Trailing down the conspirators. Herded in a mountain cabin. "Give
them a volley, men!" The battle on Smoky Bald. Pluck wins for the
Pony Rider Boys. A happy reward.
CHAPTER I
THE CAMP IN SMOKY PASS
"Now let the flies, the hornets, the fleas and the doodle bugs come
and do their worst," declared Tad Butler, standing off to take a look
at the tent he had just finished pitching.
"No doodle bugs in mine, if you please," answered Stacy Brown.
"Nor mine," added Ned Rector and Walter Perkins in chorus.
"How about you, Chops? Do you like bugs?" questioned Tad, giving the
guide a mischievous glance.
"Yassir."
"You do?"
"Yassir. Nassir."
"Well, which is it?"
"Nassir."
"I thought not," nodded Tad. "Chops doesn't always know what he does
want."
"Yassir."
"I reckon we'll have to give him a few lessons," suggested Chunky
Brown with a grin.
"Yassir," replied Chops, regarding Chunky with large eyes.
"So long as you are willing, there seems to be nothing more to be
said at the present sitting," observed Ned Rector.
"You're a cheerful idiot, aren't you, Chops?" persisted Stacy.
"Yassir."
"Isn't it fine to have a guide who agrees with everything you say?"
scoffed Ned. "I'm afraid we're going to have a quiet time of it down
here in the Blue Ridge with a guide who won't oppose you, not a person
to fight you, not even an animal to do battle with," mourned Ned.
"I guess you will find animals enough when we get in farther,"
answered Tad with a laugh.
"What kind?" demanded Ned, instantly on the alert.
"Deer, bear and mountain lion."
"I--I caught a mountain lion up in the Grand Canyon," interposed
Chunky.
"Yes, we know all about that."
"We certainly do, don't we, Chunky?" laughed Tad.
"I reckon if we don't, no one does," finished Chunky, directing a
look of inquiry at the guide.
"Yassir," agreed Chops, grinning broadly.
"Chops," it may be well to explain, was not only colored, but he was
black as a piece of ebony, which, however, did not account for his
peculiar nickname. Chops's right name was Billy Veal. The boys
seized upon this to call him Veal Chops, which after a few hours was
changed to the short form, or "Chops." And Chops, Billy would remain
as long as he traveled the Blue Ridge in the company of these
fun-loving young fellows.
Chops's lips were red and his mouth looked like an angry gash, while
the eyes at times appeared to be all whites.
Professor Zepplin had attached Chops to his party at Asheville. The
colored man had been recommended as an excellent guide, one who knew
every foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains and their various branches.
Besides this, the Professor's informant said that Billy Veal was a
splendid cook, a useful man about the stock, and possessing numerous
other qualifications. What the informant did not say was that, while
Billy may have known how to do all these things, he was loath to do
anything that might be construed as work. Besides this, his appetite
was greater than Stacy Brown's, which was saying a great deal for
Billy. Veal's appetite was, in fact, assuming alarming proportions.
The party feared that they should not be able to keep themselves
supplied with food unless something were done to check the growing
appetite of the guide and all-around man.
The Professor was looking on admiringly as Tad finished pitching the
tents, Veal watching the work with wide, white eyes. Stacy took a
piece of hardtack which he tossed to the waiting colored man, and
the hardtack instantly went into Chops's mouth. For a second it
puffed out his cheek, then disappeared down his throat whole, as the
guide gave a convulsive gulp.
Stacy Brown regarded the fellow admiringly.
"Goodness gracious! I wish I could stow away food like that. Did
you ever eat on a wager, Chops?"
"Yassir."
"What did you do?"
"I done et six pies while de clock was strikin' twelve, sah."
"Six pies?" marveled the fat boy.
"Yassir."
"Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha! You must have been a regular turn-over."
"Yassir."
"Were you full?" asked Tad.
"Nassir. I could hab done et some more."
"Chunky, you ought to take lessons from Chops. He might give you
some valuable pointers," suggested Tad laughingly.
"I reckon he could at that," agreed the fat boy. "If I could eat six
pies all at once, without having to send for the doctor, I'd think I
was some pumpkins."
"Especially if you had been eating pumpkin pies, eh?" chuckled Tad
Butler.
"Tad, I like your tent arrangement first rate," complimented
Professor Zepplin surveying the little white canvas tents that were
ranged in a semicircle about the campfire, all opening to the fire.
"I am inclined to think, too, that you have an invention worth while
in what we have named the 'Butler Lean-to.' I am sure others will
recognize the value of it and that it will come into quite general
use."
"Thank you. I shall be glad if others find it useful. However, we
have not tried it out. We'll see how it works with us during this
journey through the Blue Ridge," answered Tad.
Tad Butler's tent was an ingenious little affair. It weighed just
five pounds, and when packed, it folded into a neat little package
five inches thick by ten by fourteen inches. One might carry it on
his back without discomfort.
To put up such a tent you cut three slender saplings of about ten
feet long, slip one down the ridge of the tent and out through a hole
in the back. Shove the end of this pole into the ground, cross and
spread the other two poles, and tie the three together at the upper
ends. Next raise the ridge-pole by sticking the other two into the
ground to make a triangle. Peg down the sides, tie out the front
poles at the grommets, and your tent is ready for occupancy, having
taken not more than seven or eight minutes in the putting up. After
finishing, the tent makes a peculiar appearance, being about two feet
wide at the rear, by a full eight feet at the front. The rear of the
tent is used for the storing of equipment or "duffle" as the camper
calls it.
Tad arranged two beds in his tent, leaving the others to fix their
own as suited their individual tastes. The beds were made by first
clearing away the ground, then piling in hemlock boughs fully three
feet deep. Over this was placed the sleeping bag, and no softer bed
ever held a tired camper. The bed had also the merit of raising one
from the ground, out of the water, provided there should be rain in
the night.
The others of this party of young explorers were satisfied to dump
their sleeping bags on the ground, though the Professor did make a
bed for himself, which, while not so practical as Tad's, served his
purpose almost equally well.
"You fellows had better get yourselves off the ground, for we are
going to have a storm tonight," advised Butler. "Walter is sleeping
in my tent, but the rest of you look out. Don't you think it's going
to storm, Chops?"
"Yassir."
"I don't think it's going to storm, do you, Chops?" asked Stacy.
"Nassir."
"There you are," declared the fat boy. "You pay your money and you
take your choice. It is going to storm, and it isn't going to storm.
You'd make a fine thermometer, Chops. Why, you'd have everybody
crazy with the heat and the cold all at the same time."
The camp had been pitched in the narrow Smoky Pass of the Blue Ridge
through which flowed a tributary of the French Broad River. The
stream was very shallow at this time of the year, there having been
but few rains, and its course was marked mostly by white sand and
smoothly worn rocks, with here and there along the borders of the
water course little colonies of the white, pink-petaled trillium
gently nodding their heads at the ends of their long, slender stems.
The pass was silent save for the soft murmur of the stream and the
songs of birds farther up the rocky sides in the dense foliage. It
was an ideal camping place in a dry spell, but not any too desirable
in times of high water.
Billy Veal had declared that it offered a perfectly easy route
through to the Black Mountain spur for which the party was heading.
Billy knew the mountains very well. The boys were obliged to admit
that, but the difficulty was to find out what he did know, for he was
as likely to say one thing as another. They had decided that the
best plan would be to tell him where they wanted to go, leaving him
to do the rest. The more questions they asked the less they knew.
"Did you ever see a ghost, Chops?" asked Stacy after they had settled
down for an evening's enjoyment.
"Nassir. Yassir," answered the colored man, his eyes growing large.
"I'll show you a ghost some time. Would you like to be introduced to
a ghost?" persisted Stacy.
"Yassir. Nassir. Doan' want see no ghosts."
"Then why don't you say so?"
"Yassir."
"Say what you mean," ordered the fat boy sternly. "Don't beat around
the bush. You'll be getting yourself into a pickle first thing you
know, for--"
"Billy! We are waiting for you to get the supper," warned the
Professor severely. "You should have had it well started before
this."
"Yassir," answered Chops, grinning broadly.
"You forgot something, Chops," reminded Stacy.
"Yassir?"
"No, nassir," jeered the fat boy.
"Stacy, be good enough to go away from the guide. You are
interfering with his duties," rebuked the Professor.
"Nassir. Yassir," mocked the fat boy with a grin almost as broad as
Billy Veal's.
They sat down to supper soon after that and all hands agreed that it
was an excellent meal. What appealed to their appetites most were
the waffles, real old southern waffles, the kind that mother didn't
make. A jug of molasses was produced as a surprise. Such a feast
the boys had not had within memory. Cool, sparkling water was at
hand. One had but to step to the stream and dip it up, but it was
the waffles that put pretty much everything else out of mind.
"Why, Billy, I didn't know that you brought syrup," glowed the
Professor, now in high good humor.
"Yassir."
"Well, well! This is indeed a surprise, my man."
"I am thankful that he is at last making an effort to earn his
wages," muttered Tad Butler. "Thus far he hasn't done much in that
direction."
"You must admit that he has guided us pretty well," defended Walter
Perkins.
"You mean we have guided ourselves," differed Ned Rector. "Anybody
could follow this hollow; in fact, one couldn't get out of it until
he got to the end--that is, unless he had wings--unless he was a
bird."
"That's Chops," declared Stacy.
"What do you mean?" demanded Ned, turning to the fat boy.
"I mean he is a bird. Must I explain everything to you? If you
insist I will draw a picture of a bird and--"
"That will do, Stacy," rebuked Ned.
"Yassir," mimicked Stacy, whereat the boys burst out laughing. There
was no resisting Stacy Brown's droll way of saying things. Stacy was
a natural comedian, but whether or not he was aware of this, none but
himself knew.
There were no waffles left when the boys finished their supper. The
clouds had been gathering all the afternoon, and just as they sat
back for a comfortable chat on full stomachs, little spatters of rain
gave promise of a wet night.
"You see," reminded Tad, nodding to his companions and glancing up to
the sky.
"We don't see much, but we feel. I guess you were right at that,
Tad," agreed Ned Rector.
"Tad's always right when he isn't wrong," observed Stacy solemnly.
"And you are usually wrong when you are not right," retorted Butler
quickly.
"Laying all levity aside, I wish to ask if you young men know where
you are," interrupted the Professor.
"Yassir," answered Stacy promptly.
"I suppose we are in the Smoky Pass of the Blue Ridge Mountains in
North Carolina, sir," replied Tad.
"Exactly. But there are some features about the Blue Ridge which you
young gentlemen possibly are not familiar with. For your benefit I
will give you a brief talk on this somewhat unfamiliar range of
mountains. Ahem! The Blue Ridge is the most easterly range of the
Appalachian mountain system. I presume you are unaware that it
actually has its beginning at West Point on the Hudson River, whence
so many fine young officers went out to fight for their country in
the great World War. Am I right in thus supposing?" The Professor
glared about him fiercely.
"You win," muttered Stacy.
"It is the fact. The Blue Ridge forms an almost continuous chain
from that point down to the north of Alabama. The range makes its
way through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia and the Carolinas.
The Blue Ridge proper is that part of the range below Pennsylvania
which separates the Great Valley from the Piedmont region. In south
Virginia the range widens into a broad plateau which reaches its
widest extent in the state where we now are."
"Yassir," murmured Stacy Brown.
The boys pretended not to have heard the interruption, but the
Professor fixed a stern eye on Stacy, and then resumed his lecture.
"In this state, North Carolina," he said, "the range is intersected
by numerous groups, such as the Black, the South and the like, some
reaching several thousand feet in height. We shall soon be in a spur
of the Black Mountains."
"I fear we shall have to find a new guide if we ever get anywhere,
Professor," spoke up Tad.
"I am of the opinion that he has done very well. Did he not surprise
us with waffles and syrup?" demanded Professor Zepplin.
"He did," agreed the boys.
"On the other hand," added Tad, "our grub is disappearing most
mysteriously. I am sure Chunky couldn't eat so much more than the
rest of us. Our flour is nearly all gone, though we haven't been out
a week. It is almost unbelievable. All the biscuit we brought along
have disappeared."
"And those cookies we got in Asheville," mourned Stacy. "I was
figuring on having cookies all the way across the mountains. Now
I'll have to eat hard-tack and biscuit."
"So long as you don't have to eat salt horse, you ought to consider
yourself lucky," retorted Rector.
"As I was about to say when interrupted," continued Professor Zepplin,
"the Black Mountains lie in Buncombe and Yancy counties--"
"Does Chops come from Buncombe?" interrupted Stacy.
"Again I say, they form a spur of the Blue Ridge," resumed the
Professor unheeding the interruption, "and are a part of the
Appalachian system. They lie between the French Broad River and its
main tributary, the Nolichucky."
"Is this the Trolleychucky here at our feet, Professor?" questioned
Chunky innocently.
Tad gave the fat boy a prod with the toe of his boot, whereat Stacy
turned an indignant face to him.
"Mount Mitchell, Black Dome, Guyot's Peak, Sandoz Knob and Gibbe's
Peak, including Smoky Bald and others, form the divide between the
Tennessee and Catawba River basins. That, for the present, will be
quite sufficient for the topography of the country. As you are no
doubt aware, most of the rocks through this region are highly
crystalline, but whether of paleozoic or azoic age, is not certain,"
concluded the Professor.
"Yassir," murmured the fat boy. Chops had been listening with wide
open mouth and eyes, not understanding a word of what had been said,
but being sure it was something of tremendous importance because he
could not understand.
"Here comes the storm," cried Tad as a vivid sheet of lightning
flashed up the pass, followed by a deafening peal of thunder.
Almost instantly the rain began to fall, and the boys scrambled for
their tents, while Chops, wrapping himself in a blanket, crouched in
front of the fire. From their tents the lads could talk to each
other, the openings of the tents being close to the fire itself.
They continued their conversation from the tents. By this time the
rain was roaring on the canvas in a perfect torrent.
"It's going to be a good night to sleep," called Ned.
"I am not so sure of that," answered Tad Butler.
"I reckon it'll be a fine night for ducks," observed Chunky.
"Young man, that is not seemly language," rebuked the Professor.
"It's the truth. Isn't truth seemly?" demanded Stacy.
"You are evading the question."
"I beg your pardon, I'm not. I am bumping right up against it,"
retorted the fat boy, amid smothered laughter.
The roar of the storm soon made the boys sleepy, and a few minutes
later the last of the party, except Tad, had turned in. Butler
watched the storm for an hour, listening thoughtfully to the river
and the rain.
"It is my opinion that we'll be having trouble before morning," he
muttered as he threw himself down on his bed of boughs. He did not
remove his clothes, as had the others, in which perhaps Tad Butler
was wise.
Once more the Pony Rider Boys were well started on their summer's
ride, led by Professor Zepplin, the tutor who had accompanied them on
so many happy adventures in the saddle on their summer outings. The
Professor, who, in spite of his sternness, was as much a boy as his
charges, took a secret delight in their pranks and their noisy chatter.
Following their lively adventures in other fields, they had elected
to explore the apparently more peaceful territory of the Blue Ridge
Mountains. In fact, the Pony Rider Boys did not look forward to
adventures here, but in this they were destined to be considerably
surprised.
The Pony Rider party had made camp in a narrow spot in what was known
as Smoky Pass, and were now facing a storm which Tad Butler believed
promised to be a severe one. Nor in this belief was Tad one whit
outside of the truth, for, as he listened, the storm steadily
increased in fury. The present center of the rising storm appeared
to be to the eastward of their camp, and already the ordinarily small
stream at their feet was muttering ominously. Its waters, sparkling
clear an hour before, were now muddy and swollen. Tad's observant
"weather eye" also noted that the stream was full of drift and
torn-off foliage.
Billy Veal, the guide, he observed, stood wide-eyed and shivering
just beyond the fire, for Billy was wet, and he was afraid.
"Come in here," ordered Tad, and Billy obeyed with evident reluctance.
"Do you know of any place hereabouts where we might climb up the side
of the pass?" Tad demanded.
"Yassir, nassir," chattered Veal.
"Well, which is it?" insisted Butler sharply.
"Nassir."
"Humph! Then, if we wanted to get out of this pass, and could
neither go up nor downstream, what would you do, Billy?"
"Ah reckons Ah'd stay heah, sah."
"Pshaw!" grunted Tad disgustedly. Trying to wring information from
Billy was far from satisfying. "Sit down in here where you can keep
dry, and if the storm gets much worse let me know. I am going to
turn in and get some sleep." Tad, who had risen to have a look at
the weather, threw himself down again, for he was tired and sleepy.
The campground was very low, and, were the creek to rise much above
its present channel, Butler knew that his party would come in for a
fine wetting. However, this was not greatly disturbing to him,
though he did not exactly like the idea of being shut up in that
walled-in pass with no way of getting out save by following the
stream either up or down. Tad quickly went to sleep and slumbered on
unmindful of the roar of the storm. He was disturbed some three hours
later by howls from the tent occupied by Stacy Brown.
"Oh, wow!" yelled the fat boy.
Tad Butler, like every other member of the party, was awakened by
Stacy's yell. Chops sat shivering and regarding him apprehensively.
He had never before heard Chunky howl, and the howl was terrifying to
him.
"Go and see what is the matter with Mr. Brown," directed Tad.
Stacy's howls broke forth afresh.
"Hey! Stop that. What's the matter?" shouted Tad.
"I'm all afloat. I'm soused from head to foot," came the reply.
"Save you the trouble of taking a bath," answered Butler.
"I'll drown," wailed Stacy.
"Oh, stop it and get a boat," urged Ned Rector's voice.
"Why didn't you pile in hemlock boughs, as I told you to do, then you
wouldn't have got wet," rebuked Tad. "Are you lying in the water?"
"Yes. What'll I do?"
"You'll get wetter, so far as I am able to see."
About this time Professor Zepplin in his pajamas was charging out of
his tent. He was drenched in a second.
"Guide, isn't there a higher and drier place that we can get to?"
demanded the Professor.
"Yassir. Nassir."
"We are in a pocket, Professor. We'll have to take our medicine,"
called Tad.
"I don't like my medicine so cold," wailed the fat boy.
"All hands had better dress," advised Butler. "I think we are about
to experience some trouble."
"What do you think?" questioned the Professor.
"I think we are in for a ducking."
Tad put on a rubber coat, and pulling his hat well down, stepped out.
By this time there was no fire. It had been drowned out, and the
night was black. He could not see a thing, but the ominous roar of
the creek was close at hand.
The boy went back to his tent and got a lantern. Emerging with this,
a grim smile settled on the Pony Rider Boy's face as he surveyed the
scene. The waters from the stream were swirling and eddying about
the bases of the tents; the stream had left its former channel and
pretty much all the former dry ground was covered with a thin coating
of water. Professor Zepplin glanced about apprehensively.
"This looks serious," he observed.
"It does," agreed Tad.
"But what are we going to do?"
"I think we had better break camp and try to make our way out of this
while we may," replied Tad. "The horses already are standing in
water above their fetlocks. They'll be in it up to their bodies
soon, at the present rate of rise."
"What does the guide say?" demanded Professor Zepplin.
"The guide isn't saying anything. Chops is too frightened to talk.
Shall I give the orders, sir?" asked Butler.
"Yes, if you think best, Tad. Your judgment in these matters I have
usually found to be sound."
"Turn out, fellows! Turn out in a hurry, too, unless you prefer to
take a long swim. Saddle the ponies, Chops. Move!" urged Tad
sharply.
The Pony Rider camp was instantly turned into a scene of activity.
The boys knew from Tad's tone that the situation was alarming, and
they lost no time in getting into their wet clothes, Chunky chattering
like a magpie, Chops rolling his eyes as if he were about to go into a
fit, and the faces of the other boys showing more than ordinary
concern.
The situation was critical, even more so than Tad Butler thought, but
which he, with the others, was soon to realize.
CHAPTER II
BATTLING WITH A GREAT FLOOD
Fortunately for the Pony Rider outfit, Tad Butler's forethought had
saved much of their provisions, for the "chuck" had been suspended
from the crotch of a sapling where it now swung high and dry above
the water that was swirling below it.
Not trusting the guide to pack the provisions Tad took that task upon
himself, while his companions, with the exception of Stacy Brown,
were getting the other equipment together for a hurried move. Billy
Veal, in the present emergency, was about as useful as a wooden man.
Too frightened to keep his mind on his work, whatever he did he did
badly.
"Who was the man who recommended Chops to you, Professor?" called Tad.
"The banker at Asheville, sir. Why?"
"Oh, nothing much except that I'd like to be a judge and have that
banker come up before me just once--just once, mind you."
"I am inclined to agree with you, young man," replied the Professor.
"Were there a reasonable chance for him to get home alive I should be
for sending Veal there at once."
"What are we going to do now?" cried Ned running up to them, now
fully clothed, with oilskins covering his body down to the knees.
"We are going to try to get out of here. Hurry with the tents.
Strike the camp in a rush, boys!" commanded Tad.
"If we wait long enough the lightning will do that for us," jeered
Stacy.
"No levity, gentlemen," was the Professor's stern command. "This is
a time for action, not so-called humor."
"Yassir," piped the fat boy.
The tents came down quickly, but they were not packed with the usual
care. Instead they were folded up hastily and stowed in the packs of
the various boys. The lads worked like tentmen striking circus tents
when looking forward to a long run to the next town. The result was
that the equipment was ready for moving in almost record time. The
water was plainly rising as Tad could see by the light of the
flickering lanterns.
"Now, Professor, we are all ready," announced Butler finally. "What
would you suggest?"
"I am depending upon you, Tad. I thought you had some plan in mind.
However, so long as you have asked me, I would suggest that we
continue on upstream."
"I think it would be wiser to go the other way," advised Tad. "Guide,
is there any place below here where we can make a dry landing?"
"Yassir."
"That's good. How far below?"
"Right smart piece, sah."
"How far?" demanded Tad insistently.
"Right smart, sah."
"You can't get anything out of him," grumbled Butler disgustedly.
"How far is 'right smart,' Chops?" interjected Rector.
"A right smart, sah."
"A mile?"
"Yassir."
"Two miles?"
"Yassir."
"You see, Professor," spoke up Tad with a shrug of the shoulders.
"We can expect no help from Chops. We've got to trust to our own
judgment."
The Professor nodded reflectively.
"Why do you prefer to go down rather than upstream?" he asked.
"For the reason that we shall meet higher water up there, and besides
this we shall be beating against the flood instead of going with it.
You will find the going easier downstream than the other way."
"I am inclined to think you are right. But the difficulty is that we
don't know what we are going to meet that way now."
"We shall have to take our chances, that's all. And the sooner we
get started the better. We'll be swept off from this camp ground
pretty soon. You see how rapidly the water is rising?" reminded
Butler.
"Then we will go downstream. Get ready, boys."
"We're ready," cried Ned.
"I'm not ready," answered Stacy. "I--I've got to tie my shoe. I--"
"Let him tie his shoe. He can follow along when he gets ready. We
don't propose to stay here and drown," declared Ned.
"I'll lead the way with a lantern," announced Tad. "Chops, you ride
up next to me. Ned, you follow along at the rear with a second
lantern. In that way we shall be pretty well able to see what we are
doing and what is going on along the line."
"An excellent idea," approved Professor Zepplin. "You have a wise
head on your shoulders, Tad."
"But a wet one," laughed the Pony Rider Boy, mounting his pony and
wading it cautiously into the rapidly moving water. "Come on there,
Chops. Why are you hanging back?"
"Yassir," answered Billy Veal riding in after Tad with evident
reluctance.
The water was up to the bellies of the ponies. The little animals
put back their ears. They did not like the task before them. Chunky
had trouble with his mount and for a moment it looked as though the
fat boy would be dumped into the flood. After a brief battle,
however, he managed to get his horse headed in the right direction.
For the first half hour the boys made their way along without great
difficulty, though they could tell that the water was rising all the
time. At first they had held their feet up, to keep them out of the
water. But now they were riding with feet in stirrups, well down in
the water. Their feet were already benumbed with the cold, the
ponies were snorting, and the night seemed to be growing blacker with
the moments.
All at once Ned's voice was raised above the roar of the water in a
warning shout.
"Pull to the right!" he called.
The word was passed along quickly, whereat every one forced his pony
against the steep wall on the right-hand side. They were none too
soon. A great tumbling shape went tearing by, raking the legs and
sides of the horses. Billy Veal, not having got out of the way
quickly enough, was caught, and his pony was swept from its feet.
The colored man fell, uttering a yell of fear.
Tad, with quick presence of mind, threw his own body forward and
taking a stiff brace on the right stirrup reached down grasping Billy
by the coat collar. Chops was yelling lustily.
"Stop it! Howling won't help you!" bellowed Tad.
A big tree, having been uprooted by the storm, had done the work.
But the tree had come and gone almost before the Pony Rider Boys
realized what had occurred. Billy was floundering in the water. Tad
was holding to him with difficulty.
"If you don't stop it, I'll let go," threatened Tad. "You'll drown
if I do. Buck up!"
"Let him go! We don't want him," shouted Chunky mockingly.
"Ride up beside me and help me, or I shall let go," gritted Tad,
holding to the fellow with all his strength.
Chunky obeyed reluctantly. He was afraid to get mixed up with this
fresh difficulty, fearing that he might be unhorsed. Chunky had sense
enough to know what that would mean to him, but he lent his aid as
best he could, and between them they managed to get Chops up on Tad's
horse.
In the meantime Walter had ridden ahead and caught the guide's pony
after a struggle with the wiry little animal that nearly terminated
in Walter's getting a bath in the cold water, though they all were
about as wet as it was possible to be. It was not the wetness that
they feared, however, but the swift current that nearly took the
ponies off their feet, sure-footed as the tough little animals were.
Some further trouble was experienced in getting Chops back on his own
horse, and it was only by lifting him over bodily while two of them
forced the guide's pony over against Tad's mount that they succeeded
at all.
"If you get into difficulties again I guess you'll have to shift for
yourself," declared Butler. "We have about all we can do to look out
for ourselves without attending to you, Chops."
"Ya--yassir."
"Oh, shoot the 'yassir,'" jeered Rector. "Are we all right side up
with care once more?"
"Fit as dry fiddles," cried Tad. "Forward, all! Are you ready,
Professor?"
"As ready as I shall be tonight. All hands keep watching the bank on
either side for a landing place."
"I am looking after that. You may all help, of course," replied Tad.
They started on again. In places the current was so swift, where it
swirled into a bend of the stream, that Tad was obliged to follow the
current, rather than take the more direct course. He felt that his
pony could not stand the added strain were he to go straight ahead.
It was a weird scene, the shadowy figures outlined in the dim light
of the lanterns, the film of spray kicked up by man and horse, the
great dark walls towering on either side, and the roar of the flood
making necessary loud talking if one hoped to have his voice reach
his companions. Chops was the only one who really acted as if he
were afraid. Tad Butler rode ahead with all the steadiness of a
seasoned trooper going into battle. The others were not far behind
him in composure, though Stacy Brown's eyes were large and staring.
Once more their thoughts were interrupted by a call from Ned, who, as
the reader knows, was bringing up the rear of the procession. Ned's
voice again had in it a note of warning.
"Ask him what it is," called Tad.
"He says he doesn't know," answered the Professor.
Tad halted his pony and turned in the saddle waiting until Ned came
up with him.
"What is it, Ned?" he demanded.
"Don't you hear that noise?"
"That roaring?" asked Butler.
"Yes."
"I've been listening to that for the last sixty seconds," answered
Tad, his face drawing down into sharp lines of concentration. "What
do you think it is?"
"Water."
"It's something more than mere water. It's a torrent, Ned. This is
where we get it. Everyone crowd close to the bank," shouted Tad.
"What for? Is--is it another tree?" demanded Chunky.
"It's water and a lot of it. The crest of the flood I think is
coming down. Perhaps it won't last long and perhaps it may endure
for half an hour or so. Hug the wall over here on the left side.
It's less exposed there. Chops! Get over here! Be lively!"
They had not long to wait. Already pieces of bark, limbs, torn
branches, roots and sod were tearing their way down the pass, slapping
the legs of the ponies, causing the little animals to rear and plunge
and snort, and to make frantic efforts to get out of the way. This
made it the more difficult for the boys to manage them, to keep them
close to the bank where they would be safer than farther out in the
stream.
"There goes my lantern!" yelled Ned. "I'm in the dark."
"You're lucky if you don't find yourself in a darker place in a few
minutes," muttered Tad Butler apprehensively. Just then a piece of
wood hurled against his own lantern shattered the globe, at the same
time tearing the lantern from his hand, leaving only the wire handle
in his possession.
Impenetrable darkness instantly settled over the roaring scene, and
above the roar was heard the voice of Stacy Brown.
"Yassir. Nassir!" mocked Chunky.
"Stick tight to the left. Quit your fooling!" shouted Tad.
CHAPTER III
LOST IN A MOUNTAIN TORRENT
"Hang together if you can. Crowd close in behind me!"
Had all obeyed the orders of young Butler they might have escaped
with no serious consequences, but in the excitement of the moment and
swallowed up in the darkness of the night in Smoky Pass, the boys
were quickly separated. One had pulled this way in fighting with his
pony, another that. Even Professor Zepplin had been carried into a
cove far on the other side, for at this point the stream had
broadened out considerably.
All at once Tad felt his pony lifted from its feet. The animal began
to swim. To lighten the burden the boy slipped off, taking a hitch
of his rope about his waist, securing the rope to the pommel of the
saddle. It was now a case of every man for himself and trust to luck.
"Are you there?" he called to his companions.
"Ya--yassir," answered Billy Veal.
"Are you there?" again demanded Tad at the top of his voice.
He heard a shout in reply, the shout seeming to come from far down
the stream. Then Tad was caught in a wave and swept along with the
current, clinging desperately to the saddle. There was no need to
try to swim. He was traveling fast enough without attempting to go
any faster. Every little while the boy would shout for his
companions. Only twice was he able to catch a reply from any of the
party.
"I am afraid they're lost," groaned the boy. Even the familiar
"yassir" of Chops was no longer to be heard. Billy Veal had
disappeared, and for all Tad knew the guide had been drowned. Now
and then a tree or a heavy trunk would graze the body of the lad.
Lightning was still flashing at intervals, but the storm was passing,
and already a faint streak of light might have been observed roofing
the narrow opening over Smoky Pass.
All at once Tad found himself enveloped in a new darkness. Something
seemed to have caught his head in a vise-like grip, and he lost
consciousness. Though Butler did not know it, a heavy piece of timber
had been hurled against him, striking the lad on the head. The rope
that had been secured about the boy's waist slipped up under his arms
under the added weight put upon it. Tad's head drooped, but not far
enough to permit the water to cover it. Then on swept boy and pony
through the swirling flood, the pony fighting, the boy passive.
Another pony bumped into Butler's horse, but Tad did not know of the
collision.
How long he had been unconscious, Tad did not know, but it could not
have been for very long, and when he returned to consciousness he
found himself literally hanging at the side of the pony. The animal
was standing dripping and trembling, but, as the Pony Rider Boy
quickly discovered, the horse was on solid ground. The roar of the
swollen stream was still in Butler's ears, but he was no longer
battling with the flood. The night was still so dark that he could
not see the water, though overhead he saw the stars twinkling
brightly.
Tad spoke to his horse. The animal whinnied its appreciation, and
Tad patted it with a feeble hand. The boy was still too weak to do
more than lie back, breathing hard, and exerting every bit of will
power that he possessed to pull himself together.
"This won't do. I'll surely shake to pieces if I remain here," he
muttered.
With a great effort he pulled himself up and released himself from
the rope.
"Hello!" called Tad with all his strength.
There was no response.
"They've gone! I hope they aren't drowned, but I am sure something
terrible has happened to them. How I wish it were light so that I
could see what I am about."
Taking the bridle rein in one hand, Tad began feeling about in the
darkness. He learned that the pony had dragged him up to a narrow,
sandy strip of land at the base of the wall. The ground was wet,
indicating that the water had but recently receded from it. This
proved to the boy that the crest of the flood had passed and that the
water was rapidly going down.
"There's little doubt that it was the crest that struck us. But the
question is, what hit me? I don't suppose it would help if that
question were answered. The real question is, what has become of my
companions?" he muttered.
There was nothing to be done just yet, though Tad decided to try the
creek very soon. This he did after half an hour's waiting. By that
time his pony had recovered itself sufficiently to warrant Butler in
climbing to the wet, slippery saddle. How cold it did feel underneath
him, but the heat of his body soon took away this unpleasant
sensation.
Tad boldly forced the pony into the creek. To the boy's relief the
water barely touched the stirrups.
"Now if I don't fall into any pockets in the creek, I'm all right. I
don't know whether the others are below or above me, but I'm going
down a piece and if I find no one, I'll turn about and come back."
Every few moments Tad would shout. At last there came an answering
call.
"Who are you?" cried the lad joyously.
"Chunky!"
"Chunky?"
"Yassir, nassir," answered the fat boy.
"Where are you?"
"I'm where the little boy was when he was chased by a bulldog--up a
tree."
Riding over toward the voice, Butler found this to be literally true.
Stacy had grabbed at a limb that had struck him in the face, and then
swung himself up to the limb, permitting his pony to go on where it
would.
"Take me down," begged Stacy.
"Where are the others?"
"I saw Jonah go by me just after I landed from my ark."
"Who?" wondered Butler.
"Chops."
"But the rest of them?" urged Tad.
"I don't know anything about them. I've had all I could do to look
after myself, and don't you forget it. Where have you been?"
"Up the creek a way. What became of your pony?"
"I don't know. I tell you I've been busy. It wasn't any fun to hang
to this limb, not knowing at what second it was going to break and
let me down into the water. I reckon that would have been the end of
Stacy Brown. Then the papers at home would have had something to
talk about. 'Our distinguished fellow townsman, Stacy Brown, carried
away and lost in a flood in Smoky Pass in the Blue Ridge.' Sounds
kind of romantic, doesn't it?"
"You have about as much feeling as a turnip," remarked Tad
disgustedly. "The others may be drowned. I wish you had your pony.
I don't know what I am to do, but I'm afraid I'll have to leave you
up there while I go and search for the others."
"What? Leave me up here in this tree?" wailed Chunky, changing his
tone instantly.
"Yes."
"No you don't! My death will be on your head if you do. Don't you
ever accuse me of not having any feeling, if you go away and leave me
treed like a coon at bay."
"I suppose I'll have to take you, but the pony's pretty well played
out and so am I. Here, give me your hand."
In trying to make the pass from the limb to the pony, Stacy fell into
the water with a splash and uttering a yell. He thought he was going
to be drowned, but was surprised when he found that the water did not
reach far above his waist. The pony, frightened by the splash,
leaped to one side, nearly unseating its rider.
"You're a lumbering lummox," rebuked Tad.
"So are you. If you hadn't been, you wouldn't have let me fall. Are
you going to help me get up?"
"Yes. I will get down and walk. You may ride if you want to. I'm
not going to ask the pony to carry us both."
Chunky reflected over this for a moment. Tad slipped down into the
cold water.
"Get up there, and mind you don't let my pony get away," ordered
Butler.
"I won't!"
"You won't what?"
"I won't get up."
"I got down so that you might."
"I'm not that kind of a tenderfoot and you ought to know it by this
time. No, sir; I don't do anything of the sort. Get back there and
ride your own bundle of bones."
"I prefer to walk," answered Butler briefly.
"So do I, and I'm going to."
Neither would get into the saddle, so they very stubbornly started
splashing along beside the pony, each with a hand on the bridle to
save himself in case he stepped into a hole in the stream.
Tad continued calling until his voice gave out, but got no reply from
anyone.
"Come now, you yell for a while," he urged.
"What shall I say?" asked Chunky innocently.
"Say? I don't care what you say. Make a noise. That's all. I want
to find the rest of our party."
"I'll bet Chops is alive. But isn't he the Jonah?"
"I hadn't thought about it," answered Tad briefly.
"You will when you get calmed down a little. You're excited now,"
declared Stacy Brown.
"I'm nothing of the sort," protested Tad indignantly.
"Oh, yes you are. You don't know it, that's all," insisted the fat
boy.
A sharp retort rose to Tad's lips, but he suppressed it. There was
no use in arguing with Chunky, who was bound to have the last word
and that last word always did have a sting in it. At present there
were more important matters on hand. Soon after that Tad's hello was
answered by one a short distance down the pass. Contrary to his
usual powers of voice, Chunky had not proved much of a success in
yelling.
The new voice turned out to belong to Ned Rector. Ned and his pony
had found a strip of land on which they had taken refuge. It was a
glad Ned, too, when he discovered his companions.
"Have you seen anything of Walter and the Professor?" asked Butler
anxiously.
"I think they are below here somewhere. I am sure it was they who
swept past me just after we got caught in the eddy back there."
"How about Jonah?" asked Stacy.
"Who is Jonah?"
"The Jonah who claims to be a guide, but who ought to be in a
strait-jacket."
"He means Chops," laughed Tad.
"I don't know that I care particularly what has become of him,"
growled Ned.
"Oh, yes you do, Ned. He is a human being just the same as you or
I," rebuked Stacy.
"I suppose that's so, but the question is open to argument and a wide
difference of opinion. I think the Veal Chop stayed upstream
somewhere, though he may have gone on downstream. If he did, I
didn't see him go, nor hear him. Come to think of it, it seems to me
that I did hear him yelling behind me after I started on my swim for
life. Talk of going through the Rapids of Niagara! I don't believe
your swim in the Grand Canyon was any more exciting than this one
tonight. It was daylight then," said Ned.
"Yes," agreed Tad.
"Oh, wait till I get hold of that guide! What I won't do to him--"
"It will be my turn first, Ned," interrupted Stacy.
"What happened to you, by the way?" questioned Ned.
"Oh, I got left up a tree, just like the alligator bait down in
Florida. Do you know how the colored people catch alligators down
there?"
"In a woodchuck trap?" questioned Rector quizzically.
"Na-a-a-a! I'll tell you for your information, if you don't know.
They take a little colored baby and tie him either to the limb of a
tree that hangs over the water, or else fasten him to a long
pole--one that will bend--then lower him over the water. He
yells--could you blame him? The 'gators, hearing the yell, and maybe
getting a whiff of the kid, come up with open jaws with appetites
that would break a hotel. No, they don't get the little cullud
person. They get a chunk of lead right through one eye and usually
that's the end of Mr. 'Gator. The tiny cullud person is removed from
the pole and the deed's done and everybody's happy ever afterwards."
"A very likely story!" observed Ned scornfully.
"Very," agreed Tad. "We had better be getting downstream to look for
the others."
Ned refused to get off and walk, so he rode ahead of them to sound
the bottom of the stream. Day was just breaking when they came
across the Professor and Walter Perkins, both sprinting up and down
on a sandy beach to start their blood into circulation. So ludicrous
did the two look that the boys shouted. They could well afford to
shout now that all of their party were accounted for, with the
exception of the guide, whom they had little doubt they should find
later safe and sound.
CHAPTER IV
WHAT HAPPENED TO CHOPS
"Boys, boys!" cried the Professor. "You don't know how relieved I am
to see you safe and sound--"
"And wet and miserable," added Stacy.
"That doesn't make any difference so long as you are safe. I feared
something serious might have happened to you."
"There did. Tad was knocked out and I was lost up a tree," added the
fat boy eagerly. "Oh, what a fine time we're having!"
"Where is the guide?"
"We are going back to look for him, Professor," answered Butler. "I
don't know what has become of him."
"And we don't care what's become of the Jonah," scoffed Chunky. "Got
anything that looks like food in this outfit?"
"Yes. By the way, Professor, how about the stores? Have you saved
any from your packs?" questioned Tad.
"I am afraid the provisions are in a sad state," answered Professor
Zepplin ruefully.
"But surely the canned stuff must be all right," urged Tad.
"Yes, but where is the canned stuff? The pack holding the canned
goods came open and everything spilled out," Walter Perkins informed
them.
Chunky groaned.
"I see my end! Not satisfied with trying to drown me in a raging
flood, you now propose to starve me to death! But I won't be starved.
I'll go out and shoot a deer. I understand they are plentiful in
this range of rocks."
"I reckon you will have to get out of Smoky Pass before you carry out
any of your well-laid plans," answered Ned.
At Tad's suggestion, such stores and equipment as they had saved were
taken from the packs and spread out on the ground to dry. Most of
the biscuit were so soaked that they were falling apart. Not a
single can of food was left, although a ham had been preserved from
the wreck. Their extra clothing, too, had been saved from the flood,
and merely needed drying to be fit for use.
"We can live on ham for a long, long time," said Tad encouragingly.
"Then there is the coffee which will be usable after we have dried it
out. I propose that we leave all the stuff here with someone to
watch it, while the rest of us go upstream to see what we can pick
up, and at the same time look for Chops. I am mighty glad that we
haven't lost our tents. Professor, will you stay here while we take
the trail?"
"Yes. But you will be careful, won't you?"
"Of what?"
"That you don't get into other difficulties."
"No danger of that," answered Tad laughingly. "Everything that could
occur already has happened, unless Stacy were to climb the side of
the pass and fall off."
"No, thank you," objected the fat boy. "You may stir up all the
excitement you like, but no more for Stacy Brown until he is at least
dried out from the last mixup."
Tad now suggested that he and Ned go back to look for their lost
property and their guide.
"The rest of the party will remain here," he directed. "No need for
you to go with us, but suppose we have something to eat first--ham
and coffee, for instance."
"We have no matches to start a fire with," reminded Walter Perkins.
The boys looked very solemn. Chunky groaned dismally.
"I knew you fellows would find some way to my distress--to the awful
gnawing on the inside of me," he complained.
"Never mind, young men," spoke up the Professor. "Find some
reasonably dry wood or bark, and I will attend to the lighting end.
Fortunately my match safe is intended for just such an emergency as
this, and I do not believe we shall find any difficulty in making a
fire, provided you rustle the fuel."
The Pony Rider Boys gave a cheer for Professor Zepplin. The problem
of finding wood, however, was almost as perplexing as had been that
of the matches. Tad immediately jumped on his pony and trotted up
the pass. He returned half an hour later, with a bundle of bark, dry
sticks and a few pieces of pitchpine. A roaring fire was going soon
after his arrival. The warmth from it felt good, indeed, to the wet
and shivering Pony Riders.
Breakfast that morning was limited, so far as variety was concerned,
though there was plenty to eat, and the ham had grown perceptibly
smaller when they finished, and not the least of this had found a
resting place in the person of Stacy Brown. Stacy was quite willing
to remain with Walter and the Professor.
Tad and Ned started up the pass immediately after breakfast, and on
the way up they recovered the missing ponies, except the pack animal,
which must have been carried away with most of their stores. Later
in the day they discovered Billy Veal fast asleep in the sunlight on
a ledge of rock, some eight feet above the channel of the creek. How
he had succeeded in getting up there neither Tad nor Ned could imagine,
nor did Billy seem to know what had happened to him. He sat up,
regarding them with wide eyes, after they had called to him several
times. Great was their relief when they found him, but the next
problem was how to get Billy down. This was solved by Tad's
ever-ready rope. One end of this was tossed up to the guide with
instructions to pass it about a nearby sapling, tossing the free end
down to them. In this way Tad would only have to pull on one rope
after the colored man had come down, then the rope would slip back to
its owner. Shortly after that Billy was standing in the creek
channel beside them.
"Did you get wet, Chops?" asked Rector.
"Yassir, nassir."
"Did you get drowned?" asked Tad with a grin.
"Nassir, yassir, I done--"
"He doesn't know what happened to him," scoffed Ned.
"You come along with us. There's work to be done today and if you
don't do your share, I shall have something besides words for you,"
threatened Butler.
They made the guide walk until they came up with his pony. Chops
grinned broadly, delightedly, when he discovered his horse browsing
contentedly beside the stream.
"Wah-hoo-wah!" he shouted, flinging his arms above his head.
"Who would have thought him to be so near human?" cried Ned.
"Yes, there's hope for Chops yet. But we shall see," answered Butler.
It was considerably past noon when they reached their companions on
the return journey. A few of their belongings had been picked up in
the pass, but not enough to relieve their critical situation.
"Boys, I have been thinking, since you left. We shall have to find a
place where we may replenish our stores, else we shall have to go
back. Guide, do you know of a store anywhere near here?" asked the
Professor.
"Yassir."
"You forgot something," laughed Tad.
"Nassir," jeered Stacy. "Chops, you're a Jonah. I've said it before,
and I say it again. Why, you couldn't go to the aquarium without
some of the whales biting you."
"That will do, Stacy. Now, guide, where is this store that you know
about?" urged the Professor.
"Jim Abs', sah. Ah reckon him done keep a store at Hunt's Corners,
sah."
"Good for you, Chops," cheered the boys.
"How far is that from here?"
"Right smart piece, ah reckon, sah."
"How far, how far?" insisted Professor Zepplin. The Professor was
near to losing his temper.
"Right smart, sah, right smart."
"It's hopeless," declared Butler. "The best we can do will be to
follow him. See here, Chops, shall we be able to reach there before
dark if we start out right away?"
"Yassir, nassir."
"He means no," interpreted Tad.
"I wish you'd give me the key so I could understand what he does
mean," said Ned disgustedly.
"You'd have to get the key to the whale, if you expect to understand
Jonah," scoffed the fat boy.
"I would suggest that we start at once," said Tad. "The outfit is
pretty well dried out now. It doesn't matter so much about the tents.
They will dry quickly after they have been pitched. When we come to
a good camping place we will go into camp along towards night. In
the morning we can go on and find the store. Are you sure you know
where it is, Billy?"
"Guyot's Peak."
"Very good, very good. You are improving, my man."
"Yassir. T'ank you, sah."
"Nassir, ah don't t'ank you, sah," mocked Stacy.
"Let him alone, can't you?" demanded Ned savagely.
"Yes, while he is trying to be good, help instead of discouraging him.
You are enough to upset anyone," returned Tad, trying to be stern.
The camp was pitched near a spring and there in the warm late
afternoon sun a thorough drying out was given to both tents and
equipment, with everyone in excellent humor. The boys even sang as
they went about their work of dressing up the camp.
Supper consisted of more ham and some excellent coffee, the latter
having been thoroughly dried out before grinding. Chops, of course,
ate his supper after the others had finished, one or another of the
boys now and then tossing him a piece of food while they were eating,
which Billy ordinarily swallowed whole.
The evening was spent sitting about the campfire telling stories and
joking with one another. At such times the Professor came in for a
share of jibes, all of which he took with smiling face, frequently
giving the boys back better than they had sent.
Morning was ushered in with a brilliant sun, the birds singing all
about them and the fresh odors of foliage and flowers in the air.
Even Chunky began to sing before he had finished his dressing.
"Anybody'd think you were a bird," called Rector.
"Thank you for the compliment," retorted Stacy.
"I didn't say what kind of a bird, did I?" jeered Ned.
"What kind am I?"
"You remind me of a crow. You sing like a crow. I'll wager that
Chops can sing better than you."
"How about it, Chops?" called Tad.
"Yassir?"
"Can you sing?"
"Yassir."
"Nassir," added Chunky.
"Let's hear you," urged Walter.
"Yes, I guess we can stand it after all we have been through," decided
the fat boy.
"Wha' you want me sing?" grinned Chops.
"Sing something soft and low," begged Stacy.
"No, none of those sob songs for mine," objected Ned. "Give us
something to cheer us up. We need cheering."
"Yassir."
Chops cleared his throat and with frying pan in hand began to sing in
a melodious voice:
Quit dat playin' 'possum,
Ah sees dem eyelids peep!
Spec's to fool yo' mammy
P'tendin' you'se ersleep.
Smah'tes li'l baby dat uver drord a bref,
Try ter fool he mammy, he gwine git sho'-nuff lef'.
'Possum, 'possum, 'possum mighty sly,
'Possum, 'possum, 'possum, ah sees you blink dat eye.
Bye-o, bye-o, baby,
'Possum mighty sly,
Bye-o, bye-o, baby,
Bye-o, bye-o-bye.
M-hm-m-m-m. M-hm-hm-hm!
"Hooray!" howled the Pony Rider Boys.
"''Possum mighty sly, Bye-o, bye-o, baby bye.'"
"Go on. Sing some more," urged Tad.
"Yes, for goodness' sake do something that you really know how to do,"
cried Ned Rector.
Chops began swaying his body, swinging the frying pan from side to
side. Then he launched into another song that set the boys joining
in the chorus, swinging their own bodies, keeping time with the
singer.
CHAPTER V
EXCITEMENT AT HUNT'S CORNERS
"Is this another of those cry-baby songs?" questioned Ned.
"Yassir."
"Go on, go on," urged the boys.
W'en de sun roll in an' de moon roll out,
An' de li'l stars git sprinkl't all erbout,
Den ah listens fer my honey an' ah calls her an' ah shout,
O Lindy, Lindy, Lindy, O my Lindy!
O Lindy, come erlong
An' listen at my song;
De mockin' bu 'd is singin' ter his honey,
Come, lemme sing ter you
An' tell you, tell you true,
Dat ah loves you mo' dan heaps er silver money,
Twice did the Pony Rider Boys roar out the chorus until they had
drowned the voice of the singer entirely. In their merriment they
forgot all about the breakfast, all about the thick slices of ham
that had long since dropped from the frying pan of the singing Billy
Veal.
"Come, come, young men," interrupted the voice of Professor Zepplin.
"Singing is all right, but I want my breakfast."
Stacy thrust his chin up close to the Professor's face and in a low,
crooning voice, sang,
Come, lemme sing ter you,
An' tell you, tell you true,
Dat ah loves you mo' dan heaps er silver money.
The boys chuckled at the ludicrous sight of Stacy Brown in his
pajamas singing a lullaby to the dignified Professor. It was too
much for the Professor's gravity, too. The latter let out his own
voice in a roar of laughter that, according to Ned Rector in
describing the scene later, fairly shook old Smoky, miles off to the
northward of them.
"Now, gentlemen," said Professor Zepplin, after having recovered his
composure, "if you will be good enough to rescue the ham from beneath
the feet of our guide, we will proceed with our preparations for the
morning meal. You have a very fine voice, guide."
"Yassir."
"We shall be glad to have you sing for us again."
"Some day when you have such cold that you can't speak above a
whisper," added Stacy Brown, trotting back to his tent to put on his
clothes.
Shortly after eight o'clock the camp was struck, tents packed and
everything put in shape for the journey to Hunt's Corners, the
location of which Chops confidently assured them was a right smart
distance straight ahead. This proved to be true. It was four hours
later when the outfit drew up at a log building, one-storied, the low
porch being piled with small agricultural implements. In the rear
were three other buildings constructed of the same material, but not
nearly so large as the store itself.
Several mountaineers were lounging about, and the arrival of the Pony
Rider Boys created considerable excitement. Jim Abs, proprietor of
the store, came out to see what the commotion was about. He
recognized Billy at once, but glanced suspiciously from one to the
other of the boys, whose warlike appearance evidently stirred
apprehension in the mind of the keeper of the store at Hunt's Corners.
The boys slid from their saddles and tethered their horses at the tie
rail to one side of the store building. Professor Zepplin stepped up,
followed by the crowd of loungers, and introduced himself to the
proprietor, stating that they were desirous of laying in a stock of
supplies.
"I reckon I kin accommodate ye," nodded Abs. "Where ye hail from?"
"The north," the Professor informed him.
"Say, Mister, where's the Corners?" piped Stacy.
"This is them," grinned the storekeeper.
"I don't see any corners except the corners of the building."
"You wouldn't know a corner if you were to meet it in Smoky Pass,"
declared Tad.
"I know a good thing when I see it, and those bananas hanging there
look pretty real to me," answered Stacy, helping himself to half a
dozen of the well-seasoned bunch.
"That'll be thirty cents," said the storekeeper, extending a hand.
Stacy regarded him solemnly. The fat boy's mouth was so full of
banana that he was speechless for the moment.
Chunky nodded his head at Tad, indicating that Butler was to pay for
the fruit. Stacy was too busy to waste time in paying. Tad
good-naturedly handed out thirty cents.
"That's sixty-five cents you owe me now, Chunky. If you keep on at
this rate I'll have to levy on your pony."
"I wouldn't give sixty-five cents for his whole outfit," declared Ned.
"Perhaps that is because you haven't sixty-five cents," retorted Tad.
"Yes, I have. I've got several times sixty-five cents."
"It's counterfeit, then," mumbled Stacy.
"Boys," called the Professor coming to the door of the store, "did
you know this is a post office?"
"A post office?" cried the lads.
"Yes. I thought perhaps you might wish to send off some letters."
"Yes, we do. Indeed, we do," cried Ned and Tad and Walter in chorus.
"But we shall have to write them. We haven't any letters ready. Can
we get paper here? Ours is all down in the pass," said Tad.
"I suppose you can get all you want in here, provided you have the
money to pay for it," smiled Professor Zepplin.
"Oh, we have the price, though I suppose I shall have to pay for
Chunky. He is broke as usual," laughed Butler.
"He'll be broke worse before he finishes this nice peaceful trip.
Don't you say so, Chops?" jeered Ned.
"Yassir," grinned the guide.
"Do you want to write letters, too, Billy?" teased Stacy.
"Yassir, nassir."
"He does and he doesn't," laughed Tad.
"In other words, Chops is on the fence," nodded Rector. "If we are
going to do business I guess we had better get at it."
"Agreed," answered Tad, striding into the store. There the boys got
pads and pencils, for they had lost their own supply. They also
bought stamps, peanuts and various other things that were either
useful or that appealed to their boyish appetites.
Having equipped themselves for writing, the Pony Rider Boys repaired
to the porch where they sat down, and with pads on knees began to
write, while the loungers gathered about, eyeing the lads curiously.
Others were out at the side of the store, looking over the ponies and
discussing the party, the like of which perhaps never before had been
seen at Hunt's Corners.
"How do you spell torrent, with one or two r's?" questioned Chunky
after a few moments of silence, during which the lads had been
writing industriously.
"Depends upon the size of the torrent," retorted Rector.
"Was that one last night a single or a double r'd one?" inquired
Stacy solemnly.
"I reckon it was a double r," laughed Butler. "You are safe in using
two of them in this instance."
"Chunky's writing an article for the paper," suggested Walter
mischievously.
"That's right. That's just what I am doing and that's where I get
even with you fellows. I can have the last say--"
"Don't you use my name," snapped Ned. "I'm not looking for the kind
of newspaper notoriety you would be likely to give a fellow. You
tell them all you want to about Stacy Brown, but leave Ned Rector out
of it."
"I have," answered the fat boy significantly.
"That's one for you, Ned," cried Tad. "But I wish you boys would
keep quiet. I'm writing to Mother and she'll think something is the
matter with me, for I've already written 'torrent' twice where it
didn't belong and next thing I know I'll be putting in some of
Chunky's stuff about last night. Do be quiet. If you don't want to
write, go to sleep."
Stacy yawned broadly at the suggestion of sleep. He was ready for
sleep at that moment, but his desire to tell the folks at home,
through the medium of the weekly paper, through what an exciting
experience the Pony Rider Boys had gone, outweighed all other
emotions.
The boys had written for a half hour or more when suddenly a shot
rang out somewhere off to the northwest. The lads glanced up
inquiringly. At first they saw nothing of interest. Then a horseman
swung into view, riding at a lively pace. As he drew near he began
firing into the air from his revolver.
"Whoop!" he roared.
There was a scattering of the loungers. It was plain that they knew
the man. The boys resumed their writing.
"Whoopee! I'm the Bad Man from Smoky Creek! Higher up the creek you
go, the bigger they grow, and I'm right off the headwaters!"
"Bang, bang, bang!"
"Turn the coyotes loose! Fer I'm out fer blood and a genwine killing!
Whoope-e-e-e!"
"Bang, bang, bang!"
The crack of the six-shooter was almost wholly drowned by the yells
of the fellow, but through all this the Pony Rider Boys wrote on as
calmly as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring, though Stacy
gave the bad man a glance out of the corners of his eyes now and then.
Stacy was ready to run if, perchance, the fellow should turn a gun in
his direction. The lads had met with such characters before, and
knew that it was not usually the man who indulged in such loud boasts
who was to be feared. Still, it was a nerve-racking situation.
Professor Zepplin and Jim Abs had appeared at the door at the first
sound of the uproar, but they beat a quick retreat when they saw who
and what was the cause of the disturbance.
"Is--is there any danger to the boys?" stammered the Professor.
"Not unless they stir him up. That's Smoky Griffin, one of the
meanest bullies in the whole Blue Ridge. Everybody's afraid of him
and I reckon they've got good reason fer being afraid. The kids
don't seem to mind him, do they?" wondered Abs.
"The kids, as you call them, are quite able to take care of
themselves, even against such a ruffian as that," answered the
Professor, proudly. "I hope he will let them alone. They might make
up their minds not to endure too much imposition."
Smoky now sat in his saddle, reloading his weapon and leering at the
cool youngsters on the porch. To find men, to say nothing of boys,
who did not fear him, was such a new experience to Smoky that it
fairly hurt him. The ruffian had been a neighborhood bully for years,
and was wholly accustomed to seeing men flee when he rode into town
discharging his weapons, without any particular concern as to where
the bullets went. Lack of awe in anyone injured his abundant
self-esteem.
Now that his weapons were reloaded, he again emptied them, driving
all of the bullets into the porch posts at a level over the boys'
heads.
Still the Pony Rider Boys sat tight, though it must be confessed that
they were making scant progress with their letter-writing.
Observing this, the bully, with undue deliberation, slid from his
saddle and made his animal fast to the hitching-bar. Then Griffin
strolled up to the porch, and grabbing one of Stacy's feet gave the
ankle a sharp twist.
"Do that again," drawled Chunky, "and you'll get a kick from the
northwest. You make a noise like one of those Germans we licked in
France. Say, why don't you go get a job washing dishes in a lumber
camp or something instead of trying to make folks think you're a man.
Go put on an apron, Bo!"
In another instant such things had started as had never before been
seen at Hunt's Corners.
CHAPTER VI
TAD BUTLER IN ACTION
It may have been the tenderness of Chunky's youth, or the look that
flashed from his eyes, but Smoky Griffin, after a moment, strode over
to Tad Butler who sat calmly writing a letter to his mother.
"Writin' letters?" jeered the bully.
"Your impudence and your grammar are quite in keeping with each
other," answered Tad laughingly. "If you consider it any of your
business--I don't--then I'll say that I am writing to my mother."
The loungers, overcome by their curiosity, now began slowly creeping
out into the open where they might witness what they were sure would
follow. The face of Smoky Griffin flushed a deeper red than its
natural color at the cool audacity of the boy.
Tad had again turned to his writing.
"None of my business, eh?"
"I do not consider that it is. If you will be good enough to keep
quiet until I finish writing, I shall be glad to talk to you."
This was too much. The loungers fully expected to see Tad topple
over backwards with a bullet in his body. Nothing of the sort
occurred, however. But something else, still less expected, did
happen. With a growl, Smoky stretched forth a big paw, snatching the
pad and letter from Tad's knee. The bad man grinned broadly as he
looked at the written page.
"'Dear Maw,'" he read.
Tad rose slowly, stepping down from the porch. A dull red flush had
grown into his cheeks.
"'Dear Maw,'" continued Griffin, after darting a quick glance at the
approaching Pony Rider Boy. "'I am writing you today to--'"
"Kindly hand over that letter," ordered Butler in the quiet tone that
to his companions meant trouble.
"Mighty perk today, ain't ye?"
"Hand over that letter!" Tad's tone was pitched a shade higher.
[Illustration: "Hand Over That Letter!"]
For an instant Griffin glared into the face of the resolute young
fellow who stood confronting him. Then Smoky threw the letter on the
ground and trod on it.
"I reckon Dear Maw won't--"
Whack!
Tad had brought the flat of his hand across the fellow's red face in
a resounding slap that was heard by every person there. Even Chops,
now hiding behind the store, heard it, and his eyes grew large, for
he expected to hear the report of a revolver following close upon the
slap. In that case it would be high time for Billy Veal to flee.
With a roar of rage the bully reached for his revolver. But his hand
did not quite touch the butt of the gun. Ere it had reached the
weapon his head was jerked backward in a violent jolt.
Tad smote the ruffian a blow on the jaw that turned Smoky half way
around. A quick left-hand swing caught the man on the back of the
head, sending him flat on his face.
"Walt, look out for the ponies!" commanded Tad sharply, at the same
time stooping over and deftly removing the bully's pistols, which he
"broke," scattering the shells on the ground, then tossing the
revolvers to the store porch.
Walter, a little paler than usual, walked steadily to where the stock
was tied and leaning against the tie rail, one hand on his revolver,
awaited further developments. They came quickly.
The loungers, now augmented by a half dozen men who had appeared so
suddenly as to puzzle the boys as to where they came from, began to
murmur angrily. It was all right so long as Smoky was having fun
with another, but now that one of their kind should have been knocked
down by a stranger stirred their blood within them.
Smoky was getting to his feet. The blood had gone from his face,
leaving it pale under its coat of tan. Reaching for his revolvers he
found the holsters empty and Tad Butler standing before him with a
sarcastic smile on his face.
"Stand fast, fellows!" directed Tad in a low voice, nodding to Chunky
and Ned.
The mountaineers began crowding closer.
"Stand back, men," warned Ned Rector. "This is going to be fair play.
The first man who reaches for his gun is going to get his right there
and then. We didn't start this row, but we're going to see it to a
finish now. The one who gets thrashed gets thrashed, and that's all
there is about it."
Ned's resolute voice, backed by a six-shooter in his own hand and
another in Stacy Brown's, had its effect. The mountaineers backed
off a few paces, muttering. Some were plainly tickled at the insult
to the bully, but they, of course, did not express their satisfaction
in words. It was not safe to do so just yet. Perhaps Smoky might
take his revenge on them after having finished with the slender lad
so calmly facing him. They did not believe there was a possibility
of Tad's coming out of the fray with a whole skin.
At this juncture Professor Zepplin came tearing out.
"Here, here! Stop that!" he commanded sternly.
"Keep back, Professor," warned Rector. "The fellow assaulted Tad. I
am keeping the others back. You must stay back with the rest."
"But--but--but--"
"The only 'but' that has any influence here is the butt of my
revolver just now," answered Ned, never for an instant taking his
eyes from the mountaineers.
"Gimme a gun!" roared Griffin.
"The man who tries to give you a gun gets a bullet in his anatomy,"
answered Rector. "I'll shoot the first man who tries to pass you a
gun; then I'll drill you, too," added Ned.
Smoky glared, first at the boys who were twirling their revolvers
about their forefingers, then at his friends still further back. It
was plain that he could look for no help from his associates. Once
more Smoky roared. At least, he could punish the fellow who was
responsible for this situation. Smoky made a leap and a wild lunge
for Tad, but there was no Tad there. The Pony Rider Boy had leaped
aside, laughing lightly.
"Come on. Smoke up! I'm waiting for you!" urged Butler in a
tantalizing voice.
Griffin tried it again, but with no better result than before. The
bully was thoroughly at home with a gun in his hands, but without a
weapon he was as awkward as a sucking calf with its first pail of
milk. Already the bully was breathing hard.
"Short-winded, eh?" grinned Tad. "You'll be more so after I have
finished with you. It's my opinion that you need a lesson. It will
be doing the community a service to give you one and I'm going to do
it."
Smoky launched a vicious kick at the Pony Rider Boy. Tad dodged it,
and ere Smoky could recover his balance Butler had planted a blow on
the man's nose that literally turned that member upward. A second
swift blow landed on the same tender spot.
With a wild howl of pain, Griffin began beating the air with his
fists, striking; blindly and wildly. This was exactly what Tad
wanted. His antagonist had wholly lost control of himself. His was
a blind, murderous rage. Butler was playing with him like a cat with
a mouse. Now and then the Pony Rider Boy would send in a punch, ever
aiming for the damaged nose of Smoky Griffin, and Smoky was spinning
about so frequently that he had grown dizzy. He was bellowing like
an angry bull, but every time he opened his mouth to bellow, Tad's
hard fist smote him on the nose.
Now the Pony Rider Boy got in closer and began beating a tattoo on
the bully's face. It was eyes, nose and mouth, now, that got the
blows. Tad was showing no preference. It was plain to the other
boys that Butler was determined to teach a lesson that Smoky would
not soon forget. Tad's face now wore a set grin. He did not appear
to be in the least ruffled, but the grin looked as if it had grown on
his face and had been there for years.
"Put him out, why don't you?" jeered Chunky.
"Smoky, have you had enough?" asked Tad, stepping back a few paces.
For a brief instant the bully glared through his bloodshot eyes, as
if scarcely able to believe his senses. That a slender lad, such as
the one before him, should possess so much skill and such a punch--it
seemed to Smoky like the kick of a mule--passed all comprehension.
But the longer he gazed the more sure was Griffin that he had but to
stretch out his hand and crush Tad Butler.
Smoky tried it then and there. As a reward he got three blows, on as
many different parts of his face, that sent him staggering backwards.
Tad now saw that he must fight to a finish. Smoky never would give
up as long as he were able to lift a hand. For that the Pony Rider
Boy admired him.
From that moment on it was a one-sided battle. Griffin's resistance
was without effect, though had he been able to get a grip on his
slender antagonist it would have ended the fight. Tad swung the
blows in so fast that his companions were unable to count them, and
at last the bully, Smoky Griffin, sank groveling in the dirt,
blubbering and crying like a child who has been thoroughly spanked.
For the moment Tad Butler felt sorry for the fellow, sorry that he
himself had been responsible for such a spectacle.
"Get up!" commanded the lad. "Perhaps this may teach you a lesson to
mind your own business in the future, and--"
But Tad was interrupted by a howl from the spectators. They broke
out into cheers for the plucky lad who had downed the bully of two
counties. As quickly as his maimed condition would permit Smoky
mounted and galloped away, trusting to his pony to find the way, for
Smoky's eyes were swollen nearly shut.
Tad Butler had destroyed forever the power of the bully to terrorize
Hunt's Corners.
CHAPTER VII
ON THE WAY TO SMOKY BALD
"The crowd always goes with the upper dog," nodded Rector, as the
mountaineers crowded about Tad to congratulate him on his plucky
fight. But Tad was too much interested in rescuing the letter to his
mother to give heed to the men who clamored to tell him what a brave
boy he was.
There were a few among the mountaineers, however, whose faces were
dark and threatening. These did not offer their congratulations.
They were men who, for reasons best known to themselves, sympathized
with Smoky Griffin, but who had not dared to go to his assistance
with the ready revolvers of Ned Rector and Chunky Brown so plainly in
evidence.
"Come in here and help yourself to anything in my store," shouted Jim
Abs from the doorway. "Any galoot that can fit like that without
turnin' a hair is welcome to anything that Jim Abs's got. Come right
along in, all the rest of you strangers. Hi, men, if them ponies want
to drink don't let 'em suffer."
"Thank you," smiled Butler. "There is nothing that I can think of
that would make me any happier than a glass of water, if I might
trouble you."
"Shore, little pardner. Want a bit of lemon in it?"
"If you will let me pay for the lemon."
"Nary! I reckon you've done me more'n five cents' worth of benefit
in getting rid of Smoky Griffin. He won't be around these parts
right smart, I don't reckon."
"Then I will take the water without the lemon," decided Tad.
"You'll do nothing of the sort." Jim hustled around, setting out five
glasses which he filled from a pump at the rear of the store. Into
each glass he squeezed some juice from a lemon, adding a spoonful of
sugar that he dipped from a barrel. He shoved the concoction across
the counter grinning good-naturedly.
"Drink hearty, lads."
"My goodness, I'm glad he gave me a glass of that lemonade," gasped
Chunky between gulps. "I nearly got lockjaw watching him fix it."
"Say, but you-all can fit," declared Abs, addressing Tad, at whom he
gazed in admiring wonder.
"Thank you, sir. That's the very best glass of lemonade I've ever
drunk," answered Butler, smiling sweetly. The battle grin had given
place to a smile that was almost girlish in its sweetness. It was a
winning smile, too, but the person who thought an effeminate nature
was hidden back of the smile was likely to be keenly disappointed.
The boys went back to the porch where they sat down to finish writing
their letters. Tad's letter to his mother was so trodden with dirt
that he was obliged to rewrite it.
"If any more of those bad men come along here looking for a fight,
please tell them to wait till I finish my letter, then I'll attend to
them," said Stacy pompously as he sat down. "Say, that fellow didn't
take his revolver, did he?"
A mountaineer shook his head. Chunky went out and picked up the
weapon, examining it critically. He carried the weapon in and handed
it to Mr. Abs.
"I reckon you'd better keep this," he said. "Smoke may come along
looking for it when he gets his eyes open so he can find the way."
"No, sir, not Griffin. He won't show his face around these parts in
a right smart time."
"Then you may have it. I wouldn't tote such a cheap gun as that.
Why, he couldn't hit the side of a house with it and do any damage,"
declared Stacy.
As Chunky emerged from the store he discovered the big eyes of Billy
Veal peering around the corner of the building.
"You may come out now," grinned the fat boy. "Circus all over and
the concert let out. Perfectly safe for you now. Here, have a
banana," offered Stacy, helping himself to one from the bunch on the
porch and tossing it to the colored man. "Everything belongs to me
around here."
"Chunky, go in and pay for that banana," commanded Tad, glancing up
with a disapproving frown.
"But didn't the man say we could have whatever we wanted?"
"You do as I tell you."
"Lend me a nickel, then," begged the fat boy.
"Regular cheap man, you are, Stacy Brown." growled Rector.
"Here's your nickel," said Tad, handing out a five-cent piece. "That
makes seventy cents you owe me."
"Why do you want to remind me of it every time? Don't you think I
have trouble enough without having to worry over my debts all the
while?"
Muttering to himself, Chunky entered the store, laid the five cents
on the counter, uttering a deep sigh as he did so, then returning to
the porch threw himself down and began scribbling. After a few
minutes of this Stacy's head began to nod. He recovered himself with
a start, grinned sheepishly, and started writing again. Five minutes
later he lay on his back on the porch, both legs hanging over,
snoring loudly.
He was still asleep when the boys, having finished their writing,
went in to post their letters. This done they started for their
ponies, Chops having, in the meantime, packed the supplies. The
Professor was about to awaken the sleeping boy when Tad whispered to
him. The Professor grinned.
"Mr. Abs, when we are off yonder by that rise of ground you wake him
up, will you?"
"Sure," chuckled the storekeeper. "You'll see some fun then."
"How far is it to the rise?" asked Tad.
"Nigh onto three miles."
"Good. That will give him a run for his money. Thank you for all
your kindness. We may be back here for further supplies later on.
We've got two good, healthy food-consumers in our outfit."
The storekeeper said he would be glad to see them at any time. They
had spent nearly twenty dollars with him, so of course he would be
glad to see them again. He didn't care if they came back for more
supplies next day.
In the meantime the party quietly rode away, settling down to a
gallop after they had ridden far enough from the store so that the
hoofbeats should not awaken the sleeper. While all this was going
on the loungers sat about watching the sleeping Chunky and grinning
broadly. They were appreciating the joke, and they knew they were
going to have some fun.
Smoky Griffin's friends had taken their departure some time since, so
there was no apprehension felt as to their interfering with Stacy.
The fat boy, in all probability, would not have awakened in hours had
not someone carelessly stumbled over him when the party were drawing
near the rise referred to by Butler.
Chunky sat up grumbling.
"Say, fellows, what do you want to wake me up for--"
Stacy rubbed his eyes and gazed around him somewhat bewildered.
Thinking the boys must have gone into the store, he got up and
hurried in. Mr. Abs was unusually busy and it was fully two minutes
before he found time to lend an ear to Stacy's urgings.
"Where's my party?"
"What, you here yet?" demanded the storekeeper in well-feigned
surprise.
"I reckon I am. Where's the rest of the crowd?"
"Don't you know?"
"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you, would I?"
This line of reasoning seemed to strike Jim Abs forcibly, for he
nodded his head until Chunky feared the storekeeper would dislocate
his neck.
"Where are they?"
"I reckon they're on their way to Smoky Bald."
"Smoky Bald? On their way to Smoky Bald?" shouted the fat boy.
"Sure. Didn't you know that?"
Chunky regarded the storekeeper keenly for a few seconds, then bolted
out through the door. Shading his eyes he gazed off across the
plateau. There in the far distance he could just make out a body of
horsemen jogging along.
"Is--is that my crowd?" he demanded, turning to the grinning faces of
the mountaineers.
"I reckon it is, boss," answered one.
"That's what I call a mean trick!" shouted the fat boy, making a dash
for his pony. In the meantime the pony had been moved around to the
other side of the store. Chunky howled when he failed to find the
animal where he had left it, and it was some five minutes later when
he discovered the horse. It did not take the boy many seconds to
leap into the saddle, and urging his horse he went dashing off across
the plain in pursuit of his party, shouting and occasionally shooting
up into the air to attract their attention.
A chorus of yells from the mountaineers followed him, but Stacy Brown
was too angry to listen. Already the pony's neck was flecked with
foam, Stacy urging the animal on to renewed efforts by frequent
applications of the pointless rowels which he rubbed vigorously
against the little animal's sides.
"There he comes," shouted Tad as a report from Stacy's revolver
reached their ears.
Glancing back the boys saw a cloud of dust rising between them and
Jim Abs' store.
"Ride for it! We can get out of sight before he tops the ridge,"
shouted Tad.
Professor Zepplin, sharing in the youthful enthusiasm of the moment,
touched spurs to his own horse and the party swept away.
In the meantime Stacy Brown, the sweat rolling from his face, was
pounding across the plateau.
CHAPTER VIII
STALKING THE FAT BOY
The country on the other side of the rise was rugged, dotted with
huge rocks and well wooded with second growth. It made an ideal
hiding ground for one who wished to conceal himself.
"Cut off to the right," shouted Tad.
"Watch out that he doesn't go by us and get lost," warned the
Professor.
"You all keep quiet," directed Butler. "I'm going to have some fun
with Stacy. Maybe it will teach him to be more watchful. Chunky
would go to sleep even if he knew a band of Indians were creeping up
on his camp."
The outfit swerved to the right as suggested by Butler, and soon was
well screened by rocks and foliage. It was some little time after
that before Chunky topped the rise.
"Hoo-oo-oo-oo!" he called in a long-drawn shout. "Hoo-oo-oo-oo!"
Not a sound greeted his call. Chunky fired his revolver into the air.
Instead of stopping to look about more carefully, and evidently not
suspecting another trick, Stacy dashed down the incline at a perilous
pace, leaping small obstructions in order to take a shorter course to
the point where he thought his party had entered the thicket.
Stacy had not penetrated into this very far before he pulled up and
sat pondering deeply. Even yet he did not think far enough to
realize that the boys would not desert him in this way.
Riding slowly into a thinly wooded space the boy fired the remaining
chambers of his revolver, listening intently, then, with a grunt,
recharged the weapon and got down from his pony.
"I'll stay here all the rest of the day. If they want me they can
come back after me, that's all. If they don't, why I'll just go back
to Hunt's Corners. I can get something to eat there. Yes, and the
fellows will think something's happened to me and they'll be in an
awful stew. I'll pay 'em back for this trick, I will. I guess they
can't get so funny with me without getting the worst of it in the
end."