GOING TO BED BY DAYLIGHT
"Something else to do?" repeated the Professor. "I know of nothing more
to be done except to get under way and try to find a safe portage."
"I've got to bury the mule, sir."
"Oh! Where?"
"I'll show you. Stand clear of the rope, fellows," ordered Butler.
Stepping to the edge of the trail he glanced down at the body of the
mule, swaying with a scarcely perceptible movement. Looking back to see
that the rope was clear, Tad drew his hunting knife and stooped over,
his companions drawing as near to the edge as they dared.
Butler cut the rope that held the dead mule. The rope suddenly sprang
back as the unfortunate pack mule's body shot down into the shadowy
pass. The other boys instinctively drew back. Their nerve was not quite
equal to standing on the brink to watch the sight. With Tad it was
different. He seemed not to be at all affected by great heights or great
depths. He stood with the toes of his boots over the edge, gazing down
until a faint sound from far below told him that the body had struck.
"That's all, fellows," he said, turning back to them. "I reckon we had
better do as the Professor suggests, and get under way at once. I will
confess that this bracing air is having some effect on my appetite."
"Don't speak of it," begged Stacy. "I am trying to forget that I have an
appetite, but it's awful hard work."
"Too bad about the mule, isn't it?" asked Rector soberly.
Tad nodded.
"Yes, I should say it is," agreed Stacy. "There's eight dollars of my
good money gone down into that hole."
"Never mind. He was wind-broken and undoubtedly would have played out
before we got through the mountains. I am glad it wasn't the other one,"
answered Butler cheerfully. "How is the trail ahead, Professor?"
"I haven't looked."
Bidding them wait until he made an inspection, Tad walked ahead. He
found the narrow trail filled with dirt and shale rock; there were many
tons of it heaped up on the trail.
"Oh, fudge!" laughed the boy. "Fate is determined to make us turn back.
But we won't! We are going through, even if we have to build a tunnel.
Get out the shovel, Ned."
This necessitated undoing the bundle that held all the tools of the
outfit, and also entailed the unloading of the pack on the back of the
remaining pack mule. Ned soon came trotting up with the shovel. He
uttered a long-drawn whistle when he saw the blocked trail.
"We never shall be able to get through that," he groaned.
"Oh, yes we shall. I'll shovel until I am tired, then you take hold and
make the dirt fly."
"I'll do that all right," returned Rector. "I am too keen for my dinner
and supper to delay matters any more than I am obliged to. We ought to
make Chunky take a hand."
"No, I wouldn't risk it. Before he had finished he would have lost the
shovel overboard. It is the only one we have. Here goes!"
Tad did make the dirt fly. He was a sturdy young man, all muscle and
grit. He shoveled for twenty minutes, working his way through the great
heap of dirt. Then he straightened up, his face flushed and perspiring.
"Go to it, Ned!"
Ned did, with a will. An hour and a half was consumed in clearing the
trail, and, when they finished, both boys were wet with perspiration.
"I think we had better walk for the present," suggested Tad. "We shall
stiffen up if we ride in our present overheated condition."
Ned nodded.
"I can't be much lamer than I am. I feel as if I had a broken hinge in
my back," he declared.
They started on, moving with extreme care that they might not meet with
another such disaster. The remaining pack mule was a much better animal
than the one they had lost. He was possessed of better sense, too, and
seemed to understand that great responsibilities rested on his
shoulders.
As for the trail, it was the same rugged, narrow path that they had been
following for hours.
"What if we should meet someone here?" wondered Walter apprehensively.
"Back up or jump over," answered Ned.
Stacy shivered.
"I don't like it at all," he muttered.
The Professor uttered a shout.
"What is it?" cried the boys all together.
"Land ho!" was the answer.
The boys craned their necks to see what the Professor had discovered,
but he was just rounding a bend beyond which they could not see. When
they had made the turn the boys shouted, too. The trail, they saw,
opened out into a broad pass. The ground there, though uneven, was
fairly level, thickly wooded with slender Alaskan cedar, its yellow,
lacy foliage drooping gracefully from the branches. Tall and straight,
the cedars shot up into the air until it seemed as if their slender tops
pierced the sky.
"How beautiful!" cried Tad.
"Wouldn't they make fish poles, though?" chuckled Ned.
"Yes, we wouldn't have to leave home when we went fishing," answered
Stacy. "We could just sit on the back porch and drop a hook in the water
at the back of the old pasture lot."
"How high do you think those trees are, Professor?" asked Tad.
"All of a hundred and fifty feet. A marvelous growth."
"I think I can appreciate the beauty of it more after I get something
inside of me," spoke up the fat boy. "Do we get anything to eat or do we
absorb landscape for our supper?"
"I reckon we had better get busy," agreed Tad laughingly.
They began unloading the packs at once. By the time the boys came in
with the wood the spot had assumed a really camp-like appearance. The
pots were filled with water and Tad began building a structure that was
to be their campfire when he was ready to touch it off.
"Did you find any birch bark, Ned?" he asked.
"Yes, there it is."
"Oh, thank you. The cedar will burn all right, but it is a good thing to
have the birch. We shall have a supper worth while in a few minutes.
Stacy, get busy and prepare the coffee."
For once the fat boy did not demur. He was too hungry, and was willing
to do almost anything that would hurry the supper along. Not a mouthful
had any of them eaten since breakfast.
The ponies were browsing contentedly, but the mule had lain down and
gone to sleep. The day was still bright, though the air had grown cooler
than when the sun was at its height. Still, a warm glow suffused the
faces of the Pony Rider Boys because they had been exercising. They
usually were busy, and not one of the lads, unless it were Stacy Brown,
had a lazy streak in him. Stacy was constitutionally opposed to doing
anything that looked like real work.
The cedar quickly blazed up into a crackling fire, consuming the
foliage. Tad took some of the brands and made a small cooking fire that
soon was a glowing bed of coals. Over this he broiled the bacon, toasted
the bread, and cooked the coffee without the least apparent effort.
Stacy Brown sat regarding the operations. Ned said that Stacy reminded
him of a dog watching the preparation of its dinner, but the fat boy
took no notice of Ned's comparison.
At last the meal was ready and the boys gathered around the spread that
was laid near the campfire, and began to eat with good appetites. Ned
nearly choked on a biscuit, and Tad swallowed a drink of water the wrong
way, while Walter accidentally kicked over the coffee pot, the contents
spilling over the Professor's ankle to the great damage of the
Professor's skin at that point.
"Here, here! Is this a football scrimmage or are you young gentlemen at
your meal?" demanded the Professor. "I've seen nothing to indicate the
latter."
"Oh, Professor," begged Tad laughingly. "Aren't you pretty hard on us?"
"You did perfectly right, Professor," approved Stacy. "Their manners are
bad and I am glad you have called them to account. Why, their example is
so bad that I have been fearful all the time of getting into bad habits
myself."
Ned gave him a warning look.
"Wait!" warned Rector.
"I can't. I'm too hungry."
"Perhaps we have been rather rude, Professor," admitted Tad. "I beg your
pardon."
"Show your repentance by making a fresh pot of coffee, as I have most of
the first lot in my stocking," reminded Professor Zepplin.
It seemed odd to be eating supper in broad daylight, whereas they
ordinarily ate in the twilight or after dark. After supper, and when the
remains were cleared away, the boys strolled about, talking. At ten
o'clock the Professor called that it was time to turn in.
"But it isn't dark yet," protested Ned.
"The nights are short. Unless you turn in early you will not want to get
up in the morning," reminded Professor Zepplin.
"He never does," averred Walter.
"I don't want to turn in at chicken hours," objected Stacy.
"Little boys should be in bed early," said Tad smilingly.
"That's what they made me do when I was a baby. They'd tuck me in my
little crib and give me a bottle and sing me to sleep. What time does it
get daylight, Professor?" questioned the fat boy.
"As a matter of fact it hardly gets dark," answered the Professor. "We
shall have only about three hours of real night, I think. That is about
the way it has been since we have been in this latitude. You will find
it more difficult to sleep with the morning light in your eyes than with
this light, so go to bed."
"I am thinking the same. Good-night, all. Don't any of you boys dare
snore to-night. Remember we are sleeping in rather close quarters,"
reminded Butler.
"One of you may come in with me," offered the Professor.
"No, thank you, we shall do very well as it is," replied Tad.
Stacy had the usual number of complaints to make. The cedar odor
prevented his breathing properly, the sharp stickers on the cedar boughs
poked through his pajamas and into his skin. He voiced all the
complaints he could think of, after which he settled down to long,
rhythmic snores that could be heard all around the place, inside and
out. The purple twilight merged into blue shadows, then into black,
impenetrable darkness that swallowed up the pass and the two little
white tents of the Pony Rider Boys.