YAWNS PROVE DISASTROUS
"Yah-h-h hum." Stacy Brown yawned loudly. "Yah-hum," breathed
Walter Perkins, half rousing himself from his nap.
"Ho-ho-hum," added the deep bass voice of Professor Zepplin.
"Yah--see here, stop that!" commanded Ned Rector, suddenly raising
himself to a sitting posture. "You've done nothing but stretch your
mouth in yawns ever since we reached Montana. See, you've waked up
the whole camp."
"Ho-hum," said Chunky.
"Say, what ails you?" demanded Tad, putting down by supreme force of
will, his own inclination to yawn.
"I--I guess--yah--it must be the--the mountain air. Yah-hum," yawned
the fat boy.
Pink-eye coughed off among the cedars.
"What means all this disturbance, young gentlemen?" demanded the
Professor.
"It's Chunky and the bronchos yawning," Ned Rector informed him.
"So did you," observed Stacy Brown.
"Did what?"
"Yawned. See, see! Your mouth's open now. You're going to yawn this
very second You----"
His taunts were lost in the shouts of the Pony Riders. Ned Rector's
face was set determinedly, a vacant expression having taken full
possession of his eyes.
"He is going to yawn," announced Walter solemnly. "Stake down the
camp."
In spite of his determination not to yield to the impulse of the
moment, Ned's mouth slowly opened to its extreme capacity,
accompanied by a deep intake of breath.
"Y-a-h-h-h-hum!" he exploded.
"Got you that time. He--he----" Walter's words died away in a
long-drawn, gaping yawn.
Ned waited to hear no more. With a yell he projected himself at the
fat boy. Stacy, however, observing the move, had quickly rolled to
one side. Ned struck the ground heavily.
Stacy was rolling over and over now as if his very life depended
upon getting away. He could not spare the time to get up and run, so
he continued to roll over and over, making no mean progress at that.
"Go it, Chunky!" shouted Walter in high glee.
The scene, dimly lighted by the smouldering camp-fire, was so
ludicrous as to send the boys into shouts of laughter. All were
thoroughly awake now. They had made camp at sunset on the banks of
the East Fork, of what was known as Fennell's Creek, a broad, deep
stream which, joining its companion fork some ten miles further
down, flowed into the clear waters of the Yellowstone. Here they had
cooked their supper after many attempts, made with varying degrees
of success and much laughter. Later they had rolled themselves into
their blankets and gone to sleep.
They had been awakened by Stacy Brown's yawns. In a moment each had
taken his turn at yawning, but all took the interruption
good-naturedly, save Ned Rector. By this time he had grown very much
excited. No sooner would he pounce upon the spot where Stacy
appeared to be, than the fat boy by a few swift rolls would propel
himself well beyond the reach of his irate companion.
"It'll be the worse for you when I do get you," cried Ned.
At that moment Ned tripped over a limb, and, plunging headlong,
measured his length on the ground.
The sympathy of the camp was with the rolling Chunky.
"Get a net," shouted Walter.
"No, rope him, Ned. That's the only way you ever will catch him,"
jeered Tad.
Both boys were dancing about their companions, shivering in their
pajamas and uttering shouts of glee.
"He's a regular high roller," said Tad.
"No, not a high roller," answered Walter.
"Here, here!" admonished the Professor. "Stop this nonsense. I
want to go to sleep. I don't mind you young gentlemen enjoying
yourselves, but midnight is rather late for such pranks, it strikes
me. Into your blankets, every one of you."
It was doubtful that the boys even heard his voice. If they did,
they failed entirely to catch the meaning of his words, so absorbed
were they in the mad scramble of Ned Rector and Stacy Brown.
"Roll, Chunky, roll!" urged Walter, jumping up and down in his bare
feet.
"Good thing he's fat. If he weren't so round he could never do it,"
mocked Tad. "I'll bet he was a fast creeper when he was a baby."
The ponies, disturbed by the noise and excitement, had scrambled to
their feet and were moving about restlessly in the bushes where they
were tethered.
"Master Stacy, you will get up at once!" commanded the Professor
sternly.
"I can't," wailed the fat boy.
"Then I'll help you," decided the Professor firmly, striding toward
the spot where he had last heard the lad's voice.
"Look out for the river!" warned Tad, as the thought of what was
below the boy suddenly occurred to him.
"Help, help! I'm rolling in," cried Stacy.
"There he goes, down the bank! Grab him!" shouted Walter.
"Where?" demanded Ned, not fully grasping the import of the warning.
"There, there! Don't you see him? Right in front of you. He's going
to fall into the river!"
Stacy had forgotten that they were encamped on the east shore of the
fork and that the broad stream was flowing rapidly along just below
him. The banks at that point were high and precipitous, the water
almost icy cold, being fresh from the clear mountain streams a few
miles above. In spots it was deep and treacherous.
Frantically grasping at weeds and slender sprouts, as he rolled down
the almost perpendicular bluff, Stacy yelled lustily for help. From
the soft, sandy soil the weeds came away in his hands, without in
the slightest degree checking his progress.
Tad realized the danger perhaps more fully than did the others. In
the darkness the lad might slip into one of the treacherous river
pockets and drown before they could reach him.
Grasping his rope which lay beside his cot. Tad sprang to the top of
the bluff, swinging the loop of his lariat above his head as he ran.
He could faintly make out the figure of his companion rolling down
the steep bank.
"Hold up your hand so I can drop the rope over you," shouted Tad, at
the same time making a skillful cast.
His aim was true. The rawhide reached the mark. Chunky, however,
feeling it slap him smartly on the cheek, brushed the rope aside in
his excitement, not realizing what it was that had struck him.
"Grab it!" roared Tad, observing that he had failed to rope the lad.
With a mighty splash, Stacy Brown plunged into the stream broadside
on.
"He's in! I heard him strike!" cried Walter.
With a warning cry to the others to bring lights, Tad, without an
instant's hesitation, leaped over the bluff and went shooting down
it in a sitting posture.
"Tad's gone in, too," shouted Walter excitedly, as their ears caught
a second splash. It was more clean cut than had been Stacy's dive,
and might have passed unnoticed had they not known the meaning of
the sound.
Ned Rector stood as if dazed. He knew that somehow he had
thoughtlessly plunged his companions into dire peril.
"Wha--what is it?" he stammered.
"They're in the river! Don't you understand?" answered Walter
sharply, moving forward as if to follow over the bank in an effort
to rescue his companion.
"Keep back!" commanded the Professor. "You'll all drown if you go
over that bank."
The Professor, with more presence of mind than the others, had
sprung up and rushed for the camp-fire, from which he snatched a
burning ember.
At any other time the sight of his long, gaunt figure, clad in a
full suit of pink pajamas, dashing madly about the camp, would have
excited the lads to uproarious merriment. But laughter was far from
their thoughts at that moment.
"Use your eyes! Do you see him?" demanded Professor Zepplin, peering
down anxiously into the shadows.
"No. Oh, Tad!" shouted Ned. There was no reply to the boy's
hail. "Thaddeus!" roared the Professor. Still no answer.
Down the stream a short distance they could hear the water roaring
over the rocks, from where it dropped some twenty feet and continued
on its course. The falls there were known as Buttermilk Falls,
because of the churning the water received in its lively drop, and
more than one mountaineer had been swept over them to his death in
times of high water. Between the camp and these falls there was a
sharp bend in the river, and ere the boys had recovered from their
surprise, their companions undoubtedly had been swept around the
bend and on beyond their sight.
"Do--do you--do you think----" stammered Walter.
"They have gone down stream," answered the Professor shortly. "Run
for it, boys! Run as you never ran before!"
Ned dived for the thicket where the ponies were tethered. It was the
work of a moment only to release Bad-eye. Without waiting to saddle
him, Ned threw himself upon the surprised animal's back, and with a
wild yell sent the broncho plunging through the camp.
He was nearly unseated when Bad-eye suddenly veered to avoid
stepping into the camp-fire, which Ned Rector in his haste had
forgotten.
The lad gripped the pony's mane and hung on desperately until he
finally succeeded in righting himself, all the while kicking the
pony's sides with his bare feet to urge him on faster.
They were out of the camp, tearing through the thicket before the
Professor and Walter had even gotten beyond the glow of the
fire. Ned was obliged to make a wide detour instead of taking a
short cut across the bend made by the river. There were rocks in his
way, so that a few moments of valuable time were lost before he
reached the stream on the other side of the obstruction.
"Come, we must run," urged the Professor. "I'm afraid both of them
may have gone over the falls."
"Oh, I hope he is not too late!" answered Walter, with a half sob,
as they ran regardless of the fact that sharp sticks and jagged
stones were cruelly cutting into their feet.