TWISTED BY A TWISTER
"Turn out!" bellowed the guide, his voice faintly heard above the roar
of the storm.
"Run for your lives!" piped the shrill voice of Tad Butler.
"Flat on the ground, every one of you!" commanded the guide.
All the warnings had come a few seconds too late. Ere the boys had
awakened sufficiently to realize what was wanted of them there sounded
above the roar a report like that of a cannon.
The tents were lifted from over the startled Pony Riders and hurled
high into the air. A cloud of sand swept over the boys like an
avalanche, burying them, suffocating them, while the resistless coils
of the funnel picked them out of the drift and cast them far from the
spot where but a few minutes before they had been sleeping so
peacefully.
Above the roar they heard the shrill voice of Stacy Brown.
"W-o-o-ow!" he shrieked. His voice appeared to be somewhere in the air
over their heads.
Blankets, trappings, together with all the other belongings of the
party, shot up into the black funnel and disappeared, while the ponies
strained at their tethers, floundering, kicking where they had been
hurled on their backs, screaming with fright.
The mad medley continued for only a few seconds, though to the
unfortunate lads it seemed to have been tumbling them about for hours.
As suddenly as it had appeared the funnel tore itself from the camp and
went roaring off into the hills to the northward.
Staggering to his feet, some distance from where he had been caught,
the guide rubbed the sand from his eyes and mouth and stood gasping for
breath.
An impressive silence had settled over the scene.
"Hallo, the camp!" he shouted when he had cleared his mouth
sufficiently to enable him to do so.
"Hello!" answered Tad Butler far to the right.
"Are the others with you?"
"I don't know."
One by one the others of the party straggled to their feet, choking and
coughing.
As if to mock them, the moon suddenly burst forth, shedding a brilliant
light over the scene which a few moments before had been the center of
a whirling, devastating cyclone.
Not a speck of anything save the white, glistening sand of the desert
remained to mark the spot where the camp of the Pony Rider Boys had
stood.
They gathered shivering in their pajamas, looking fearsomely into each
others' eyes, still dazed from the shock and the fright of their
experience.
"Wha--what was it?" stammered Walter Perkins.
"A genuine twister," laughed the guide.
"Twister?" questioned the Professor. "Cyclone, you mean?"
"Yes."
"It was awful," breathed Walter.
"All our things gone, too," mourned Ned ruefully.
"You should be thankful that you are alive," chided the Professor.
"How about the ponies?" questioned Walter.
"They're over there. More scared than hurt, I guess."
"But Chunky--where's Chunky? He isn't here!" cried Tad, suddenly
realizing that Stacy Brown was not with them.
"Chunky?" wondered the others.
"Why, I thought he was here a moment ago," said Walter in an alarmed
tone. "What can have become of him?"
"Probably went up with the twister," suggested Ned.
"Yes, I heard his voice and it seemed to be right over my head," nodded
Tad. "We must look for him."
The lads set up a shout as they started running about
"Better look for him that way," directed the guide, motioning in the
direction that the funnel had taken after wrecking their camp.
The boys spread out, calling and searching excitedly over the sand,
peering into the sage brush and cactus shadows. But not a trace of
Stacy Brown did they find, until they had gone some distance from camp.
A faint call at last answered their hail.
"Hooray! We've got him!" shouted Walter.
"Where are you, Chunky?" called Tad, hurrying forward.
"Here."
"Are you all right?"
"No, I'm dead."
The boys could afford to laugh now, and they did, after calling back to
the camp that they had found the missing one.
Half buried in a sand drift they located him. Stacy's head and one
foot were protruding above the sand, the only parts of his anatomy that
were visible above the heap of white sand beneath which he had been
buried.
The Pony Riders could not repress a shout when they came up with young
Brown and understood his predicament.
"Get me out of here."
"No; you're dead. You stay where you are," retorted Ned.
Tad, however, grasped the foot that was sticking up through the sand,
and with a mighty tug hauled Chunky right through the heap, choking,
coughing and sputtering angrily, to the accompaniment of roars of
laughter from his companions.
Ned grabbed the boy by the collar, shaking him until the sand flew like
spray.
"Wake up! Wake up! How did you get here?" demanded Ned.
"I--I don't know. I--I guess I fell in."
"You fell up this time. That's a new trick you've developed. Well,
it's safer. You won't get hurt falling up, but look out when you
strike the back trail."
"Wha--what happened?" asked the fat boy peevishly.
"Everything," laughed Tad. "We got caught in a cyclone. We don't know
whether you were rolled along with it or carried here. Which was it?"
"I guess I flied," decided Stacy humorously. "But I came down so hard
that it knocked all the breath out of me. Where's the camp?"
The boys laughed.
"Ask the wind," replied Ned. "We don't know. Come! We'd better be
getting back."
"Yee, I reckon there will be plenty for us to do," agreed Tad. "Can
you walk all right, Chunky?"
"I guess so."
"Why not fly? It's easier and quicker. Chunky doesn't need a flying
machine. He's the original human heavier-than-air-machine," averred
Ned.
The guide had by this time gathered a heap of sage brush, to which he
touched a match, that they might the better examine their surroundings.
"Anything left?" called Tad, as with his companions he approached the
camp.
"I don't see anything but the saddles and the rifles."
"What, everything gone?" demanded Professor Zepplin anxiously.
"It certainly looks that way."
"Where's my pants?" wailed Chunky.
"All 'pants' have gone up," chuckled Ned.
"And so have provisions and everything else so far as I am able to
observe," added Tad.
"Then--then we've got to cross the desert in our pajamas," mourned
Walter.
They looked at each other questioningly; then the entire party burst
out laughing. They were all arrayed in pink night clothes. Not a
stitch of clothing beyond these pajamas did any of them have.
"We must look about and see if we can find any of the stuff," decided
Parry, his mind turning at once to the practical side of their
predicament. "I hope we find the food at least."
"Yes, I'm hungry," spoke up Stacy.
"No wonder, after the shaking up you've had," agreed the Professor.
"Guide, where do you think we'll find our belongings?"
"You are lucky if you find them at all. More than likely they are
scattered over the Diamond Range for half a dozen miles."
"May--maybe it'll come back and bring our pants," suggested Chunky, at
which there was a loud protest.
All hands formed in line, and with the guide to pilot them, started off
in their bare feet, hoping to find some of their belongings. Stacy
made the first find. He picked up a can of tomatoes. Ned Rector
rescued a can of pickled pigs' feet from the shadow of a sage brush,
while their guide discovered a sombrero that belonged to Stacy Brown.
But that was all. They traveled nearly to the foot of the mountains,
yet not a scrap did they discover beyond what they already had picked
up.
"No use going any further," announced the guide.
"Well, this is a fine predicament," decided Professor Zepplin.
"Nice mess," agreed Ned Rector.
"I want my pants," wailed Stacy.
"You'll want more than that. Look at the guide, if you think you are
in difficulties," grinned Tad.
All eyes were turned on Tom Parry. Then they uttered a shout that
might have been heard far off on the silent desert. The guide was clad
only in a blue flannel shirt and a sombrero. He was in an even worse
predicament than the party that he was guiding.
Minutes passed before the boys could control their merriment
sufficiently to permit a discussion of their situation.
Tom Parry took their joking good-naturedly. He was too old a
campaigner to be greatly disturbed over his own laughable condition.
"Something must be done," announced the Professor, after the laughter
had subsided. "What do you propose, Mr. Parry?"
"Well, in the first place, like our friend, Master Stacy Brown, I want
a pair of pants. I can't very well cross the desert in this rig."
Once more their laughter drowned the voices of the guide and the
Professor.
"Is there no town near here where we can get a fresh outfit? I am
thankful that I kept my money belt strapped about me. We should be in
a tight fix, had I lost the funds, too," said the Professor.
"I have been considering what is best to be done," replied Parry. "I
see no other way than that we shall have to ride to Eureka. That is a
railroad terminal and quite a town. I am sure we shall be able to get
there all we need for our journey. It will prove a little more
expensive than in a larger city, however."
"No question of expense just now," answered the Professor. "Will it be
necessary for all of us to go?"
"I think it will be best. I don't care to leave any of the party
behind. One never can tell what is going to happen, you know."
"So I have observed," commented the Professor dryly.
"How far is Eureka from here?" questioned Tad.
"Between twenty-five and thirty miles. The town lies to the northwest.
If it were not for the pack train we could make it quickly, but we
shall have to move rather slowly on the burros' account."
"Then why not start at once?" suggested Tad Butler. "The moon is
shining brightly and the air is cool. That is, if you can find the
way?"
"No trouble about that," grinned Parry. "Your suggestion is a good
one. We'll start just as soon as I can get ready."
"I don't see anything left here to get ready," laughed Ned.
"You will excuse me, gentlemen, but there is something that I shall
have to get ready," replied the guide with a peculiar smile.
"What's that?" demanded the Professor.
"I've got to take a double reef in my shirt before I can go anywhere,
except to bed."
The boys shouted again.
Tom Parry hurried off beyond the ponies, where he was engaged for
several minutes. When he returned they discovered that he had taken
off his shirt. First he had cut off the sleeves, and by thrusting his
feet through the arm holes had made for himself a very substantial pair
of trunks. This odd outfit he had made fast about his waist with a
thong of leather that he had cut from a bridle rein. This, with the
broad-brimmed sombrero, completed his outfit.
The sight was too much for the Pony Rider Boys. They shouted peal
after peal of merriment, in which the Professor joined, though in a
somewhat more dignified manner.
Tom Parry's mouth was stretched in a grin as he got busy saddling the
ponies and urging the sleepy burros to their feet.
"I think we are all ready now," the guide called back to the others.
With many a shout and jest the strange procession started off across
the desert, under the brightly shining moon, the cool evening breezes
making their scanty covering none too comfortable.
The boys devoted the greater part of their attention to the Professor
and Tom Parry, both of whom were riding as dignifiedly as if they were
leading a parade at a Fourth of July celebration. Every little while
the boys, unable to contain themselves longer, would burst out into
merry peals of laughter.
"Hope it doesn't snow," said Stacy Brown wisely.
"No," retorted Ned. "The colors in your pajamas might run."
"That's where the guide has the better of us," retorted Tad a little
maliciously, which brought still another laugh from the boys.
"Say, fellows, this saddle is getting harder every minute," called
Chunky, who was riding back and forth behind the pack train, urging on
the burros.
"Stand up in your stirrups now and then," suggested Tad.
"What, in my bare feet?" yelled the fat boy. "Think I want to get
pancake feet?"
"Chunky's getting aristocratic," jeered Ned. "He's so proud of those
high insteps of his that he has to take off his shoes every little
while to look at his feet. He's afraid they'll cave in some time when
he isn't looking."
Daylight came all too soon, and following it the sun burst forth in a
blaze of heat. Ahead of them across the desert they were able to make
out the town of Eureka.
"Say, Mr. Parry, aren't you afraid this sunlight will spoil your
complexion?" called Ned.
The guide grinned good-naturedly.
"Never mind," he retorted. "Your turn will come pretty soon, young
man."
Ned Rector did not catch the significance of the remark just then, but
he understood a few hours later.