IN THE ZUNI FOOTHILLS
A sudden wail from the guide attracted the attention of the party to
him at once. "Now what's the matter?" demanded Tad, hurrying to him.
The guide had thrown himself prone upon the ground and was groaning as
if in great agony, offering no reply to the question.
"Are you sick?"
"Si, si, señor," moaned Juan.
"Where?"
"Estomago--mucho malo."
"Your stomach?"
"He's got a pain under his apron," diagnosed Stacy solemnly.
"Been working too hard," suggested Ned.
In the meantime the guide was rolling and twisting on the ground,
glancing appealingly from one to the other of them.
"Professor, hadn't you better fetch your medicine case and dose him
up?" asked Tad.
"Yes, I'll attend to him."
"Give him a good dose while you are about it," urged Ned. "Something
that will cure his laziness at the same time."
The Professor brought his case; then, remembering something else in
his kit that he wanted, he laid the case down and hurried back to his
tent. However, Stacy opened the case, selecting a bottle, apparently
at random, drew the cork and held the bottle under Juan's nose.
"Smell of this, my son. It'll cure your estomago on the run."
"Be careful, Chunky, what are you doing there?" warned Tad. "You
shouldn't fool with the medicines. You--"
His further remarks were cut short by a sudden yell of terror and pain
from Juan.
The guide leaped to his feet choking, gasping, while the tears ran
down his cheeks as he danced about as if suddenly bereft of his
senses.
"Now you've gone and done it," growled Ned. "He never moved so fast in
his life, I'll wager."
Juan was running in a circle now, shrieking and moaning. Professor
Zepplin approached them in a series of leaps. He could not imagine
what new disaster had overtaken the lazy Mexican.
"Here, here, here, what's the trouble now?" He demanded sternly. "Stop
that howling!"
"Chunky's been prescribing for your patient in your absence," Ned
informed him.
The Professor grabbed the wild guide by the collar, giving him a
vigorous shake. When he released his grip, Juan sank to the ground in
a heap, moaning weakly.
"What's that you say? Stacy prescribed--"
"I--I let him smell of the bottle," explained Stacy guiltily.
"What bottle?"
Stacy slowly picked up the offending bottle and handed it to the
Professor.
"Ammonia! Boy, you might have put his eyes out! Never let this occur
again. Remember, you are not to touch the medicines under any
circumstances whatever!"
"Yes, sir," agreed Chunky meekly, while Ned Rector strolled away,
shaking with laughter.
"Drink," begged the patient.
"Fetch him some water," directed Professor Zepplin.
"No, no, no, señor," protested Juan, gesticulating protestingly.
"What do you want?"
"Guess he wants something stronger than water," suggested Ned.
"Si, si, si," agreed the guide, showing his white teeth in an
approving grin.
"You won't get anything stronger than that in this outfit, unless you
cook yourself some coffee," muttered Tad.
"That's what's the matter with him," decided Chunky, who had been
observing the sick man keenly.
"Guess we drew a prize when we got Juan," announced Walter.
"Give him some medicine, anyway," urged Ned. "He is sick--let him
take the dose."
"Let him have the worst you've got in your case, Professor," added
Tad, with a laugh.
A grim smile played about the corners of Professor Zepplin's mouth as
he ran his fingers over the bottles in his medicine case. Finally,
selecting one that seemed to fit the particular ailment of his
patient, he directed Chunky to fetch a spoon.
By this time Juan was protesting volubly that he was "all better" and
did not need the medicine. The Professor gave no heed to the fellow's
protestations.
"Open your mouth," he commanded.
Juan shut his teeth tightly together.
"Open your mouth!" commanded the Professor sternly. "We want no sick
men about this camp. It will fix you in a minute."
But the guide steadfastly refused to separate the white teeth.
"Boys, open his mouth while I pour the medicine down him," gritted the
Professor.
They required no urging to do the Professor's bidding. Tad and Ned
ranged themselves on either side of the patient, while Chunky sat on
the guide's feet. Almost before he was aware of their purpose the boys
had pried his jaws open and into the opening thus made professor
Zepplin dropped the concoction he had mixed.
The effect was electrical. Juan leaped to his feet as if elevated by
springs, uttering a yell that might have been heard a mile or more on
the open plain. But Juan did not run in a circle this time. Acting
upon the mathematical theory that a straight line is the shortest
distance between two points, the guide made a break for the spring,
howling like a madman. The Pony Rider Boys looked on in amazement.
Juan fell on his knees before the spring, dipping up the water in his
hands.
"What did you give him, professor?" grinned Tad.
"Hot drops!" answered the man of science tersely.
"Not that stuff you fed me when I ate too much honey in the Rockies?"
questioned Stacy.
"The same."
"Wow! I had ten drops and it felt like a pailful when it got inside of
me."
"How much did you give Juan?" questioned Walter.
"Twenty drops," answered Professor Zepplin without the suspicion of a
smile on his face this time.
The Pony Rider Boys added their yells to those of the guide, only with
a difference. The more Juan drank of the spring water, the more did
the hot drops burn.
All at once he sprang up and started for the plain.
"Catch him!" commanded the Professor.
With a shout the lads started in pursuit. They overhauled the guide
some twenty rods from camp, he having proved himself fleet of foot.
Then again, the fire within him perhaps helped to increase his natural
speed.
"I burn! I burn!" he wailed as the boys grabbed and laughingly hustled
him back to camp.
"You'll burn worse than that if you ever ask for liquor in this
outfit," retorted Ned. "We don't use the stuff, nor do we allow anyone
around us who does."
"How do you feel now?" grinned the Professor as they came up to him
with their prisoner.
"He's got a whole camp-fire in his little estomago," announced Chunky
solemnly, which sally elicited a loud laugh from the boys.
"Give him some olive oil," directed the Professor. "I think the lesson
has been sufficiently burned into him."
But considerable persuasion was necessary to induce Juan to take a
spoonful of the Professor's medicine. He had already had one sample of
it and he did not want another. Yet after some urging he tasted of the
oil, at first gingerly; then he took it down at a gulp.
"Ah!" he breathed.
"Is it good?" grinned Tad.
"Si. Much burn, much burn," he explained, rubbing his stomach.
"Think you want some liquor still, Juan, or would you prefer another
dose of my magic drops?"
"No, no, no, señor!" cried Juan, hastily moving away from Professor
Zepplin.
"Very well; any time when you feel a longing for strong drink, just
help yourself to the hot drops," said the Professor, striding away to
his tent, medicine case in hand.
The guide, a much chastened man, set about assisting in getting the
evening meal, but the hot drops still remained with him, making their
presence known by occasional hot twinges.
Supper that night was an enjoyable affair, though it was observed that
the guide did not eat heartily.
"Do you think he really had a pain?" asked Walter confidentially,
leaning toward Ned.
"Pain? No. He wanted something else."
"And he got it," added Stacy, nodding solemnly.
A chorus of "he dids" ran around the table, stopping only when they
reached Juan himself.