SURPRISED BY AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
"I'm sorry I was to blame for your going into the creek," apologized
Ned Rector, bending over the shivering Stacy.
"I fell in, didn't I?" grinned the fat boy.
"No, you rolled in. My, but that water was cold!"
"B-r-r-r!" shivered Stacy, as the recollection of his icy bath came
back to him. "Di--did you win the race?"
"Tad won it. I've got to get up and cook the breakfast, and it
wasn't my turn at all. It was Tad's turn."
"Yab-hum," yawned Stacy, "I'm awful sleepy."
"So am I," answered Ned, uttering a long-drawn yawn.
"See here, Master Ned. Get out of those wet pajamas, rub yourself
down thoroughly and put on a dry suit. I can't have you all sick on
my hands to-morrow," commanded the Professor.
"Don't worry about us," laughed Ned. "It takes more than a bath in a
cold creek to lay us up, eh, Tad?"
"I hope so," answered Tad Butler, who had rubbed himself until his
body glowed. "But I thought once or twice that I was a goner while I
was holding to that rock. I could not make Chunky try to support
himself at all. He just clung to me until he fagged me all out."
"Come now, young gentlemen, down with this coffee and into the
blankets."
Professor Zepplin had prepared the coffee, with which to warm the
lads up, and had heated in the camp-fire some good sized boulders,
which he wrapped in blankets and tucked in their beds. Chunky was
the only one of the boys who did not protest. Ned and Tad objected
to being "babied" as they called it, and when the Professor was not
looking, they quickly rolled the feet warmers out at the foot of
their beds.
Early next morning they were aroused by the cook's welcome call to
breakfast. None of the lads seemed to be any the worse for his
exciting experiences in the creek, much to the relief of Professor
Zepplin, who feared the icy bath might at least bring on heavy
colds.
Tumbling from their cots, they quickly washed; and then sprinting
back and forth a few times, stirred up their circulation, after
which the boys sat down to the morning meal with keen appetites.
Ned had cooked a liberal supply of bacon and potatoes and boiled a
large pot of coffee.
Stacy opened his mouth as if he were about to yawn.
"Don't you dare to do that," warned Ned, waving the coffee pot
threateningly. "The first boy who yawns to-day gets into
trouble. And Stacy Brown, if you fall in the river again you'll get
out the best way you can alone. We won't help you, remember that."
"This bacon looks funny," retorted Stacy, holding up a piece at the
end of his fork. "Kind of looks as if something had happened to it."
"Just what I was going to say," added Walter.
"Yes, what has happened to it? It's as black as the Professor's
hat."
All eyes were fixed upon the cook. "I don't care, I couldn't help
it. If any of you fellows think you can do any better, you just try
it. Cook your own meals if you don't like my way of serving them
up. It wasn't my turn to get the breakfast, anyway."
"Our cook evidently has a grouch on this morning," laughed
Walter. "Doesn't agree with him to take a midnight bath."
"The bath was all right, but I object to having my cooking
criticised."
"The bacon does look peculiar," decided Professor Zepplin, sniffing
gingerly at his own piece.
Ned's face flushed.
"What did you do to it to give it that peculiar shade, young man?"
"Why, I soused it in the creek to wash it off, then laid it in the
fire to cook," replied Ned.
"In the fire?" shouted Tad.
"Of course. How do you expect I cooked it?" demanded the boy
irritably. "I cooked it in the fire."
"I could do better'n that myself," muttered Stacy.
"Didn't you use the spider?" asked Walter.
"Spider? No. I didn't know you used a spider. Do you?"
"He cooked it in the fire," groaned Tad.
"Peculiar, very peculiar to say the least," decided the Professor
grimly. "Gives it that peculiar sooty flavor, common to smoked ham I
think we shall have to elect a new cook if you cannot do better than
that. However, we'll manage to get along very well with this
meal. If we have to get others we will hold a consultation as to the
latest and most approved methods of doing so," he added, amid a
general laugh at Ned's expense.
Breakfast over, blankets were rolled and packed on the ponies. About
nine o'clock the Pony Riders set out for the foothills, after first
having consulted their compasses and decided upon the course they
were to follow to reach the point, some fifteen miles distant, where
they expected to pick up the guide.
"Seems good to be in the saddle once more, doesn't it?" smiled
Walter, after they had gotten well under way.
"Beats being in the river at midnight," laughed Tad. "Bad-eye looks
as if he needed grooming, too. Ned, I take back all I said about the
bacon this morning. You did me a good turn last night. If it hadn't
been for you, Chunky and I wouldn't be here now. I couldn't have
held to that rock much longer."
"Neither could I," interjected Stacy wisely.
Ned gave him a withering glance.
"You are an expert at falling in, but when it comes to getting out,
that's another matter."
"How blue those mountains look!" marveled Walter, shading his eyes
and gazing off toward the Rosebud Range.
"I hear there are some lawless characters in there, too," Tad
answered thoughtfully.
"Where'd your hear that?" demanded Ned.
"Heard some men talking about it in the hotel back at Forsythe."
"Mustn't believe all you hear. What did they say?"
"Acting upon your advice, I should say that you wouldn't believe it
if I told you," answered Tad sharply. "These men are a kind of
outlaws, I believe. They steal horses and cattle. Probably sell the
hides--I don't know. Somehow the Government officers have not been
able to catch them, let alone to find out who they are."
"Indians, probably," replied Ned. "The country is full of them about
here, so I hear."
"Mustn't believe all you hear," piped up Stacy, repeating Ned
Rector's own words, and the latter's muttered reply was lost in the
laughter that followed.
It was close to twelve o'clock when they finally emerged on a broad
table or mesa. Before them lay the foothills of the Rosebud, rising
in broken mounds, some of which towered almost level with the lower
peaks of the mountains themselves.
"I don't see anything of our guide's cabin," said Tad, halting and
looking about them. "What do you think, Professor!"
"We will go on to the foothills and wait there. I imagine he will be
waiting for us somewhere hereabouts."
"Yes, we have followed our course by the compass," answered Tad.
However, the lad had overlooked the fact, as had the others, that in
order to find a suitable fording place, they had followed the hanks
of the East Fork for several miles. This served to throw them off
their course and when they finally reached the foothills they were
some six miles to the north of the place where the guide was to pick
them up.
As they rode on, the ground gradually rose under them, nor did they
realize that they were entering the foothills themselves; and so it
continued until they finally found themselves surrounded by hills,
narrow draws and broad, rocky gorges.
"Young gentlemen, I think we had better halt right here. We shall be
lost if we continue any farther," decided the Professor. "This is a
nice level spot with just enough trees to give us shade. I propose
that we dismount and make camp."
"Yes, we haven't had the tents up since we were in the Rockies,"
replied Ned. "We shall be forgetting how to pitch them soon if we do
not have some practice."
On this trip, besides their small tents, the Pony Riders had brought
with them canvas for a nine by twelve feet tent, which they proposed
to use for a dining tent in wet weather, as well as a place for
social gathering whenever the occasion demanded its use. They named
it the parlor.
In high spirits, the lads leaped from their ponies and began
removing their packs. Stacy Brown began industriously tugging at the
fastenings which held the large tent to the back of the pack pony.
"I can't get it loose," he shouted. "What kind of hitch do you call
this, anyway?"
"Young man, that's a squaw hitch. Ever hear of it before?" laughed
Tad.
"No. What kind of hitch is a squaw hitch?" asked Chunky.
"Probably one that the braves use to tie up their wives with when
they get lazy," Ned informed him.
"I know," spoke up Walter. "It's a hitch used to fasten the packs to
the ponies. Mr. Stallings explained that to me when we were in
Texas."
"Right," announced Tad, skillfully loosening the hitch, thus
allowing the canvas of the parlor tent to fall to the ground.
While Tad and Walter were doing this, Professor Zepplin with Stacy
had started off with hatchets to cut poles for the tents.
The sleeping tents were erected in a straight row with the parlor
tent set up to the rear some few rods, backing up against the hills
nearest to the mountains.
In front of the small tents the ponies were tethered out among the
trees so as to be in plain view of the boys in case of
trouble. Profiting from past experiences, they knew that without
their mounts they would find themselves helpless.
In an hour the camp was pitched and the boys stood off to view the
effect of their work.
"Looks like a military camp," said Ned.
"All but the guns," replied Walter. "We might stack our rifles
outside here to make it look more military like."
"Let's do it." suggested Tad.
Laughing joyously, the lads got out their rifles, standing them on
their stocks, with the muzzles together in front of the small
tents. Not being equipped with bayonets the guns refused to stand
alone, so they bound the muzzles together with twine wrapped about
the sights. This held them firmly.
"There!" glowed Ned. "Where's the flag? Somebody get that and I'll
cut a pole for it," suggested Tad Butler.
In a few moments Old Glory was waving idly in the gentle summer
breeze and the boys, doffing their hats, gave three cheers and a
tiger for it, in which Professor Zepplin joined with almost boyish
enthusiasm.
"I always take off my hat to that beautiful flag," said the
Professor, gazing up at it admiringly.
"How about your own country's flag?" teased Ned.
"That is it. I am an American citizen. Your flag is my flag. And now
that we have done homage to our country and our flag, supposing we
consult our own bodily comfort by getting dinner. Of course, if you
young gentlemen are not hungry we can skip the noon----"
"Not hungry? Did you ever hear of our skipping a meal when we could
get it?" protested Walter.
"For a young man with a delicate appetite, you do very well,"
laughed the Professor. "It wag less than two months ago, if I
remember correctly, that the doctors thought you were not going to
live, you were so delicate."
"Almost as delicate as Chunky now," chuckled Ned maliciously.
The midday meal was more successful than had been their
breakfast. They ate it under the trees, deciding to dine in the
parlor tent just at dusk.
The afternoon was spent in shooting, at which the boys were becoming
quite proficient. By this time, even Stacy Brown could be trusted to
manage his own rifle without endangering the lives of his
companions.
"Is there any game in these hills?" asked Ned, while he was
refilling the magazine of his repeating rifle.
"Plenty of it, I am told," replied the Professor. "There is big game
all over the state."
"What kind?"
"Bears, mountain lions and the like."
"W-h-e-w. That sounds interesting. May we go gunning to-morrow?"
"Better wait until the guide joins us. It will be best to have some
one with us who understands the habits of the animals. As you have
learned, hunting big game is not boys' play," concluded the
Professor.
"Yes, I remember our experience in hunting the cougar in the
Rockies. I guess I'll wait."
During the afternoon, the boys made short trips along the foothills
hoping to find some trace of the guide, but search as they would
they were unable to locate him. Nor did they dare stray far from the
camp for fear of being unable to find their way back. The foothills
all looked so alike that if one unfamiliar with them should lose his
way he would find himself in a serious predicament.
"I guess we shall have to camp here for the rest of the summer,"
Professor Zepplin said, while they were eating their supper. "We
must be a long distance from our man if he has not heard our
shooting this afternoon."
The boys were enjoying themselves, however; in addition, there was a
sense of independence that they had not felt before. They were alone
and entirely on their own resources, which of itself added to the
zest of the trip.
The supper dishes having been cleared away and the camp-fire stirred
up to a bright, cheerful blaze, all hands gathered in the parlor
tent for an evening chat.
Above them swung an oil lantern which dimly shed its rays over the
little company. Professor Zepplin was poring over an old volume that
he had brought with him, while the boys were discussing the merits
of their new ponies, which by this time had developed their
individual peculiarities.
Chunky, growing sleepy, had crawled to the rear of the tent, where
he sat leaning against the closed flap, nodding drowsily.
Finally they saw him straighten up and brush a hand over the back of
his head.
"He's dreaming," laughed Ned. "Imagines he's rolling down the river
bank again."
Suddenly they were aroused by the fat boy's voice raised in angry
protest.
"Stop tickling my neck," he growled, vigorously rubbing that part of
his anatomy. "Funny, you fellows can't let me alone."
"You must be having bad dreams," laughed Ned. "We are not bothering
you. We're all over here."
"Yes, you are. You've done it three times and you woke me up,"
answered the fat boy, settling back and closing his eyes preparatory
to renewing his disturbed nap.
He was asleep in a moment, not having heeded the laughter of his
companions, nor their noisy comments.
But Stacy dozed for a moment only. He sat up quickly and very
straight, while a shrewd expression appeared in his eyes. Had they
been looking they might have observed one of his hands being drawn
cautiously behind him, as if he were reaching for something. The
boys were too busy, however, to pay any heed to the lad, and the
Professor was deeply absorbed in his book.
"I've got you this time! Tell me you weren't tickling my neck? I'll
show you Stacy Brown's not the sleepy head you----"
The boy paused suddenly and scrambling to all fours turned about on
his hands and knees, intently gazing at the flap against which he
had been leaning.
"What's the matter, gone crazy over there!" called Tad. "Anybody
would think you had from the racket you are making."
Stacy did not answer. He had not even heard Tad speak to him. His
eyes, bulging with fear, were fixed on the flap. What he saw was a
long black snout poked through the slit in the canvas, and just back
of that a pair of beady, evil eyes.
"Y-e-o-w!" yelled Stacy. The lad leaped to his feet and dashed from
the tent, bowling over Walter and Tad as he ran, shouting in his
fright and crying for help. Knowing instinctively that something
really serious had happened, the others sprang up, peering at the
other end of the tent. For a moment, they could see nothing in the
flickering shadows; then as their eyes became more accustomed to the
half light, they discovered what filled them with alarm as well.
"Run for your lives!" shouted Tad, bolting from the tent in a single
leap, followed almost instantly by Ned Rector and Walter Perkins.
The Professor with one startled glance, hurled his precious book at
the object he saw entering the tent at the back, and bolted through
the front opening, taking the end tent pole down with him in his
hasty flight.