BOUND FOR THE CANE JUNGLE
Eight o'clock on the following morning found Tad Butler strolling up
and down in front of the hotel for his morning airing. By his side
walked Bill Lilly, whom Tad had found waiting for them in the lobby
of the hotel.
Bill, who was to guide the party through the maze of the canebrake,
was a type. He was a spare man, with a long, drooping, colorless
moustache, gentle blue eyes, and a frame of steel and whipcord.
Billy, it was said, had been known to follow the trail of a bear on
foot for days until he finally ran the animal down and killed it.
When night came he would throw himself down on the trail and go to
sleep or crouch like a wild turkey high up in the crotch of a giant
cypress. Unlike the guides of the north, Billy loved to talk. He had
not, however, looked forward to the task before him with any great
enthusiasm, believing that he was to guide a party of soft-muscled
boys through the jungle, boys who would need looking after constantly.
He had not thought to find a seasoned woodsman like young Butler.
Though Tad had said nothing about himself, Lilly's experienced blue
eyes told him that here was no tenderfoot, but a woodsman after his
own heart.
Shortly afterwards the rest of the party came down. Tad introduced
them to the guide, then proposed that they look the horses over.
Stacy demurred. He said he never could pick out a horse before
breakfast, so, to save argument and grumbling, everyone went in to
breakfast, while Lilly sat down and talked with them, making known to
the party his plans for the coming trip.
Tad was especially interested in the horses that Billy showed them
half an hour afterwards. These were hardy little animals, a cross
between a standard-bred saddle horse of the north and a mustang.
They were tough, wiry animals, owned by a rancher on the outskirts of
the town. The guide had not picked out the horses, preferring to
leave that to the boys, provided they knew what they wanted.
They did, especially Tad Butler. He went over the whole herd,
finally choosing a white-coated, pink-nosed animal for himself, after
having roped the animal, which did not propose to be caught.
Both the owner and the guide opened their eyes at Tad's skill with
the rope.
"That one has a nasty temper," warned the guide.
"I know it," nodded the Pony Rider Boy.
"But he is sound and can stand a lot of grilling."
"I want that black yonder," cried Chunky.
"I think not," said Butler.
"Why not?"
"He is wind-broken. We don't want any of that sort."
"I guess you boys don't need any of my help in picking out your
mounts," grinned Lilly. "Where did you get your knowledge of horses,
Master Butler?"
"He just couldn't help it. He was born that way," Ned Rector
informed them.
One by one Tad chose the animals, and when he had finished the owner
agreed that Tad had picked out the best stock in the herd. They had
brought along their trappings in a wagon, and the boys now proceeded
to saddle and bridle the horses they had decided to take. Then they
mounted and raced up and down the road, trying out the little animals
as well as they could. Their riding was a revelation to Bill Lilly
and to the rancher. Bill said it was as good as a circus.
"But," he added, "you don't want to try any of those tricks in the
brake," shaking his head as Tad swooped down at a fast gallop,
scooping up Stacy Brown's sombrero that had been lost from the fat
boy's head, and deftly spinning it towards Chunky, both at full
gallop. The fat boy caught it fully as deftly, and solemnly replaced
it on his head.
Each of the horses was tried out until the boys finally had settled
upon those that they thought best fitted to take with them into the
woods. Next came the packing of kits, the stowing of supplies, and a
hundred and one petty details, all of which Tad supervised, knowing
pretty well what would be needed by the party. Of course, not
knowing the country into which they were going, he was forced to
consult the guide frequently about this or that detail.
When the boys returned to the hotel they did so astride of their new
horses and in their cowboy outfits, attracting a great deal of
attention in the little southern village. Major Clowney said the
young ladies of his family were eager to see the boys before they
left. This gave Tad an idea.
"Boys, what do you say to going over to the Major's home and giving
the ladies an exhibition of rough-riding?" he cried.
"Hurrah! Just the thing," shouted the others.
"Would it please them, Major?" asked Tad, glancing at the chuckling
Major.
"They would be delighted, I know."
"What do you say, Professor?"
"Yes, by all means, Tad." The Professor was proud of the horsemanship
of his young charges, and was quite willing, indeed, that they should
show off their skill before the Clowney family.
Receiving their tutor's permission the boys removed the packs from
their horses, while the Professor, leaving his mount secured to the
tie rail, accompanied Major Clowney on foot to his home.
The Pony Rider Boys made what they called a grand entry. They swept
down in a great cloud of dust on the Clowney mansion, whooping like a
pack of Indians on the war path. All the colored people in the
establishment ran out into the street to see the exhibition, but by
the time they had gotten outside the fence that enclosed the lawn the
cloud of dust had rolled on far down the street.
The ladies of the family were leaning over the fence clapping their
hands.
"There they come back," cried Miss Millicent. "That is Mr. Butler in
the lead."
Tad, sitting his saddle as if he were, indeed, a part of it, swept
past, lifting his hat. Miss Millicent flung a long-stemmed rose
toward him. The rose fell short, landing at the side of the road.
With marvelous quickness of thought the Pony Rider Boy swerved his
pony to one side, threw himself over and caught up the rose by the
very tips of his fingers. He came within a fraction of an inch of
missing it, but the recovery was beautifully done, arousing great
enthusiasm among the spectators, few of whom ever had seen any such
rough-riding.
Stacy flung his hat into the air, letting it fall to the ground, then
other hats went the same way. Taking a short ride up the street, the
boys wheeled and came back at a terrific pace, swinging down from
their saddles and scooping up their hats. Tad, however, suddenly
changed his mind about recovering his hat. He had discovered a
little colored boy of about ten years running across the street to
get out of the way. The youngster made even greater haste when he
saw Tad heading towards him, and placing one hand on the fence
enclosing the Clowney grounds, the youngster vaulted.
Tad's rope was whirling about his own head. He let it go while the
feet of the pickaninny were still in the air. The loop caught one of
the colored youngster's feet and was suddenly jerked taut, and the
pickaninny landed on his head and shoulders on the lawn with Tad's
rope drawn tight around the little fellow's ankle. The pickaninny
was yelling lustily.
Butler brought his horse down so suddenly that the animal plowed up
the dirt all the way to the fence. The slightest mistake or error of
calculation might have resulted in serious injury to the little
colored boy, but Butler was confident of himself, the only
uncertainty being his mount, which of course he did not know very
well. The white horse played his part like a veteran cow pony.
How the spectators did applaud! They went wild with enthusiasm, but
the colored people did not cheer; they stood in wholesome awe of Tad
Butler's ready rope. There was something almost uncanny to them in
the way the lad had roped the pickaninny, and they took good care to
crowd back farther from the street lest the boy might take it into
his head to rope another of them.
"Will these horses jump, Mr. Lilly?" called Tad.
"As high as themselves," answered the guide.
Tad tried his mount over the yard fence and was delighted at its
jumping skill. Then the others poured over into the yard, a
veritable mounted cataract.
Next they gave an exhibition of rescuing a dismounted companion,
jerking the boy up from the ground while the rider's horse was at
full gallop. There seemed no end to the stunts that the Pony Rider
Boys could do, and they gave the spectators everything they knew
along this line. Professor Zepplin's eyes were glowing. He was proud
of the achievements of his boys, and well he might be, for their
performance had been a most unusual one.
The lads brought their exhibition to a close by approaching the fence
in a slow trot, and slipping from their saddles without the least
attempt to be spectacular. This was as much of a surprise to the
spectators as had been the more startling feats, for they had not
looked for so slow a finish.
"We don't want to tire out our horses, you know," explained Tad.
"They have a long journey ahead of them today."
"Yes, we could do a lot more if it weren't for that," added Stacy
Brown pompously.
"It was splendid!" cried the young ladies. "It was marvelous."
"The finest exhibition I have ever witnessed," declared the Major.
"Do you shoot also?"
"We are the only ones who really do," admitted Stacy modestly.
"I am afraid our friend Stacy is laying it on a little too strong,"
laughed Tad, "though we are not what you might call bad shots,
especially in the case of Stacy Brown. Why he once shot Professor
Zepplin's hat off and never touched a hair."
The fat boy flushed. Further teasing along this line was interrupted
by the servants coming out with a pitcher of lemonade, which the boys
drank sitting on the lawn in the shade of the trees. After a visit
of half an hour, Billy Lilly said they had better be going if they
were to make Tensas Bayou that night as they had planned to do, so
bidding good-bye to their new-found friends, the lads rode away,
waving their hats in response to the fluttering handkerchiefs of the
Clowney family. Proceeding to the hotel, packs were lashed to the
horses, and shortly after that a cloud of dust just outside the town
marked the trail that the Pony Rider Boys were following on their way
to the jungle.