then. Now I can't
without getting jumped on by the fellows. Wonder what time it is--
only half-past one. Must be something the matter with my watch. I know
I've been out more'n two hours."

This trip he circled out further from the camp, growing a little more
confident because nothing had happened to disturb him.

In the meantime the camp slept in peace-- that is, the lads did until
nearly time for the change of guard. Then the whole party was aroused
with the sudden, startling conviction that something serious had
happened.

All at once the crack of a rifle sounded on the still night air. It
was followed by another shot, and another, until four distinct reports
had rolled across the plains.

In wild disorder the Pony Rider Boys tumbled from their cots, and,
grasping their weapons, leaped from the tents.

"What's the row?" inquired the Professor.

"Wow! Wow! Wow! Yeow!" shrieked a shrill voice to the northward.

"It's Chunky. He's giving the alarm! We're attacked!" cried the lads.

Bang ! Bang!

They saw the flash of the fat boy's weapon before the report reached
their ears.

A moment later the other boys caught sight of Stacy dashing into camp,
hatless, waving his rifle and yelling as if bereft of his senses.

"What is it? What is it?" cried the boys with one voice.

"Indians! Indians! The prairie's full of them!"

  CHAPTER X

 MEETING THE ATTACK

Instantly the camp was thrown into confusion. The lads ran here and
there, not knowing what to do.

"Get behind the ponies! That's the only cover we can find here. Run
for it!"

And run they did, the Professor outdistancing all the rest in his
attempt to secrete himself where the enemy's weapons would not be
likely to reach him.

In a moment more, the camp of the Pony Rider Boys was deserted, and
behind each sleeping pony lay a boy, with rifle barrel poked over the
animal's back, ready to shoot at the first sign of the redskins.
Stacy, in his excitement, had forgotten that not a cartridge was left
in his magazine, and the others were too fully occupied to remember to
tell him.

For all of half an hour did the party lie protected. The boys began to
grow restive. Tad's suspicions were being slowly aroused.

"I'm going to do a little scouting," he told them, slipping from
behind the pony and skulking along back of the tents. The moon was
shining brightly now. He could see a long distance. Not a human being
was in sight.

"I thought so," he muttered, retracing his steps. "See here, Stacy
Brown, what did you see-- what did you shoot at?" he demanded sternly.

"I-- I shot the chute-- I-- I mean I chuted the shot-- I mean--"

"Say, what do you mean?"

"I-- I mean-- say, leggo my neck, will you?" roared Chunky.

"Fellows, he doesn't know what he means."

"Guess he's been feeding on crazy grass out on the prairie," was Ned's
conclusion.

"There isn't an Indian anywhere around here. I know it. They would
have been after us long before this, if there had been."

One by one the boys came from their hiding places, the lazy Mexican
last. Disapproving eyes were turned on Stacy.

"Chunky, you come along and show us where you were when you shot-- did
you shoot at an Indian?" asked Tad.

"Yes, and I-- I-- I shot him."

"Show us. We're all from Chillicothe," demanded Ned.

Stacy, with a show of importance, led the way, keeping a wary eye out
for the enemy. It was noticed, however, that each of the lads held his
rifle ready for business in case there should be an enemy about.

"There! I was standing right over there-- I guess."

"You guess! Don't you know?" questioned the Professor.

"Yes; that's the place."

The lad walked over to the identical spot from which he had first
fired his rifle.

"He was over there and I shot at him, so," said Stacy, leveling the
weapon. "Ye-ow! There he is, now!" shrieked the boy.

Every weapon flashed up to a level with the eyes.

"There is something over there on the ground," decided the Professor.

"Put down your guns so you don't shoot me," said Tad. "I'm going to
find out what it is."

Keeping his own weapon held at "ready," the lad walked boldly over to
where a heap of some sort lay on the plain. It surely had not been
there during the afternoon-- Tad knew that.

He reached it, stooped, peered, then uttered a yell.

"What is it" they cried, hurrying up.

"You've done it now, Chunky Brown. You certainly have gone and done
it."

"What-- what is it?" cried the others in alarm.

"You've shot the lazy Mexican's burro. That's your Indian, Stacy
Brown."

Juan, who had followed them out on the plain, uttered a wail and threw
himself upon the body of his prostrate burro. The animal, it seemed,
had recovered consciousness during the night, and in a half-dazed
condition had wandered out on the plain. Stacy, while crouching down
on the ground, had seen the head and long ears of the burro. He
thought the ears were part of the head dress of a savage and let fly a
volley of bullets at it.

"He-- he isn't dead," shouted the fat boy. "See, I just pinked him in
the ears."

And, surely enough, an examination revealed a hole through each ear.
The holes were so close to the animal's head that it was reasonable to
suppose the shot had stunned him, being already in a weakened
condition from the sleepy grass.

The boys set to work to rouse the burro, which they succeeded in doing
in a short time. Juan, with arm around the lazy beast's neck, led it
back to camp, petting and soothing it with a chattering that they
could not understand.

There was no more sleep in camp that night, though the boys turned in
at the Professor's suggestion. Every little while, laughter would
sound in one of the tents, as the others fell to discussing Stacy's
Indian attack.

The next morning they were overjoyed to find that the ponies had
awakened and were trying to get up.

"Lead them out of that grass, fellows," shouted Tad, the moment he saw
the ponies were coming around. "We don't want them to make another
meal of that stuff"

"Nor take another of Chunky's Rip Van Winkle sleeps," added Ned.

Never having had a like experience, none of the lads knew what to do
with their mounts after getting them sufficiently awake to lead them
to a place of safety. They appealed to Juan for advice, but the lazy
Mexican appeared to know even less than they.

Tad, after studying the question a few moments, decided to give them
water, though sparingly. This they appeared to relish and braced up
quite a little. But the boy would not allow them to graze until nearly
noon, when each one took his pony out, making sure that there was none
of the sleepy grass around. The animals were then permitted to graze.

About the middle of the afternoon Tad decided that all were fit to
continue the journey, and that it would be safe to travel until
sunset. Everyone was glad to get away from the spot where they had had
such unpleasant experiences, and the boys set off, moving slowly, the
stock not yet being in the best of condition.

Late in the afternoon, when they had about decided to make camp, one
of the boys espied an object, something like a quarter of a mile away,
that looked like the roof of a house.

Ned said it couldn't be that, as it appeared to be resting on the
ground. They asked Juan if he knew what it was, and for a wonder he
did. He said it was a dug-out-- a place where a man lived.

"Is he a hermit?" asked Stacy apprehensively, at which there was a
laugh. Stacy had not forgotten his experiences in the cave of the
hermit of the Nevada Desert.

For the next hour, the lads were too busy, pitching tents and
unloading the pack animals, to give further thought to the dug-out or
its occupant; but when, after they had prepared their evening meal,
they saw some one approaching on horseback, they were instantly
curious again.

The newcomer proved to be the owner of the dug-out. He was a tall,
square-jawed man, with a short, cropped iron-gray beard and small
blue, twinkling eyes.

"Will you join us and have some supper?" asked Tad politely, walking
out to greet the stranger.

"Thank you; I will, young man," smiled the stranger.

Tad introduced himself and companions.

"You probably have heard my name before, young men. It is Kris
Kringle; I'm living out here for my health and doing a little ranching
on the side."

Stacy looked his amazement.

"Is-- is he Santa Claus?" he whispered, tugging at Tad's coat sleeve.

"No, young man. I am not related to the gentleman you refer to,"
grinned Mr. Kringle.

There was a general laugh at Stacy's expense.

After supper, the visitor invited all hands to ride over to his
dug-out and spend the evening with him. The boys accepted gladly,
never having seen the inside of a dug-out, and not knowing what one
looked like. Professor Zepplin had taken a sudden liking to the man
with the Christmas name, and soon the two were engaged in earnest
conversation.

The distance being so short, Tad decided that they had better walk,
leaving the ponies in charge of Juan so they might get a full night's
rest. Then all hands set out for the dug-out.

A short flight of steps led down into the place, the roof of which was
raised just far enough above the ground to permit of two narrow
windows on each side and at the rear end.

The room in which they found themselves, proved to be a combination
kitchen and dining room. Its neatness and orderliness impressed them
at once.

"And here," said Kris Kringle, "is what I call my den," throwing open
a door leading into a rear room and lighting a hanging oil lamp.

The Pony Rider Boys uttered an exclamation of surprised delight.

On a hardwood floor lay a profusion of brightly colored Navajo rugs,
the walls being hung with others of exquisite workmanship and
coloring, interspersed with weapons and trophies of the chase, while
in other parts of the room were rare specimens of pottery from ancient
adobe houses of the Pueblos.

At the far end of the room was a great fire-place. Book cases,
home-made, stood about the room, full of books. The Professor
realized, at once, that they were in the home of a student and a
collector.

"This is indeed an oasis in the desert," he glowed. "I shall be loath
to leave here."

"Then don't," smiled Mr. Kringle. "I'm sure I am glad enough to have
company. Seldom ever see anyone here, except now and then a roving
band of Indians."

"Indians!" exclaimed Tad. "Do you have any trouble with them?"

"Well, they know better than to bother with me much. We have had an
occasional argument," said their host, his jaws setting almost
stubbornly for the instant. "Most of the tribes in the state are
peaceful, though the Apaches are as bad as ever. They behave
themselves because they have to, not because they wish to do so."

"I saw their fire dance the other night," began Tad.

"What?" demanded Mr. Kringle.

"Fire dance."

"Tell me about it?"

Tad did so, the host listening with grave face until the recital was
ended.

He shook his head disapprovingly.

"And this-- this Indian that you knocked down-- was he an Apache?"

"I don't know. I think so, though. He had on a peculiar head dress

"That was one of them," interrupted Mr. Kringle, with emphasis. "And
I'll wager you haven't heard the last of him yet. That's an insult
which the Apache brave will harbor under his copper skin forever.
He'll wait for years, but he'll get even if he can."

The faces of the Pony Rider Boys were grave.

"Have you a reliable guide?"

"Far from it," answered the Professor. "If I knew where I could get
another, I'd pack him off without ceremony.

Kris Kringle was silent for a moment.

"I need a little change of scene," he smiled. "How would you like to
have me take the trail with you for a week or so?"

"Would you?" glowed the Professor, half rising from his chair.

"I think I might."

"Hurrah!" cried the Pony Riders enthusiastically. "That will be fine."

"Of course, you understand that I expect no pay. I am going because I
happen to take a notion to do so. Perhaps I'll be able to serve you at
the same time."

The Professor grasped Mr. Kringle by the hand impulsively.

"I'll send that lazy Juan on his way this very night--"

"Let me do it," interposed Stacy, with flushing face. "I'll do it
right, Professor. But I'll put on my pair of heavy boots first, so
it'll hurt him more."

The boys shouted with laughter, while the new guide's eyes twinkled
merrily.

"I think, perhaps, the young man might do it even more effectively
than you or I," he said. "Have you weapons, Professor?"

"Rifles."

"That's good. We may need them."

"Then you think?"

"One can never tell."

  CHAPTER XI

 RIDING WITH KRIS KRINGLE

A slender ribbon of dust unrolling across the plain far to the
northward marked the receding trail of Juan and his lazy burro. They
had given him a week's extra pay and sent him on his way.

The burro was making for home, aided by the busy feet of its master,
while Stacy Brown, shading his eyes with one hand, was watching the
progress of the guide, whom he had just sent adrift.

"Well, he's gone," grinned Stacy, turning to his companions, who were
busy striking camp.

"And a good riddance," nodded Tad.

"He'll probably join the Indians and tell them where we are,"
suggested Walter.

"I hadn't thought of that," replied Tad. "Still, if they wish to find
us they know how without Juan's telling them."

"How?"

"They can follow a trail with their eyes shut," said Ned.

"That's right. They do not need to be told," muttered Tad.

Everything being in readiness, the boys started with their outfit for
the dug-out, where they were to be joined by Kris Kringle. They felt a
real relief to know that they were to have with them a strong man on
whom they were sure they could rely to do the right thing under all
circumstances. Tad, however, believed that Mr. Kringle had decided to
join them, fearing they would be attacked by the Apaches and come to
serious harm. Yet he hardly thought the redskins would dare to follow
them, after the latter had once gotten over the frenzy of their fire
dance. By that time the Indian agents would have rounded them all up
on the reservations, where the Indians would be able to do no more
harm for a while.

After picking up the new guide the start was made. The party had water
in plenty in the water-bags, so that no effort was made to pick up a
water hole when they made camp late in the afternoon. The guide had
brought in his pack a tough old sage hen, at which the lads were
inclined to jeer when he announced his intention of cooking it for
their supper.

"You'll change your mind when you taste it, young gentlemen. It
depends upon the cooking entirely. A sage hen may be a delicious
morsel, or it may not," answered Mr. Kringle, with a grin.

They were encamped near a succession of low-lying buttes, and to while
away the time until the supper hour, the boys strolled away singly to
stretch their legs on the plain after the long day's ride in the hot
sun.

When they returned an hour or so later, Stacy, they observed, was
swinging a curious forked stick that he had picked up somewhere a few
moments ago.

"What you got there?" questioned Ned.

"Don't know. Picked it up on the plain. Such a funny looking thing,
that I brought it along."

"Let me see it," asked Mr. Kringle.

Stacy handed it to him.

"This," said the guide, turning the stick over in his hand, "is a
divining rod."

"Divining rod?" demanded Stacy, pressing forward.

"Yes."

"Never heard of it. Is it good to eat?"

"Looks to me like a wish bone," interjected Ned. "Do you eat wish
bones, Chunky?"

"Might, if I were hungry enough."

"A divining rod is used to locate springs. Some users of it have been
very successful. I couldn't find a lake with it, even if I fell in
first."

"Indeed," marveled the Professor. "I have heard of the remarkable work
of divining rods. What Rind of wood is it?"

"This is hazel wood. Oak, elm, ash or privet also are used, but hazel
is preferred in this country."

"Then-- then we won't have to go dry any more-- I can find water with
this when I'm dry?" questioned Stacy.

"You might; then again you might not."

"Better take it away from him," suggested Ned. "He might find a
spring. If he did he'd be sure to fall in and drown."

The stick, which was shaped like the letter Y, was an object of great
interest to the Pony Rider Boys. One by one they took it out on the
plain, in an effort to locate some water. The guide instructed them to
hold the Y with the bottom up, one prong in each hand and to walk
slowly.

But, try as they would, they were able to get no results.

"The thing's a fraud!" exclaimed Ned disgustedly, throwing the
divining rod away.

Stacy picked it up.

"I know why it doesn't work," he said.

"Why?" demanded the other boys.

"'Cause-- 'cause there isn't any water to make it work," he replied
wisely.

The boys groaned.

Shortly after returning to camp, they found the fat boy standing over
a pail of water holding the stick above it.

He was talking to the stick confidentially, urging it to "do
something," to the intense amusement of the whole outfit.

"Now, where's your theory?" questioned the Professor.

"Why, it doesn't have to work, does it? Don't we know there's water
here? If we didn't the stick would tell us, maybe. Take my word for
it, this outfit won't have to go dry after this. Stacy Brown and his
magic wand will find all the water needed," continued the fat boy
proudly.

"Your logic is good, at any rate, even if the rod doesn't work at
command," laughed the Professor.

Supper was a jolly affair, for everyone was in high spirits. The sage
hen, contrary to general expectation, was found to be delicious.
Chunky begged for the wish bone and got it. He said he'd use it for a
divining rod when he wanted to find a little spring.

"Mr. Kringle, I am commissioned by the fellows to ask you a question,"
announced Tad, after the meal had been in progress for a time.

"Ask it," smiled the guide.

"We thought we'd like to call you Santa Claus, seeing you've brought
us so much cheer. Then again, it's your name you know. Kris Kringle is
Santa Claus."

"Oh, well, call me what you please, young men."

From that moment on, Kris Kringle was Santa Claus to the Pony Rider
Boys.

They had now come to a rolling country, with here and there high
buttes, followed by large areas of bottom lands which were covered
with rank growths of bunch grass. Traveling was more difficult than it
had been, and water more scarce.

It was on the second day out, after they had been skirmishing for
water in every direction, that the lads heard the familiar yell from
Chunky.

"There goes the trouble maker," cried Ned. "He's at it again."

The guide bounded up, starting on a run for the spot where Chunky's
wail had been heard. The others were not far behind.

They saw the red, perspiring face of the fat boy above a clump of
grass, his yells for help continuing, unabated.

"What is it?" shouted the guide.

"I've got it, Santa Claus! I've got it!"

"Got what?" roared the Professor.

"The stick!-- I mean it's got me. Help! Help!"

Stacy was wrestling about as if engaged in combat with some enemy.
They could not imagine what had gone wrong-- what had caused his
sudden cries of alarm.

"It's the divining rod!" called the guide.

"He's found water!" shouted the boys.

"I've got it! I've got it! Come help me hold it. The thing's jerking
my arms off."

To the amazement of the Pony Rider Boys, the forked stick in the hands
of the fat boy was performing some strange antics. Breathing hard, he
would force it up until it was nearly upright, when all at once the
point of the triangle would suddenly swerve downward, bending the rod
almost to the breaking point.

"See it? See it?"

"Most remarkable," breathed Professor Zepplin.

"Yes, there can be no doubt about it," nodded the guide.

"He's bluffing," disagreed Ned.

"Doesn't look to me as if he were," returned Tad.

"Take hold with me here, if you don't believe me," cried Stacy. "No,
not on the stick, take hold of my wrists."

Ned promptly accepted the invitation.

Instantly the tug of the divining rod was felt by the new hands.

Ned let go quickly.

"Ugh! The thing gives me the creeps."

"Let me try it, Master Stacy," said Professor Zepplin.

"I can't let go of it," wailed Chunky.

"Step off a piece," directed the guide.

Stacy did so, whereupon the divining rod immediately ceased its
peculiar actions.

The Professor took hold of it, but the rod refused to work for him.

"Let Santa Claus try it," suggested Ned.

The guide did so, but with no more success than the Professor had had.

"I told you it wouldn't work for me," Mr. Kringle grinned. "Here,
Master Tad, you try it."

Tad, with the rod grasped firmly in his hands, walked back and forth
three times without result. On the fourth attempt, however, the stick
suddenly bent nearly double.

All were amazed.

"Why were we unable to get results, Mr. Kringle?" questioned the
Professor.

"According to some French writers as much depends upon the man as on
the divining rod. Where one succeeds another fails absolutely.
Supposing the others take a try?"

Walter and Ned did so, but neither could get the rod to move for him.

"I guess Chunky is the champion water-finder," laughed Ned.

"Would it not be a good idea to find out whether or not there is water
here?" asked the Professor.

"Yes," agreed the guide. "It may be so far down that we cannot reach
it, however. You know in some parts of this region they are locating
water with the rod and sinking artesian wells."

"Why-- why didn't we think to bring some down with us?" demanded
Chunky. "Can't we get any in some of the towns down here?"

"Some what?" questioned the guide.

"Artesian wells."

A roar greeted the fat boy's question.

"Bring down a load of artesian wells!" jeered Ned.

"An artesian well, my boy, is nothing more than a hole in the ground,"
the guide informed him, much to Chunky's chagrin.

The spot where the divining rod had so suddenly gotten busy was about
midway of an old water course, covered with a thick growth of bunch
grass.

"Get some tools, boys," directed the Professor.

Tad ran back to camp, which lay some distance to the east of where
they were gathered. Searching out a pick and two shovels, he leaped on
his pony, dashing back to the arroyo.

"That was quickly done," smiled Santa Claus. "Are all of you lads as
quick on an errand as that?"

"Only Chunky," answered Ned solemnly.

The guide began to dig, in which effort he was joined by Stacy Brown,
who, with a shovel, caved in about as much dirt as he threw out.

"Here, give me that shovel," commanded Ned. "You'll fill up the bole
before we get it dug."

Tad, having tethered his pony, took the extra shovel and went to work.

"Guess it's a false alarm," decided Ned, after they were up to their
shoulders in the hole.

"Don't be too sure. The ground is quite damp here. Try your rod, young
man."

"Chunky held the divining rod over the excavation, whereupon it drew
down with even greater force than before.

"Dig," directed the guide.

They did so with a will.

"Here's water!" shouted Kris Kringle.

They crowded about the hole, amazement written on every face.

A fresh, cool stream bubbled up into the hole, causing those in the
pit to scramble out hastily.

"Some of you boys run back to camp and fetch pails and water-bags,"
directed the guide.

"I'll go. I've got the pony here," spoke up Tad.

"No; I want you to do something else for me."

"We'll all go," offered Walter. The three lads started on a run,
Chunky holding his precious divining rod tightly clasped in both
hands.

"What is it you wish?" questioned Tad.

"I wish you would ride over toward that small butte and cut a load of
brush. Want to rip-rap the outer edge of this water hole, so the bank
will not cave in and undo all our work! Have you a hatchet?"

"Yes, in my saddlebags."

"Good. Hurry, please."

Tad leaped into the saddle, and putting spurs to his broncho, tore
through the high bunch grass, above which only his head was now
observable. In a short time he was back with the green stuff piled
high on the saddle in front of him, with a large bundle tied to the
cantle of the saddle behind.

Unloading this, Butler started back at a gallop for more. When there
was work to be done, Tad Butler was happy. Activity to him was a tonic
that spurred him on to ever greater efforts.

This time he found himself obliged to climb higher up the butte in
order to get branches of available size. These he cut and threw down.
After having procured what he thought would be all he could carry the
lad scrambled down, and, dropping on his knees began tying them into
bundles. The heat was sweltering, and occasionally be paused to wipe
away the perspiration.

"I smell smoke," sniffed Tad. "I wonder where it comes from?"

The odor grew stronger, but so interested was he in his labor that he
did not at once understand the significance of his discovery.

"W-h-o-o-e-e!"

It was a long-drawn, warning shout.

"It's a signal!" exclaimed the lad, straightening up. "I wonder what's
the matter?"

As he looked toward the camp a great wall of flame seemed to leap from
the ground between him and his companions. There it poised for one
brief instant, then, with a roar swooped down into the tall bunch
grass, rushing roaring and crackling toward him.

For an instant he stood unbelieving, then the truth dawned upon him.

"The prairie's on fire!" cried Tad.

  CHAPTER XII

 THE DASH FOR LIFE

The shouts of the Pony Rider Boys and of the guide were swallowed up
in the roar of the flames."

"They'll be burned alive!" whispered the lad.

Then, all at once he realized that he himself was in dire peril.

"I'll have to go the other way and be quick about it at that," he
decided, making a dash for the pony, that already was whinnying with
fear and tugging at its tether.

Tad did not wait to untie the stake rope. With a sweep of his knife he
severed it and vaulted into the saddle.

Whirling the animal about h