STACY GETS INTO HOT WATER
Tom was followed by the entire Overland party, Lieutenant Wingate
sprinting along beside him. As they neared the spot where Stacy had last
been seen, frightful howls were heard above the hiss of steam from
numerous small geysers close at hand.
“Where is he? Oh, where is he?” cried Nora.
“He has fallen in, of course,” answered Emma.
“Of course he has. Stacy! Oh, Stacy! Where are you?” shouted Hippy.
“He isn’t very badly off or he couldn’t make a noise like that,” averred
Tom. “I reckon—” Tom suddenly felt the thin volcanic crust crumble
beneath his own feet. He leaped back, but none too soon, for the crust
on which he had been running but a moment before had caved in, leaving a
narrow, dark opening. The others of the party stopped instantly, and
stood gazing in awe at the dark opening.
Hippy ran around the hole, treading on tiptoes, and a few seconds later
he was peering into another dark opening, about three feet in diameter,
from which a faint cloud of vapor was rising.
“Chunky!” he shouted. “Are you down there?”
“Oh, wow!” wailed the fat boy. “Get me out. I’m boiled alive! Hurry!
I’ll be dead in a minute more.”
“How far down are you?” cried Tom, running to the scene.
“A mile. Quick! I’m scalding. Can’t you get me out of this or must I die
in this awful hole?”
Grace ran over and peered into the hole, and in the vapor could faintly
make out the form of the fat boy.
“Quick, Tom, get him out!” she begged.
Hippy, however, had reached the scene first, fortunately finding firm
footing at the edge of the hole.
“Hold up your hands so I can reach them, and stop that howling!”
commanded Lieutenant Wingate severely.
“You’re pulling me in two,” wailed Stacy as Hippy got hold of his hands
and began dragging the boy out.
“Please don’t pull him in two,” begged Emma. “One Stacy is enough. I am
positive that we couldn’t stand two.”
“Emma!” rebuked Nora.
Stacy was hauled out protesting and groaning. Grace and Elfreda sprang
forward and took him in charge.
“Where are you the most distressed?” questioned Miss Briggs.
“Feet. They’re scalded.”
“Your feet are a little red like your face, but they are not in the
least scalded,” announced Elfreda after they had removed the boy’s shoes
and stockings. “Stacy Brown, I believe you are what we, in the army,
used to call a malingerer—one who feigns illness. The skin on your feet
is not even broken.”
“Too bad,” murmured Emma.
“What’s too bad?” demanded Stacy.
“That you did not stay in until thoroughly done.”
“I—I don’t expect to get any sympathy,” complained Chunky, drawing on
his stockings and shoes with many grunts and groans.
“Why, it isn’t even as severe as a Turkish bath,” declared Tom, who had
been leaning over the opening into which Stacy had fallen.
“Come, little broiler. We are going back now. Perhaps you may have
better luck next time and get done to a turn,” comforted Emma.
“It will require something hotter than Turkish bath temperature to do
that,” declared Lieutenant Wingate.
Nora linked arms with Stacy and assisted him down the terraces to the
ponies, Stacy limping all the way, which all knew was assumed for the
sake of gaining sympathy from his companions, of which, however, the fat
boy got little. A few moments later they were riding slowly down towards
their camp at the base of the mountains. Reaching there, a brief
explanation to Jim Badger brought a nod of understanding from the guide.
“They do fall in once in a while,” he observed dryly, which remark
brought a laugh from the Overland Riders and a scowl from Stacy.
“This one always does,” answered Emma snappily.
The Overlanders, deciding that they had had their fill of exploration
for that day, rested in camp, the girls doing some much-needed mending,
and the men discussing Electric Peak, and the stories they had heard
about that strange towering mountain. They learned from the guide that
there was little information on the subject available, excepting that it
was said that persons who had attempted to reach the peak had met with
strange experiences.
“Are—are we going to try to make it?” questioned Nora apprehensively.
“Of course we are,” replied Grace.
“Stacy can’t go on account of his feet,” reminded Emma.
“You don’t think I’m going without them, do you?” retorted Stacy. “Those
feet have been with me all my life, and I don’t propose to be separated
from them now,” he added amid much merriment.
“Be quiet, little boy,” admonished Emma.
Electric Peak towered above them, white and ghostly in the moonlight
that evening, and they pondered over the strange tales told of the
mountain’s top. The ascent of that peak meant a difficult climb, but
this did not disturb the Overlanders, who were accustomed to roughing
it.
That evening, final plans for the ascent of Electric Peak were made, the
guide furnishing them with such information as he possessed, regarding
the best route to the top, though he admitted that his information was
based wholly on hearsay.
It was decided that the party should take their ponies with them as far
as possible, so that they might carry their belongings and establish a
camp on the mountain-side. Full of their plans for the coming day, the
party turned in early and slept soundly.
The campfire finally died down and the stillness of the night was broken
only by the moaning of a faint breeze at intervals, the occasional
hoof-thud of a restless pony or the wild cry of a night bird. Then
suddenly a sharper note was injected into the peaceful night.
A rattling fire of revolver shots, followed by shouts from Stacy Brown,
brought the Overland Riders bounding from their beds in alarm.
“My ‘pants’! My ‘pants’!” yelled the fat boy. “Somebody’s stolen my
‘pants’!”