A JOYFUL REUNION
"Howdy, fellows," greeted Tad laughingly as he leaped from his pony,
followed by Walter who, less gracefully, fell off. "Didn't look for
me just yet, did you?"
Professor Zepplin had hurried forward; his face was wreathed in
smiles as he grasped the hand of the Pony Rider Boy.
"This is Mr. Vaughn, our guide," announced the Professor.
"I am very glad to know you, sir," answered Tad, smiling up into the
strong face of Cale Vaughn, winning that gentleman's regard on the
instant.
"And, ahem! This is Mr. Stacy Brown, the handy man," announced
Chunky, pushing his way to the front and extending a hand to Tad.
"Hello, Chunky. Not growing thin, are you?"
"Be kind enough not to call attention to my superfluities. I am
somewhat sensitive, you know."
"I beg your pardon," answered Tad gravely.
Just then Ned Rector came running in, puffing and blowing.
"Is that the way you treat me after I have run a mile more or less to
welcome you?" demanded Ned, as Tad gripped him in a bear-like
embrace.
"My, you're wet!" laughed Tad, holding Rector off to look at him.
"Yes, he's been in bathing with his clothes on," observed the fat boy
solemnly. "Something ought to be done to break him of such slovenly
habits. But how do you happen to be here, if I may be so bold as to
inquire?"
"Don't you know?" questioned Tad, glancing at the smiling faces
around him.
Stacy shook his head.
"Come over and sit down, and I'll tell you about it. By the way,
have you folks anything to eat? I'm starving."
"You're not getting Chunky's disease, are you?" sneered Ned, trying
to appear greatly displeased, but not making much of a success of
the attempt.
"I am afraid I am, boys. Well, Mr. and Mrs. Perkins fixed it up to
have Mother go with them to the mountains. You see, Mrs. Perkins is
rather delicate and Mr. Perkins wanted her to go to the mountains,
where he had taken a cottage for the summer. Of course he couldn't
be with her all the time, having to attend to his business at home,
so he asked Mother to go along for company. In fact, I guess he
insisted. Mother agreed. I think she did so that I might join you
boys. I came with them as far as Utica, N.Y. You see, they went to
the Adirondacks. I had to come on after they had made those plans.
I think Mr. Perkins fixed it up on purpose, so we would all be
satisfied. I knew Mother would be in good hands and I knew she would
feel better about it if I came on and joined you."
"But how did you find us?" urged Rector.
"Why, they told me, at the village, that you were camping out here.
They gave me directions so I couldn't miss you."
"Hm-m-m!" mused the fat boy, screwing up his features and regarding
Tad narrowly. "How did you know we were in this part of the country?"
"Everybody in New England knows that," laughed Tad.
"Yes, they know Chunky is here," agreed Ned.
"It strikes me that there is a gentleman of color in the woodpile,"
observed Stacy. "In fact, I might say there are several of them
hidden in the stove wood."
"Yes, I reckon you're right. And you didn't know a thing about it?"
chuckled Butler.
Stacy shook his head.
"But we may have had our suspicions--our suspicions, you understand?"
said the fat boy. "Still, there are several things that need
explanation."
"Professor, you knew about this all the time, didn't you?" demanded
Ned.
The Professor stroked his beard.
"I see no harm in saying that I did."
"He was in the conspiracy, boys, but I didn't know a thing about it
until the day before I left Chillicothe," said Tad.
"Then Professor Zepplin knew about it before we left home, eh?"
questioned Stacy.
"I guess he did," admitted Walter.
Stacy fixed a stern gaze on the smiling Walter Perkins.
"You in this thing, too, Walt?" he demanded.
"I plead guilty," answered Perkins, flushing violently.
"Well, I call it a shame to deceive innocent boys like that. But,
sir," added Chunky, turning pompously to Tad Butler, "I welcome you
in the name of the Pony Rider Boys. We will now kill the fatted
calf."
"In other words, Stacy Brown," interjected Rector. "It's a good thing
you are here, Tad. There is no holding Chunky. Why, you have no
idea how he is acting. Am I right, Professor?"
"I will admit that Stacy is at times inclined to be rude," nodded
Professor Zepplin.
"Everyone is against me," growled Stacy. "Everything I do is the
wrong thing and nothing that I do is right. You fellows don't stop
to think what tame affairs these trips would be without somebody to
poke fun at. I am the mark for everyone. The trouble with me is
that I am not valued at my true worth. Mr. Vaughn, have you learned
to know me well enough to realize how valuable I am to this company?"
"I'll confess that I should be lonesome without you," agreed the
guide with a nod.
"There, I'm glad someone in this outfit has the sense to recognize a
good thing when he sees it. How about a fire for cooking?"
"I will build the fire," cried Tad, proceeding at once to heap the
sticks into a little pyramid under the crane that Cale had arranged.
Butler eyed the contrivance critically. "It is plain to be seen that
someone has been camping before. That is an excellent idea."
Tad soon had a blazing fire going. In the meantime, Stacy had
hastened to fill the kettle, while Vaughn got out the edibles, the
others busying themselves in setting the table, which in this
instance was a blanket stretched over four stakes driven into the
ground, with saplings for stringers, and over which the blanket
was stretched taut.
None of these arrangements escaped the keen eyes of Tad Butler. Soon
the odor of boiling coffee and frying bacon was in the air, and
though the campers had had their breakfast only an hour or so before,
each began to sniff the air appreciatively.
"Smells good, doesn't it?" grinned Stacy. "Sort of gives me an
appetite, too."
"I don't think you need an odor to give you an appetite, unless you
have changed a great deal since I saw you last," answered Tad Butler.
All were soon gathered about the table, and though the forenoon was
not yet half ended, each seemed to possess a midday appetite. Tad
told them about the trip from Chillicothe, which had been uneventful,
then made them tell him all about their experiences since they left
home. Cale Vaughn found so much amusement in the conversation that
every little while he forgot to eat. Stacy always reminded him that
he wasn't doing his duty by the food.
"Do we move today?" asked Tad.
"We are waiting for the Indian," said the guide.
"The who?" wondered Tad.
"Oh, a fellow with two handles to his name, but without any name to
nail them to," answered Stacy.
"He means Charlie John," explained Ned.
"Charlie John? That _is_ a funny name," smiled Butler.
"It might be handy, too. In case you woke up and wanted to say
something to him in a hurry, it wouldn't make any difference whether
you called him John Charlie or Charlie John or just plain Charlie or
just plain John," said Chunky. "Handy kind of name, isn't it?"
Tad agreed that it was, especially for lazy folks, to which Ned and
Walter also agreed most heartily.
"When is this man with the double-back-action name expected?" asked
Tad.
"Oh, today sometime," replied Vaughn. "Today with Charlie means any
time between midnight last night and midnight tonight, so we might as
well make up our minds to remain here until tomorrow. We shall get
an early start in the morning and make a good bit of a hike tomorrow,
and we'll be in the woods some time tomorrow."
"Over yonder?" asked Tad, nodding toward the dark blue ridge on the
horizon. "How far it it?"
"About twenty miles as the crow flies."
"Or the hawk flops," added the fat boy, who, by this time, under the
influence of the hot sun and the hotter victuals, was perspiring
freely.
Tad regarded Stacy quizzically.
"Chunky, you look like a steamed pudding," he laughed.
"Yes, an underdone one," suggested Ned.
"That may be," agreed Stacy solemnly. "But I can keep on baking till
I am done, while you are so tough on the outside that the inside of
you never would get done."
"Ned, I guess that one reached the spot," chuckled Walter.
"Never touched me," grinned Rector.
"There! What did I tell you?" demanded Stacy triumphantly. "His
outside shell is so thick that you couldn't break through it with a
mall."
"Did Father send any word to me?" asked Walter, for the time being
putting an end to the argument.
"Oh, yes, I forgot. I have a letter for you in my pocket," replied
Tad, flushing. "How careless of me."
"Had I done that you fellows wouldn't have stopped talking about it
for a month," complained Stacy.
Walter Perkins was too deeply engrossed in his letter to give heed,
but after he had read it through he read the letter aloud to his
companions.
"You haven't any letters for me secreted about your person, have you,
Tad?" questioned Chunky humbly.
"No; that is the only letter I have, or had," answered Tad.
"Chunky, perhaps you will get yours in the next mail," suggested Ned.
"Yes; I expect that it will come by airplane route, but I hope it
isn't a package. It might hit someone when it fell."
"You wouldn't object were it a package of food, would you?"
questioned Tad teasingly.
"Well, that might make a difference," agreed Stacy. "In that event
perhaps I could stand having it land on my head."
Tad, during the afternoon, got better acquainted with Cale Vaughn.
He found the guide to be a well-read and intelligent man, different
from the type of guide that the Pony Rider Boys had known on their
previous summer outings in the saddle. Cale was less taciturn, too,
and seemed to take the keenest possible delight in the jokes and
pranks of the boys that he was to guide through the Maine wilderness.
Vaughn was not much of a horseman, and he had brought a pony along,
not because he expected to ride much, but because he needed something
to carry his pack. When Cale was looking over Tad's pony, "Silver
Face," the boy discovered that the man knew little about horses,
though Tad was too polite to mention the fact.
That evening they gathered about the campfire with all hands relating
experiences. Stacy Brown recounted, for Cale's benefit, how he had
hunted lion in the Grand Canyon; how he had fought a battle
single-handed and won. The fat boy went over the story three times,
each time enlarging upon it, Cale observing him with a good-natured
smile, but making no comment. He was forming his estimate of Stacy,
though Brown was unaware of the fact.
It was late when they finally turned in, and still no Charlie John
had arrived. Cale sat up to wait for him, and the Indian came in
with his pack at five minutes before midnight.
"Where put um?" asked the half-breed.
"Over there," answered Cale carelessly, with a wave of the hand.
The Indian's pack weighed some seventy-five pounds. It looked like a
laundry bag. The instant he flung the pack down there came a yell, a
series of wild howls that brought every member of the camp to his
feet.
Groans and moans from under the Indian's pack attracted their
attention to that point. At the first yell, Cale sprang forward
and began pulling off the pack.
"You lummox!" he fumed, giving the Indian a menacing glance.