THE FIRST NIGHT IN CAMP
"The desert?" the Pony Riders gasped in chorus.
"Yes. It is not an uncommon thing. They seem to realize instinctively
that there is danger off there. Even in animals that never have been
near the desert you will find the same inborn dread of the alkali
flats. And I don't know that I blame them any."
"But is my broncho going to lie here all day?" queried Chunky. "If
that's his idea I might as well give him another argument that will
make him change his mind."
"Let him alone. He'll be better off if you do not force him. When he
gets up be gentle but firm with him."
"That's the strangest thing I ever saw," said Tad quietly.
"Most remarkable," agreed the Professor.
The faces of the boys were serious. They too began to perceive the
feeling that had stirred the ponies to resist when turned toward the
silent plains that lay spread for mile upon mile before them.
After a few minutes Stacy's pony scrambled to its feet. The lad was in
the saddle in a twinkling.
"Now, I guess you'll go where I want you to. Whoa! Quit that
b-b-b-b-bucking."
The animal had gone into a series of jolting bucks, with back arched
and head well down. The fat boy held his seat well. His face was red
and streaked with perspiration which ran down it in tiny rivulets under
the violent exercise to which he had just been subjected.
The boys forgot the serious side of the incident in their enjoyment of
their companion's discomfiture.
Tom Parry gazed upon the scene with more than ordinary curiosity. It
was the first opportunity he had had of observing a Pony Rider Boy in
action. At that moment Stacy Brown was most distinctly in action.
Most of the time there was a broad patch of daylight under him, and
when he hit the saddle it was with a jolt that seemed as if it must jar
his head from his body.
"Put some salt on his tail," suggested Ned Rector.
"Y-y-y-you do it," gasped Chunky, which brought a roar of laughter from
the whole party.
"Yes, why don't you?" teased Tad. "It's the only way you can make
good."
"Salting down horse is not my business," laughed Ned.
All at once the pony whirled, heading down the mountain side with a
disconcerting rush that nearly brought disaster upon its rider.
With a shout the rest of the boys urged their mounts into a jog-trot
and followed on down the trail as fast as they dared, for the descent
was steep and dangerous.
"He'll break his neck!" cried the Professor.
"After that bucking I'm sure Chunky's neck is too well fastened to come
off," laughed Tad.
Stacy was out of sight. They could hear him yelling at his broncho, so
they knew he was still in the saddle and right side up. The other
ponies, apparently having forgotten their fear, were following the
leader willingly now.
All at once they saw lad and mount burst into view on the plain below.
"He's on the desert!" shouted Tad.
Laughing and shouting words of encouragement to the fat boy, the Pony
Riders hastened to the base of the hill. Stacy Brown was still busily
engaged trying to subdue his pony, though some of the lads shrewdly
suspected that their companion was urging the animal on in order to
show off his horsemanship.
In a moment more they, too, were in difficulties. No sooner had their
bronchos set foot on the desert than a sudden panic once more possessed
them. Professor Zepplin's pony whirled on its haunches, then began
climbing the rocks, with the agility of a squirrel.
The others, however, had troubles of their own, which saved the
Professor from being laughed at. The animals seemed determined not to
be forced to go on, and it required severe measures to induce them to
take up the desert trail. Tom Parry's mount did not exhibit the same
fear as did the others. Still, it gave him more or less trouble,
appearing to be excited, in spite of itself, by the actions of its
companions.
At last they succeeded in lining the animals up in an orderly
formation. Their next move was to get the burros moving along ahead of
them. The way being open and level there was no necessity for leading
the pack animals now. These could take care of themselves without
danger to the outfit.
"And this is the desert!" marveled the Professor.
"It is," smiled the guide.
"Looks to me more like a landscape of German measles," averred Stacy,
as they moved along through scattering sage brush and open sandy
stretches.
Now that they had reached the plain itself, they discovered that it was
not one level stretch of land. Instead, the country was rolling; here
and there were wide reaches of whitish desert sands and alkali sinks.
The atmosphere was like an oven. Not a breath of air was stirring.
Already the lads were mopping their brows and fanning their faces with
their sombreros, while spots of dark shining moisture on the ponies'
sides bore evidence that they, too, felt the baking heat.
"I say, fellows, let's find some shade," called Stacy.
"All right, go ahead and we'll follow," laughed Tad.
"I'll ride up to the top of that knoll and make an observation."
Tom Parry smiled appreciatively as the lad galloped up the sharp rise
of ground, where Chunky sat on his pony, shading his eyes as he gazed
off over the cheerless desert.
"Well, how about that shade?" shouted Ned.
Stacy turned disconsolately and rode back to his companions.
"There isn't any," he said.
"Of course not," laughed Ned.
"But I know how to make some," added the fat boy.
Slipping from his pony he cut some sage brush, which he fashioned about
his head in the shape of a hood, so that it gave his perspiring face
some protection from the intense glare of the sun.
"Now, all you need is a strip of mosquito netting," suggested Walter.
"And a little red rocking chair," added Ned.
"With a dish of ice cream," laughed Tad.
"I guess you will have to be satisfied with a cup of alkali water,"
interjected the Professor, dryly.
"You will find the air much cooler, shortly," the guide advised them.
"The sun is going down now and I think we had better make camp, if the
Professor has no objections."
"Not in the least. In fact, I am quite ready to call it a day's work."
"Where do we camp, Mr. Parry?" asked Tad.
"Right here. It is as good a place as any that we shall find. There
is little choice out here."
They were now in a broad valley, the rolling hills covered with a
sparse growth of sage brush rising gradually on each side.
The boys threw themselves from their ponies gladly, stripping the
saddles from the animals' backs.
"Better stake the animals down, for the first two or three nights, so
they won't take French leave," advised the guide.
"How about the burros?" asked Tad.
"Let them roam. They'll stay as long as the ponies are here. The pack
animals will fill up on sage, after which they will come back to camp
to sleep."
All hands began to unpack. The tents were pitched in record time, cots
unfolded and preparations for the night made with a skill that comes
from long practice in the open.
"What are we to do for a camp-fire?" asked Walter. "There is not a
single stick of wood about here."
"Burn the sage," answered the guide.
"That stuff won't burn," retorted Ned.
"Try it."
They did. In an incredibly short time a hot fire was blazing up, on
which they piled armfuls of the stunted desert growth.
"Now, get your food ready and I will cook it," said Parry, as the
flames began to die down.
When the fire had settled to a bed of hot ashes Tom thrust the bacon
directly into the ashes, placing the coffee pot near the center, around
and on top of which he heaped the ashes. It was a new method of
preparing a meal, and the lads watched the process with keen interest.
"I shouldn't think that bacon would be fit to eat. However, I presume
you know what you are doing," said the Professor.
"It's the only way, sir," replied Parry. "We have to work with the
implements that nature has provided."
"Nature must have been in a stingy mood when she made this country,"
laughed Ned.
"I don't agree with you," said Tad. "It is the most beautiful and
interesting scene that I have ever looked upon."
Parry nodded approvingly.
"And as fickle as it is beautiful," added the guide. "The supper will
be ready by the time you have the table set, boys."
In spite of the heat the lads realized all at once that their appetites
had not suffered. Bacon, jelly and biscuits, which had been warmed
over the ashes, seemed to them to have reached the proportions of a
banquet.
Stacy helped himself to a large slice of bacon which he proceeded to
munch. No sooner had he begun, however, than he made a wry face.
"What's the matter. Isn't the bacon all right?" asked the guide.
"Awful! Somebody's trying to poison me," Chunky shouted, red in the
face.
"Must have a brown taste in your mouth,' laughed Ned.
"What's the trouble----" began the Professor. "Good gracious, there is
something the matter with the stuff. Ugh! Never tasted such bitter
stuff. Did you purchase this meat in a reliable place, Mr. Parry!"
The guide smiled good-naturedly.
"The bacon is all right, sir. It's the sage brush taint that you get."
"The what?"
"Sage brush. The same taste will be in everything you eat out in this
country--that and the alkali."
"Then I starve," announced Stacy, firmly, laying down his fork and
folding his arms.
"Any time you starve it'll be because there is nothing to eat,"
retorted Ned.
"You'll all get used to the taste after you have been out a few days,"
comforted the guide.
"Never!" shouted Stacy.
"I rather like the peculiar taste," smiled Tad Butler.
"Good as a tonic," spoke up Walter.
Thus encouraged Stacy tried it again, at first nibbling gingerly at the
bacon, then attacking it boldly. Even the Professor, after a time,
appeared to forget the bitterness of the food, passing his plate for
more.
Tom Parry smiled indulgently.
"You'll all like it after a while," he nodded.
"I'm sure I'll have to take back some sage brush with me to flavor my
food after we leave the desert," scoffed Ned.
Supper finished the dishes were cleared away, after which the party
threw themselves down beside the camp-fire in keen enjoyment of the
hour. The evening was delightfully cool, with not a trace of the
baking heat of the day.
"Doesn't seem possible that there could be such a change in the
temperature in so short a time," marveled the Professor.
"It is the mood of the desert," answered the guide.
"What time do we start in the morning?" interrupted Tad, approaching
them at that moment.
"I was just about to suggest that we break camp at daylight, traveling
until the sun gets hot. We can then pitch a tent or two during the
middle of the day, and rest for a few hours."
"Why not keep on all day?" asked the lad.
"It would prove too great a strain--both on man and beast. At noon we
will eat a cold lunch, as too much food in this heat is not good for
us. You will find the temperature rising as you get further south, and
the hardships increasing in proportion."
"We shall not fall by the wayside," laughed the boy.
"No; I am convinced of that. You lads are as tough as pine knots, but
you will need all the endurance you have for this trip."
"If we are going to turn out so early, I think you boys had better go
to bed pretty soon," advised the Professor.
"That's why I asked you, sir. I rather thought Mr. Parry would wish to
make an early start in the morning. I'll see to the ponies; then I'll
go to bed."
"Never mind the ponies. I'll look after them," answered Parry.
"That boy is a splendid type," he continued to the Professor, after Tad
had walked away from them to notify his companions of the plans for the
morrow.
"They all are," answered the Professor.
"Yes, I have been observing them all day. To tell the truth I was
rather doubtful about the wisdom of taking a number of boys across the
desert. It's bad enough for men well hardened to the work."
"I trust your apprehension no longer exists," smiled the Professor.
"Not a trace of it left," replied Parry, with a hearty laugh. "Young
Brown handled that bucking pony splendidly this afternoon. He's a good
horseman for a boy."
"Master Tad is a better one. You'll agree with me if you get an
opportunity to see him in any work that's worth while."
"Well, good night, boys," called the Professor, as he saw the lads
moving toward their tents.
"Good night, Professor, sleep tight," they shouted merrily altogether.
"Good night, Mr. Parry. We'll be up with the birds."
"Birds," sniffed Stacy. "A tough old hen couldn't live out on this
desert."
In a short time the camp settled down to sleep. The guide, with a last
look about and a long, comprehensive study of the sky, sought his own
tent, where in a few moments he, too, was sound asleep.
After a time the moon came up, in the light of which the weather-beaten
tents of the Pony Rider Boys were mere specks on the vast expanse of
desert.
Not a sound disturbed the quiet scene. However, had any of the
occupants of the little tents been awake, they might have observed a
thin, fog-like film drifting across the sky from the southwest. On and
on it came until finally it had blanketed the moon, casting a veil over
the landscape.
Other sheets of film arose from out the southwest, placing layer after
layer over the fast fading moon, until finally it was obliterated
altogether.
The desert was working out another of its mysterious phases, but none
in the camp of the Pony Riders were awake to observe it.
A dense pall of blackness now hovered over the southwest.
All at once a squirming streak of lightning wriggled along the horizon,
like a golden serpent, losing itself by a downward plunge into the
black abyss beyond the desert.
The air grew suddenly hot and depressing, while a gentle breeze stirred
the sage brush on the higher places. The ponies moved restlessly in
their sleep, kicking out a foot now and then, as if in protest at some
disturbing presence.
Tad Butler, ever on the alert, roused himself, and stepping out in his
pajamas took a survey of the heavens.
"I guess we're going to have a storm," he muttered. "I wonder if I
ought to wake Mr. Parry? He thought, this afternoon, that there was a
storm brewing. Still, there's nothing he can do. The tents are staked
down as securely as is possible. No, I guess I'll go back to bed."
The lad did so, and after a few moments of wakefulness, dropped off
into a sound sleep.
A few moments later the breeze increased, picking up little patches of
sand, which it hurled into the air, scattering the particles over a
wide area. Far down to the southwest a low roar might have been heard,
and from the blackness there a funnel-shaped cloud detached itself,
starting slantingly over the desert. It appeared to be following a
northerly course, more or less irregularly, and from its direction,
should pass some miles to the westward of the sleeping camp.
Whirling, diving, swooping here and there, lifting great patches of
sand and hurling them far up into the clouds, the funnel swept on.
Suddenly, when about three miles to the southwest of the camp, it
seemed to pause hesitatingly; and then, as if all at once having
descried the little group of tents, started swaying, tottering toward
them. As it moved the disturbing roar continued to increase in volume.
Tad Butler heard it now.
He slipped from his tent and stood listening apprehensively.
"I think that means trouble," he said to himself. The hot, oppressive
air felt like a blast from an open furnace door. "It's coming this
way," he continued.
The lad bounded to the tent of the guide. Slipping inside he laid a
hand on Parry's shoulder.
The guide was up like a flash.
"What is it?" he demanded sharply.
"It's I, Tad Butler. I think there is a bad storm coming----"
"I hear it," snapped Parry, springing from his blankets. He was out in
the open in a twinkling, with Tad Butler close upon his heels.
For a moment the guide stood with head inclined, listening intently.
"Bad one, isn't it?" questioned the lad.
"Yes."
"Do you think it is coming this way?"
"I can't be sure. Wait; don't wake them yet," he whispered, raising a
restraining hand. "Yes, here it comes! It's a cyclone. Quick, get
them out of their tents!"
Almost before the words were out of his mouth the funnel swooped down
into the broad sage-sprinkled draw, setting its deadly coils over the
camp of the Pony Rider Boys.