THE FAT BOY HUNG UP
Stacy fumbled and fussed until he had cinched the girth tightly, the
horse chafing at its bit, eager to be after its companions. Then the
fat boy thrust a foot into the stirrup, one hand grasping the pommel
of the saddle, the free hand giving the animal a sharp slap on the
flanks.
Chunky's horse started with a leap and a snort. The boy's toe
slipped from the stirrup before he had succeeded in swinging the
other leg over the saddle. Then something else occurred that was not
a part of Stacy's programme. The pommel caught under his belt,
suspending him from the saddle. The pony now was tearing along the
trail in the wake of the others at full speed.
"Whoa! Whoa!" yelled Chunky.
The horse paid no attention to its master's command, and increased
rather than lessened its pace. Stacy's toes were dragging on the
ground, his body being pinioned to the side of the animal, which was
literally cracking the whip with the unfortunate fat boy. As it was,
Stacy's feet touched only the high places along the trail.
Whack!
The boy's body sidewiped a tree.
"Ou-u-u-u-c-h!" yelled the Pony Rider Boy. "Whoa, I tell you, you
fool horse!"
But there was no stopping the animal. It plunged on and on, thorn
bushes tearing the trousers of the lad, drawing blood as the sharp
points raked his flesh, threshing him against trees and stumps until
there was scarcely a spot on his body that was not at least black and
blue. The animal was plainly frightened, and Chunky realized that it
was running away. The reins were out of the boy's reach and he was
powerless to pull himself up or get a leg over the saddle. The horse
did not give him time for anything.
Suddenly the boy's fingers closed over something cold. It was the
bush horn. His heart gave a leap. He tugged at the horn until he had
succeeded in pulling it from the saddle bag. But when he tried to put
the end in his mouth, Stacy came near losing some teeth.
A trembling blast from the bush horn rang out. Then another and
another until the birds ceased their song. The blasts of the horn
were alternated with the yells of the fat boy.
Off ahead the others of the party were riding rapidly, though not so
rapidly that Brown and his frightened horse were not overhauling them.
Tad's keen ears finally caught the sound of the horn. He turned in
his saddle, and for the first time realized that Chunky was not with
them. The ride had been so exciting thus far that none had given any
heed to what was going on at the rear. The boys supposed Stacy was
trailing along behind them.
Placing his horn to his lips, Butler gave a long, winding blast.
The guide pulled his horse up short, as did the others.
"Stacy is not with us," shouted Tad.
"Where is he?" called the guide.
"I don't know."
"Why, why, he has been right behind us all the time," returned the
Professor.
"I am not sure of that. I haven't looked back once. Ichabod, have
you seen Master Brown?"
"Ah doan' see him."
"There goes Stacy's horn again."
"Yes, he is coming on," said Ned.
"There's something wrong with him," cried Tad. "I can tell by the
excited way in which he is blowing the horn."
[ILLUSTRATION: "Look at Him!"]
At about that time they heard him coming. The sound of the horse
threshing its way through the bushes was borne plainly to their ears,
and suddenly boy and horse dashed into view. The Pony Rider Boys
opened their eyes in amazement.
"Look at him!" yelled Ned.
Tad whirled his own horse about and started for Stacy, with Billy
Lilly not far behind.
At this juncture the fat boy's belt gave way, and he disappeared
under the horse. The boys groaned, fully expecting to see Chunky
trampled to death. But the horse was far too active to tread on its
fallen rider, and cleared the boy's body in a swerving leap.
"Catch the horse!" cried Tad, dashing toward the fallen Chunky and
throwing himself from his saddle, at the same time slipping the
bridle rein over his animal's neck so that his own mount would not
run away.
"Are you hurt, Chunky?" cried Tad, gathering the fat boy up in his
arms.
"Hurt? Hurt?" answered Stacy somewhat dazedly, blinking rapidly and
passing a trembling hand slowly over his face. "No, I reckon I'm not
hurt. I scratched that race."
"But, but, what happened to you?" demanded Professor Zepplin
excitedly.
"Ha--ha--happened?"
"Yes, yes."
"Why nothing happened to me. I--I was just trying out a new stunt,"
answered the fat boy, a smile rippling over his countenance.
"Oh, fudge!" grunted Ned. "What's the use bothering with him? He
won't tell on himself."
"Neither would you if you had been dragged half a dozen miles by the
back of the neck," snapped the fat boy.
"How far?" asked Lilly.
"Half a dozen miles."
"Is there any water near here, Mr. Lilly?" asked Tad. "Master
Stacy's body is covered with blood and scratches."
"Yes. You-all lead him over here to the right. I reckon we can find
some water."
"I don't want any water," wailed Stacy.
"Yes you do," insisted Tad.
"I don't. I guess I know what I want and what I don't want. Water
will make it hurt. I want something to eat. All my breakfast has
been shaken down until I can't feel it at all."
Tad nodded to the guide, who tethered his horse and hurried away to
fetch water. In the meantime Butler was removing Chunky's torn
clothes. Even the underclothing had been torn to shreds.
"My, what a mauling you did get," observed Walter sympathetically.
"Serves him right," answered Ned.
"I don't understand how this thing occurred," said the Professor.
"I think he got hung up by his belt, sir," answered Tad. "Wasn't
that what happened, Stacy?"
"I--I guess so."
"Tell me about it," urged Tad.
"Ouch!" howled Chunky as Butler dabbed a wet cloth against the torn
skin of the fat boy.
"Ned, you hold him."
"With pleasure," grinned Rector, taking firm hold of Stacy.
"You let go of me," raged Stacy.
"I am going to hold you, even if I have to tie you," retorted Ned.
"If you don't want rough treatment just stand still and take your
medicine. Tell us how it occurred. That will take your mind from
your aches and pains."
"I--I had one foot in the stirrup. The beast started and I slipped.
Then I got hung up."
"He got hung up. Hooray!" cried Ned.
Chunky tried to punch him, but Rector laughingly thrust the fat boy
away from him.
"If you will stand still it will be ended in a moment, Stacy,"
soothed Tad. "My, what a drubbing you did get! So you got hung up?"
"Ye--yes. Then the fool horse ran away. I--I never walked so fast
in my life. It--it was like sailing in the air. My feet were
straight out behind me most of the time. You ought to try it,
fellows. It's great. I'll bet I should have made a hit in a circus
with that."
"I hope you didn't destroy any of the cypress trees," observed the
guide.
Stacy gave him a resentful look.
"Walter, get another pair of trousers from Chunky's kit. This pair
isn't fit to be worn again," directed Butler.
Walter Perkins hastened to obey Tad's order, and in a few minutes
they had fixed the boy up so that he was reasonably comfortable,
though his body was sore and it hurt him even to laugh.
"I don't know what we are going to do with you, young man," reflected
the Professor, chin in hand, eyes fixed coldly upon the face of the
fat boy.
"You--you don't have to do anything with me. I can do quite enough
for myself."
"I should say you could," grinned Tad. The others laughed.
"I shouldn't want as much done to me," added Ned.
"Are you able to ride?" questioned the guide.
"No, I guess I'll walk. I'm not hankering to sit down. I don't know
that I'll ever be able to sit down again." Chunky groaned dismally.
"Perhaps we had better make camp here," suggested the Professor.
"I don't think this is a good place to camp," answered Tad. "The
ground is too low. How far is it from here to the Sunflower, Mr.
Lilly?"
"About five miles."
"Oh, we can make that all right. I will lash my blanket to Stacy's
saddle, and after he has ridden a few moments he will be all right."
Chunky agreed grumblingly, taking a keen pleasure in having others
wait on him. He enjoyed his present situation even though his wounds
were painful. In a few minutes they had prepared the saddle for him
and assisted him into it.
"Now see if you can keep out of trouble," directed Tad.
"Give the baby his little horn to blow," jeered Rector.
"'Wind,' you mean," corrected Stacy. "They wind down here; they
don't blow."
"Well, 'wind,' then, if you like that better," grumbled Ned.
"I do because that is the right way to say it. Your early education
was sadly neglected. Did they take you out of school to dig early
potatoes before the spring terms closed?" questioned Stacy innocently.
"Are you trying to roil me, Stacy Brown? If you are you might as
well save your breath. I am too tickled at your predicament to get
angry with you," averred Rector.
Lilly gave the word to move, whereupon the party fell into line again
with the same formation as before, Stacy stubbornly insisting on
keeping at the rear, the boys flinging back jokes at him. In this
manner they went on for some distance, at first slowly, then
gradually increasing their speed. Now and then the boys would glance
back to grin at the fat boy, who was having considerable difficulty
in keeping up. They noticed that he was not sitting with his full
weight in the saddle. Instead, he was half standing in his stirrups
because it pained him to sit down and take the jolting of the
trotting horse.
"Look out for the vines. Keep in the trail," called the guide.
The boys, for the moment, forgot their companion at the rear of the
line. They swung around in a curving trail, Lilly slashing and
shouting directions at them, Stacy standing a little higher in his
stirrups to see what all the shouting was about. Then, all of a
sudden, the fat boy was swept from his saddle, kicking, yelling,
while the horse lurched forward and started into a long, loping
gallop now that it was freed from its burden.
"Hi, look there!" yelled Ned Rector, as Stacy's riderless horse came
trotting up to them.
"More trouble!" groaned Tad Butler, wheeling and starting back over
the trail at as fast a gallop as possible over the rough ground.