PONIES GET A BAD FRIGHT
Up and up traveled the Overland party, the ponies here and there being
obliged to zigzag back and forth, picking their way like mountain goats.
The members of the party were keenly interested in watching the
pack-horses to see how they acted under these trying circumstances, and,
to their satisfaction, found that the animals were thoroughly familiar
with their work. The saddle horses of the Overlanders, they had seen in
action before, and knew what they could do. Now and then the white mare
would poise with all four feet bunched as if she were about to make a
leap into space, then slowly one foot would reach out for a footing.
Having found it, the other fore foot would follow, then the hind feet,
Kitty all the time groaning dismally and wheezing like a leaky valve on
a locomotive.
Ordinarily, horses on a trail make an effort to keep within sight of
each other, but in this instance Idler, the brown mare, did not appear
to care whether she were within or out of sight of her companions.
Hippy, when they made the noon luncheon camp, searched his kit for an
article that he had brought along, thinking it might prove useful. He
did not let the others see what it was, but secreted it on his person.
This article was a pea-shooter, and he had the peas to use in it, too.
When the party moved on after luncheon, Hippy dropped behind to better
observe the pack-horses. Idler loafed, as usual. Hippy tried the
pea-shooter on her, and the brown mare jumped at a critical point. All
four feet went out from under her, and she landed on her back, greatly
to the detriment of her pack, and, had it not been that the pack was
very strong, the outfit she carried would have been ruined.
"Oh, the clumsy beast!" groaned Grace Harlowe.
"What ails the silly creature?" cried Emma.
"She has thrown a fit," Stacy informed her.
Hippy, whose scheme had exceeded his expectations, sprang from his
saddle and ran to the fallen horse, which, by this time, had rolled over
on her side. One foot further and Idler would have slipped down along
the rocks a hundred feet or more.
"Stacy! Sit on her head! Fetch me a rope, someone," urged Lieutenant
Wingate.
Passing the rope about the animal, they threw it around a tree above the
trail, then began removing the pack, which Tom had loosened by pulling
on the pack-rope. Relieved of the weight on her back, Idler, aided by a
pull on the rope, struggled to her feet, and, after no little effort,
she was gotten back on the narrow trail. About a hundred feet above
them, perched on a pinnacle of rock, sat the Honorable Woo Smith, hands
lost in his flowing sleeves.
"Hi-lee, hi-lo! hi-lee, hi-lo!" sang the guide.
Stacy shied a pebble at him.
"Will you stop that 'hi-lee' business?" he demanded. "It is lucky for
you that you are above instead of below me, or I'd roll a rock down on
you."
"Let the cook alone!" ordered Tom Gray. "I don't understand what caused
that beast to lose her footing so suddenly."
Hippy Wingate, however, understood only too well, but he did not think
best to enlighten his companions, who might have found unpleasant
remarks to make. A full hour was lost in getting the brown mare and her
pack in condition to proceed, then the journey was resumed.
Later in the day, Lieutenant Wingate found occasion to use his
pea-shooter again. The first effort in that direction had proved so
successful that he could not resist the second shining opportunity that
presented itself. This time Stacy was the victim.
Stacy was asleep in his saddle at the time, his pony moping along with
head close to the ground, when Hippy sent a pea straight at the tender
flank of the animal.
The pony woke up suddenly, and then another pea hit it. The fat boy's
mount bucked beautifully, and Chunky took a long flight, landing
head-first in a wild rose bush, howling and struggling, not rightly
knowing what had occurred.
"Here, here! What's going on?" shouted Tom, turning in his saddle.
"Stacy has come a cropper. Oh, please do it again, Stacy. It was
beautiful," urged Emma enthusiastically.
"I--I fell off," wailed the boy, raising a very red face above the top
of the rose bush. "I--I transmigrated, didn't I, Emma?" Stacy grinned
sheepishly. "I'll trim the beast for that."
"You will not," laughed Hippy. "The pony was not to blame in the least."
As a matter of fact, the pony appeared to be even more amazed at the
mishap than were the Overlanders themselves. The excitement ended, and
the party once more under way, Chunky began to ponder over what had
occurred, and the more he pondered the more convinced did he become that
someone had played a trick on him. He eyed each member of the party
narrowly, finally regarding Uncle Hip with suspicion.
"I wonder if he did it?" muttered the boy.
The trail was growing more difficult and perilous with the moments, and
the Riders were making not more than a mile-and-a-half an hour, and at
one point it curved so sharply that the riders in the lead, in this
instance Tom and Stacy, were directly above Lieutenant Wingate,
traveling in the opposite direction.
"Hulloa! What's Uncle Hip up to now?" wondered Stacy, casting suspicious
glances at him. Chunky saw something glisten in the hands of Uncle Hip;
then he saw him place the glistening object to his lips and blow. Miss
Kitty snorted and jumped, after which she quickened her pace.
"So, that's the game, is it?" grinned Stacy Brown. "I reckon I know now
what made me come a cropper into the rose bush. Uncle Hip used a
pea-shooter on my pony. Wait till I get an opportunity! I'll make a show
of him for that."
Tom had halted at the summit, and, shading his eyes, gazed off over the
scene before him.
"What do you call that hole down there?" questioned Elfreda.
"That? That is a box canyon," replied Hippy.
"Are we going down there?" wondered Nora.
"Yes."
"We're going to do a giant leap for life to the bottom of the box in a
few moments," Stacy Brown informed her.
Tom removed his sombrero and mopped his forehead.
"I see nothing that looks like a trail," he declared. "Woo, are you
positive that there is a safe way to get down?"
Woo bobbed his head vigorously.
"Him plenty good way. You no savvy tlail?"
Tom shook his head.
"Me savvy tlail. You come. Me show."
"Never mind, Woo. We are going to find that trail for ourselves. This
isn't the first time we have been in the mountains. You watch us,"
answered Lieutenant Wingate.
Hippy crawled down the mountainside for some distance, working along,
first to the right, then to the left. He observed, at the same time,
that the wall on the opposite side of the canyon had a more gradual
slope. Climbing the other side would be easier than the one they were
now going down. There was no trace of a trail on the Overlanders' side,
but Hippy found a way to get down.
"Well?" questioned Grace, upon his return.
"We can make it."
"Of course we can make it. We shall have to jump, though," said Stacy.
"Suppose you jump first, then, if the jumping is good, perhaps we may
follow," suggested Emma.
"Jump? Why, you wouldn't dare jump off from a silver dollar," declared
Chunky.
"Produce one and see whether I dare or not," offered Emma.
"I--I don't think I have one," stammered Stacy amid laughter.
"All ready," announced Lieutenant Wingate, mounting and starting down
the sharp incline. The others watched him for a few moments, then
followed, the pack animals taking their places without being urged, not
at all disturbed over the perilous descent. Hippy was now taking a
zig-zag course, which was the only safe way, unless one preferred to
adopt Stacy's suggestion and jump. To look at the mountain, traveling
down its steep side would seem to the novice an impossibility. However,
ponies familiar with mountain climbing are sure-footed and unafraid, and
do some remarkable climbing, frequently going where a tenderfoot would
hesitate to crawl on hands and knees.
Here and there were small trees, with an occasional growth of bushes,
which afforded more or less protection from a bad fall, but on other
parts of the trail the rocks sloped away for hundreds of feet, lying
smooth and glaring in the bright afternoon sunlight. The Overland Riders
took the descent without any display of nervousness, but Kitty, the
pack-horse, groaned and grunted all the way down. One would imagine that
she was suffering agonies, but it was simply habit with her, and she got
no sympathy, though now and then she did feel the sting of a pebble that
one or another of the party hurled at her.
Lieutenant Wingate was making much more rapid progress than his
companions, he being eager to reach the bottom before the light failed
them, for it would not do at all to be caught on the side of the
mountain after dark. A shout from below told them that he had reached
the valley. It was answered by another shout from above, then a "Hi-lee,
hi-lo!" in the high-pitched voice of the guide. A stone came bumping
down not far from Woo.
"Stacy, did you throw that stone?" shouted Hippy.
"I did."
"Stop it! You might hit someone."
"I want to hit someone. I want to wing that song-bird, and I'll do it
yet," threatened Chunky.
The safe arrival of the rest of the Overland party at the bottom of the
pit put a stop to further gaiety at the expense of the guide. They found
themselves in a valley about a quarter of a mile in width and of unknown
length. The place was a meadow in the heart of the mountains, carpeted
with the brown California grass that did not appeal to the appetites of
the horses, and as soon as the animals were turned out they made haste
to climb the opposite slope in search of the succulent greens that they
seemed to know they should find up there.
In the meantime, preparations for making camp and getting supper were
going on systematically down in the canyon. It was an ideal place for
camping, sheltered from storm, and from sunshine during the early and
late hours of the day. A clear, cold brook rippled merrily on their side
of the canyon, its waters leaping from the black rocks or lying in
sombre bank-shadowed pools; and, despite the apparent dryness of the
landscape, gorgeous bush-flowers bloomed, filling the air with their
perfume, the valley farther down being a riot of varied colors where the
stream had left its banks and spread out over the lower land.
"Oh, girls, isn't this fairyland?" breathed Elfreda Briggs.
"Wonderful!" agreed Grace.
"All but the fairies," answered Stacy.
"We have a gnome," suggested Emma, glancing at Chunky. "Fairies don't
stuff themselves. They live on atmosphere."
"This fairy doesn't live on atmosphere," retorted Stacy. "He takes his
belt off, if necessary, too."
"I would suggest that you take it off now and get to work. We have
plenty of it to do," reminded Tom Gray.
All hands turned to, to help the cook, for they were hungry, and it was
natural that they should be, for climbing mountains in the High Country
is hard, grilling work.
Supper was a busy rather than a lively affair, but after supper the
Overlanders found their tongues and were soon engaged in good-natured
raillery, but they were quite ready to turn in when Tom Gray whistled
"taps." This time there was no hesitancy on the part of anyone to
sleeping on the ground, and they dropped off to sleep with the tinkling
of the bells of the pack-horses in their ears, the rich perfumes of
flowers in their nostrils, their senses lulled pleasantly by the song of
the locusts and strange insects that none remembered ever to have heard
of before.
The camp was awake shortly after daybreak. Once more Stacy Brown had to
be urged forth to wrangle the horses. He protested loudly when Elfreda
pointed to the opposite slope, which Chunky must climb, for the animals
were nowhere in sight.
"I suppose I might as well go out. I always get the fag-end of the
stick," grumbled Stacy.
"Never mind, Chunky. I'll fetch the horses," offered Tom.
"No, no. I just wanted to say something," returned Stacy, hastily
stirring himself into activity and jumping on the bare back of his pony.
No sooner was he on than he was off again, for the pony had never been
ridden without a saddle, and promptly bucked when his owner mounted.
Stacy landed flat on his back in the campfire, sending up a shower of
sparks and smoke, and it was only the quick action of Nora Wingate that
saved him from being burned. As it was, his clothing was smoking when he
was dragged out. Hippy and Tom put Stacy's fire out by grabbing the boy
up and throwing him in the creek, where Stacy rolled over whooping and
howling his disapproval of the entire proceeding.
"You should have known better than to try to ride that pony without a
saddle," rebuked Hippy.
Stacy turned angrily on his now meek-eyed pony.
"You donkey! Oh, you doddering idiot!" he raged, shaking a fist at the
animal. "You'll pay for that! You'll rue the day and the minute that you
bucked me off your back. Where is my saddle?"
"Never mind. I will get the ponies," grinned Hippy. "You aren't fit."
"I am. I'm always fit. I'll get 'em myself."
"Be sure to bring back the donkey," teased Emma.
Stacy cinched on his saddle before starting, and this time the little
animal offered no protest, but galloped away as docile as could be
desired. After he had left them, the Overlanders had a good laugh at his
expense, then began packing in preparation for the day's journey.
The Overlanders finally began to wonder what had become of Stacy, for he
had been absent much longer than seemed necessary, then, all at once
they heard a yell on the opposite side of the canyon.
"There he is! He is in trouble again," cried Tom, starting for his own
pony.
"See him come! He will break his neck," worried Nora.
Tom halted at his pony's side, for he had discovered something else.
Right on the heels of Stacy's mount came the saddle-ponies and the
pack-horses. The latter, being hobbled, were hopping like kangaroos,
making long leaps, covering a great deal of ground in each leap and
turning their heads to glance back with almost every jump.
"What can be the matter?" wondered Grace, anxiously watching the descent
of the fat boy. Every second she expected to see him come a cropper and
fall the remaining distance down the mountainside, but Chunky did
nothing of the sort. He stuck tightly to his saddle, now and then
casting apprehensive glances back at the horses that were tearing along
in his wake.
Lieutenant Wingate, suddenly surmising what the trouble was about, ran
for his rifle.
"Wha--at is it?" stammered Emma Dean.
"They are stampeding. Something is chasing them. I think I know what it
is," answered Hippy, darting across the canyon, clearing rocks and other
obstructions in a series of lively leaps, the others of his party
standing gaping, wondering, some of them a little fearful, especially
for the safety of the panic-stricken Chunky.