THE PONIES VANISH.
Ralph’s first act on wakening the next morning was to pull open the
flap of the tent and gaze out. His next was to utter a shout of
surprise. Of the ponies which had been turned out to graze the evening
before, not a sign was to be seen. As usual, they had been driven out
with old Baldy, the leader of the pack horses, as the “bell” pony. Like
most ponies in the wilds, they had hitherto stuck closely to Baldy who,
for his part, was usually quite content to remain around camp so long
as the grazing was good.
But although Ralph listened closely, he could not catch even the
familiar tinkle of the bell that would have told him that Baldy and the
rest were somewhere near at hand.
“Well, this is a nice pickle,” he thought, as he set off to stir Jim
into wakefulness, “it means a day’s delay while we hunt for the ponies;
however, there appears to be plenty of rock in this vicinity for the
professor to explore and hammer away at, so I suppose he’ll be happy.”
Jim greeted Ralph’s news without much surprise. It appeared that in
years of packing he had grown used to such eccentricities on the part
of ponies.
“We’ll track ’em down after breakfast,” he said, rolling out of his
blanket and pulling on his boots.
In the meantime Ralph had aroused the others, and they set off for a
cool plunge in the stream. The water was icy and made them gasp, but
they felt a hundred per cent. better after their bath. As Persimmons
put it, “They began to feel as if the world was made of something else
than ashes.” While the professor made less strenuous ablutions, the
boys rubbed each other into a warm glow and then indulged in a merry
game of tag on the springy turf, and yet they were ready to respond
eagerly to Jim’s breakfast call of:--“Come and get it!” accompanied by
a vigorous solo on the wash tin performed by Jimmie.
It was wonderful what a difference there was in the New York waif
already. The crisp mountain air had reddened his pale cheeks and the
rough but plentiful “grub” had had its effect in nourishing his skinny
frame. The old wistful look still lurked in his eyes, and all the boys’
attempts to drag from him the reason for his desire to penetrate the
Rockies were in vain. So, perforce, they had to allow it to remain a
mystery till such time as the lad himself chose to enlighten them. Bits
of his history he had already imparted to them. The lad had enlivened
many a camp fire with stories of his experiences in the saw-dust ring,
and in selling papers in New York. Besides this, he had worked at
peddling soap powder and household goods, and he had some amusing
narratives of his experiences among the farmers of the Catskills where
he had worked as an “agent.” And as he lived with the boys, he adopted
their language and ways as though he had been born to them.
“There’s a treat for you fellows this morning,” said Jimmie with a
mysterious air, as the hungry boys squatted down and prepared to pass
up their tin plates for their shares of bacon, bannocks and beans.
“What may that be, Jimmie?” inquired Ralph, while Mountain Jim grinned
expansively.
Persimmons sniffed the air anticipatively.
“Seems to me I do smell something good,” he remarked.
“How would pancakes go?” inquired Jimmie.
“Great! Jimmie, you ought to be in Delmonico’s,” cried Hardware
hungrily.
“I’ve been on the outside lookin’ in, many a time,” said Jimmie with
a grin, as he turned to the “spider” and began dishing up the thin,
brown batter cakes.
Mountain Jim was on hand with a tin of maple syrup fashioned like a
miniature log-cabin, the chimney forming the spout.
“Eat hearty, boys,” he said, as he passed it along, “and try to forget
the black flies for a while.”
Early as the hour was, those pests were already at work, in spite of
the “smudge” that Mountain Jim had built.
“Wish I’d put some of that black-fly dope on my hands,” muttered
Hardware, “it’s great stuff.”
“Even if it does smell like cold storage eggs with the lid off,”
laughed Ralph.
As he spoke he poured a liberal amount of syrup on his cakes. With
hearty appetite he cut off a big slice of the top cake and eagerly took
it into his mouth. For an instant a puzzled expression played over his
features, and then he gave a yell.
“Wow! Oh!” he ejaculated, and bolted from the “table.”
“What’s up? What’s the trouble?” asked the others.
“Been bit by a snake?” asked Mountain Jim apprehensively. “Better get
out your medicine chest, professor.”
Ralph was frantically gulping down several dipperfuls of water from the
bucket Jimmie had brought from the creek. They watched him with some
alarm, holding bits of pancake suspended on their forks.
“Oh-h-h-h!” sputtered Ralph, and then turned to Jimmie, who stood
looking on with undisguised amazement.
“Say, you,” he gasped out, “did you put any of that fly dope on your
hands this morning?”
“Y-y-y-yes,” stammered Jimmie, a guilty flush spreading over his face,
“I did and----”
“And you forgot to wash it off before you mixed the batter for these
cakes,” sputtered Ralph. “Fellows, pancakes flavored with fly dope are
the worst ever.”
“Shucks!” grunted Hardware, “and I was counting on pancakes!”
“Dancing dish rags!” growled Persimmons. “What sort of a cook are you
anyhow, Jimmie? Flavored with fly dope,--wow! wow!”
Jimmie looked ready to cry, and sniffed his fingers remorsefully.
“Guess you’re right,” he admitted dolefully. “I’m sorry, fellows, but I
reckon as a cook I’m a failure.”
“I hope it isn’t poison, that’s all,” groaned Hardware, with a glance
at Ralph. “Feel any symptoms, Ralph?”
“None that can’t be stopped by plenty of coffee and a big plateful of
grub,” laughed Ralph good-naturedly.