Books: The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
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Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
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"Come, we must run," urged the Professor. "I'm afraid both of them
may have gone over the falls."
"Oh, I hope he is not too late!" answered Walter, with a half sob,
as they ran regardless of the fact that sharp sticks and jagged
stones were cruelly cutting into their feet.
CHAPTER III
THE BOYS RESCUE EACH OTHER
Ned swung around the bend at a tremendous pace. He was able to see
little about him, though as he once more reached the bank he could
tell where the river lay, because the river gorge lay in a deeper
shadow than did the rest of the landscape about him.
"Oh, Tad! Tad!" he shouted.
A faint call answered him. He was not quite sure that it was not an
echo of his own voice.
"Tad! T-a-d!"
"Hurry!"
It seemed a long distance away--that faint reply to his hail.
"That you, Tad!"
"Y-e-s."
"Where are you!"
"Here."
"Where? I don't see you."
"In the river. Just below the bend."
Hurriedly dismounting and making a quick examination of the banks he
discovered that they were so nearly straight up and down that it
would be impossible to get his companions out at that point.
"I can't get you out here. You'll have to wait a few moments. Are
you swimming?"
"No, I am holding to a rock. It's awful slippery and I'm freezing
too."
"All right. Is Stacy with you?"
"Yes, I've got him. "
"Good! Have courage! I'll be with you," said Ned encouragingly.
"You'll have to hurry. I can't hold on much longer. The falls are
just below here and if I have to let go it's all up with us."
Ned had no need to be told that. He could almost feel the spray from
the falls on his face, so close were they to him and their roar was
loud in his ears, so that he was obliged to raise his voice in
calling to his companions.
Leaping to the back of Bad-eye, Ned was off like a shot, tearing
through the brush, headed toward camp. On the way he passed
Professor Zepplin and Walter, nearly running them down in his mad
haste.
"Got a rope?" he shouted in passing. "No," answered Walter. "Then
get one and hurry around the bend. You'll be needed there in a
minute. I'm going down into the stream from the camp."
The Professor, seeming to comprehend what Ned had in mind, turned
and ran back to the camp.
Without an instant's hesitation, Ned Rector, upon reaching their
camping place, put his pony at the bank where the two boys had gone
over.
The little animal refused to take it. He bucked and the lad had a
narrow escape from following where Tad and Chunky had gone a short
time before.
"I've got to have a saddle. That's the only way I can stick on to
drive him in, and we'll need it to hold to as well," he decided.
Every moment was precious now. Whirling the animal about, Ned drove
him into the thicket where the saddles lay folded against trees.
It was the work of seconds for him to leap off and throw the heavy
saddle on Bad-eye's back. The boy worked with the speed and
precision of a Gattling gun. Yet he groaned hopelessly when he
realized that his delay might mean the death of two of his
companions.
Professor Zepplin arrived at the camp just as Ned had finally
cinched the girths and swung himself into the saddle.
"Where--where is he?" gasped the Professor, now breathing hard.
"Below the bend. Get back there with a rope and be ready to toss it
to him if he lets go."
Ned and his pony crashed through the brush. He had no spur with
which to urge on the animal, but Ned had thoughtfully picked up a
long, stout stick, and once more they drove straight at the high
bank.
"Stop! I forbid it!" thundered the Professor.
Ned paid no more attention to him than had he not spoken. It was a
time when words were useless. What was necessary was action and
quick action at that.
"Hurry with that rope!" commanded Ned.
The pony slowed up as they approached the bank of the river, but Ned
was in no mood for trifling now. He brought down the stick on the
animal's hip with a terrific whack.
Bad-eye angered by the blow, squealed and leaped into the air with
all four feet free of the ground.
"Hi-yi!" exclaimed the Pony Rider sharply, again smiting the animal
while the latter was still in the air.
Ned's plan was to enter the stream at that point and swim down with
the pony until they should have reached the boys and rescued them
from their perilous position. While the bluff was sandy at the point
where they had fallen in, down below, where Tad was now desperately
clinging to the rock, the stream wound through a rocky cut, whose
high sides were slippery and uncertain, especially in the darkness
of the night.
Bad-eye needed no further goading to force him to do his master's
bidding. With another squeal of protest the little animal plunged
for the bank. No sooner had his forward feet reached over the edge
of it than the treacherous sands gave way beneath them.
The pony pivoted on its head, landing violently on its back. Ned had
dismounted without the least effort on his part, so that he was well
out of the way when his mount landed. He had been hurled from the
saddle the instant the pony's feet struck the unresisting sand.
But Ned clung doggedly to the bridle reins. He, too, struck on his
back. He heard the squealing, kicking pony floundering down upon
him, its every effort to right itself forcing it further and further
down the slippery bank. Now on its back, now with its nose in the
sand, Bad-eye was rapidly nearing the swiftly moving creek. Ned had
all he could do to keep out of the way, and on account of the
darkness he had to be guided more by instinct than by any other
sense. However, it was not difficult to keep track of the now
thoroughly frightened animal.
Ned leaped to one side. An instant later, and he would have been
caught under the pony.
The animal hit the water with a mighty splash, with Ned still
clinging to the reins. As the pony went in, Ned was jerked in also,
striking the water head first.
He could have screamed from the shock of the icy water, which seemed
to smite him like a heavy blow.
For a moment boy and pony floundered about in the stream. It seemed
almost a miracle that the lad was not killed by those flying hoofs
that were beating the water almost into a froth.
As soon as he was able to get to the surface Ned exerted all his
strength to swim out further toward the middle of the stream. Even
when he was under water, he still kept a firm grip on the rein. To
let go would be to lose all that he had gained after so much danger
in getting as far as he had.
By this time, both boy and pony had drifted down stream several
rods.
The pony righted himself and struck out for the bank. Ned was by his
side almost instantly, being aided in the effort to get there by
having the reins to pull himself in by.
Bad-eye refused instinctively to head down stream. There was only
one thing to do. That was to climb into the saddle and get him
started. Ned did this with difficulty. His weight made the pony sink
at first, the animal whinnying with fear.
Fearing to drown the broncho, the boy slipped off, at the same time
taking a firm grip on the lines.
Bad-eye came to the surface at once. Ned's right hand was on the
pommel, the reins bunched in his left. He brought his knee sharply
against the animal's side.
"Whoop!" he urged, again driving the knee against the pony's ribs.
Under the strong guiding hand of his master, the animal fighting
every inch of the way, began swimming down stream.
"I'm coming!" shouted the boy.
Before that moment he had not had breath nor the time to call.
"I'm coming!" he repeated, as they swung around the wide sweeping
curve.
"Are you there, Tad?"
"Yes," was the scarcely distinguishable reply. "I've got to let go."
"You hold on. Bad-eye and I will be there in a minute and the
Professor is hurrying down along the bank with a rope."
"I'm freezing. I'm all numb, that's the trouble," answered Tad
weakly.
Ned knew that the plucky lad was well-nigh exhausted. The strain of
holding to the slippery rock in the face of the swift current was
one that would have taxed the strength of the strongest man, to say
nothing of the almost freezing cold water, which chilled the blood
and benumbed the senses.
"You've gone past me," cried Tad.
"I know it. I'm heading up," replied Ned Rector.
Ned had purposely driven his pony further down stream so that he
might the easier pick them up as he went by on the return trip.
"Are you all right down there?" called the Professor, who had
reached a point on the bank opposite to them.
"Yes, but get ready to cast me a rope," directed Ned.
"I'm afraid I cannot."
"Then have Walter do it."
"He is not here. I directed him to remain in camp in case he was
needed there."
"All right. You can try later. I'll tell you how. I'm busy now."
"Don't run me down," warned Tad Butler.
"Keep talking then, so I'll know where you are. Just say yip-yip and
keep it up."
Tad did so, but his voice was weak and uncertain.
Ned swam the pony alongside of them, pulling hard on the reins to
slow the animal down without exerting pressure enough to stop him.
"Is Chunky able to help himself?"
"Yes, if he will."
"Then both of you grab Bad-eye by the mane as he goes by. Don't you
miss, for if you do, we're all lost."
"The pony won't be able to get the three of us up the stream,"
objected Tad.
"I know it."
"Then, what are we going to do?"
"I'll stay here and hang on. You send Walter back with the pony as
soon as you get there. Better call to him to get Pink-eye or one of
the others saddled as soon as you can make him hear. We'll save
time that way. I'm afraid Bad-eye won't be able to make the return
trip."
"Now grab for the rock," cried Tad.
Ned did so, but he missed it.
Tad still clinging to Chunky fastened his right hand in
the broncho's mane. All three of the boys were now clinging to the
overburdened animal. Ned began swimming to assist the pony, for he
realized that they had dropped back a few feet in taking on the
extra weight.
"Work further back and get hold of the saddle," Ned directed.
Tad followed his instructions.
"I'm afraid he'll never make it," groaned Ned. "I----"
At that instant his hand came in violent contact with a hard, cold
object. It was the slender, pillar-like rock that Tad had been
clinging to for so long in the icy water.
"I've got it," exclaimed Ned.
He cast loose from Bad-eye and threw both arms about the
rock. The pony freed from a share of his burden, struck off up
stream against the current, making excellent headway.
"I don't like to do this," Tad called back. "I wouldn't, were it not
for Chunky. He couldn't have stood it there another minute."
"You can't help yourself now. How's the kid?" called Ned.
"He's all right now."
"Professor, are you up there?"
"Yes."
He had heard the dialogue between the boys, and understood well what
had been done.
"That was a brave thing to do, Master Ned."
"Thank you, Professor. Suppose you try to cast that rope to me. I'm
afraid I shall never be able to hold on here alone as long as Tad
did. B-r-r-r, but it's cold!" he shivered.
The Professor tried his hand at casting the lariat.
"Never touched me," said Ned, more to keep up his own spirits than
with the intent to speak slightingly of the Professor's effort.
"Take it up stream throw it out, then let it float down," suggested
Ned.
Professor Zepplin did so, but the rope was found to be too short to
reach, and at Ned's direction, he made no further attempt.
Soon Ned heard some one shouting cheerily up the stream. It was Tad
Butler. He had dashed up to camp immediately upon reaching shore,
and the exercise restored his circulation. Walter, who was in camp
had Pink-eye ready and saddled for an emergency, and Tad mounting
the pony, forced him to take to the water. He was now returning to
rescue his brave friend, who was clinging to the rock. He had been
unwilling to trust the perilous trip to anyone else.
"I was afraid Walt would go over the falls, pony and all," he
explained, wheeling alongside Ned Rector and picking him up from the
rock.
"I'll run a foot race with you when we get ashore," laughed Tad.
"Go you," answered Ned promptly. "The one who loses has to get up
and cook the breakfast."
CHAPTER IV
SURPRISED BY AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
"I'm sorry I was to blame for your going into the creek," apologized
Ned Rector, bending over the shivering Stacy.
"I fell in, didn't I?" grinned the fat boy.
"No, you rolled in. My, but that water was cold!"
"B-r-r-r!" shivered Stacy, as the recollection of his icy bath came
back to him. "Di--did you win the race?"
"Tad won it. I've got to get up and cook the breakfast, and it
wasn't my turn at all. It was Tad's turn."
"Yab-hum," yawned Stacy, "I'm awful sleepy."
"So am I," answered Ned, uttering a long-drawn yawn.
"See here, Master Ned. Get out of those wet pajamas, rub yourself
down thoroughly and put on a dry suit. I can't have you all sick on
my hands to-morrow," commanded the Professor.
"Don't worry about us," laughed Ned. "It takes more than a bath in a
cold creek to lay us up, eh, Tad?"
"I hope so," answered Tad Butler, who had rubbed himself until his
body glowed. "But I thought once or twice that I was a goner while I
was holding to that rock. I could not make Chunky try to support
himself at all. He just clung to me until he fagged me all out."
"Come now, young gentlemen, down with this coffee and into the
blankets."
Professor Zepplin had prepared the coffee, with which to warm the
lads up, and had heated in the camp-fire some good sized boulders,
which he wrapped in blankets and tucked in their beds. Chunky was
the only one of the boys who did not protest. Ned and Tad objected
to being "babied" as they called it, and when the Professor was not
looking, they quickly rolled the feet warmers out at the foot of
their beds.
Early next morning they were aroused by the cook's welcome call to
breakfast. None of the lads seemed to be any the worse for his
exciting experiences in the creek, much to the relief of Professor
Zepplin, who feared the icy bath might at least bring on heavy
colds.
Tumbling from their cots, they quickly washed; and then sprinting
back and forth a few times, stirred up their circulation, after
which the boys sat down to the morning meal with keen appetites.
Ned had cooked a liberal supply of bacon and potatoes and boiled a
large pot of coffee.
Stacy opened his mouth as if he were about to yawn.
"Don't you dare to do that," warned Ned, waving the coffee pot
threateningly. "The first boy who yawns to-day gets into
trouble. And Stacy Brown, if you fall in the river again you'll get
out the best way you can alone. We won't help you, remember that."
"This bacon looks funny," retorted Stacy, holding up a piece at the
end of his fork. "Kind of looks as if something had happened to it."
"Just what I was going to say," added Walter.
"Yes, what has happened to it? It's as black as the Professor's
hat."
All eyes were fixed upon the cook. "I don't care, I couldn't help
it. If any of you fellows think you can do any better, you just try
it. Cook your own meals if you don't like my way of serving them
up. It wasn't my turn to get the breakfast, anyway."
"Our cook evidently has a grouch on this morning," laughed
Walter. "Doesn't agree with him to take a midnight bath."
"The bath was all right, but I object to having my cooking
criticised."
"The bacon does look peculiar," decided Professor Zepplin, sniffing
gingerly at his own piece.
Ned's face flushed.
"What did you do to it to give it that peculiar shade, young man?"
"Why, I soused it in the creek to wash it off, then laid it in the
fire to cook," replied Ned.
"In the fire?" shouted Tad.
"Of course. How do you expect I cooked it?" demanded the boy
irritably. "I cooked it in the fire."
"I could do better'n that myself," muttered Stacy.
"Didn't you use the spider?" asked Walter.
"Spider? No. I didn't know you used a spider. Do you?"
"He cooked it in the fire," groaned Tad.
"Peculiar, very peculiar to say the least," decided the Professor
grimly. "Gives it that peculiar sooty flavor, common to smoked ham I
think we shall have to elect a new cook if you cannot do better than
that. However, we'll manage to get along very well with this
meal. If we have to get others we will hold a consultation as to the
latest and most approved methods of doing so," he added, amid a
general laugh at Ned's expense.
Breakfast over, blankets were rolled and packed on the ponies. About
nine o'clock the Pony Riders set out for the foothills, after first
having consulted their compasses and decided upon the course they
were to follow to reach the point, some fifteen miles distant, where
they expected to pick up the guide.
"Seems good to be in the saddle once more, doesn't it?" smiled
Walter, after they had gotten well under way.
"Beats being in the river at midnight," laughed Tad. "Bad-eye looks
as if he needed grooming, too. Ned, I take back all I said about the
bacon this morning. You did me a good turn last night. If it hadn't
been for you, Chunky and I wouldn't be here now. I couldn't have
held to that rock much longer."
"Neither could I," interjected Stacy wisely.
Ned gave him a withering glance.
"You are an expert at falling in, but when it comes to getting out,
that's another matter."
"How blue those mountains look!" marveled Walter, shading his eyes
and gazing off toward the Rosebud Range.
"I hear there are some lawless characters in there, too," Tad
answered thoughtfully.
"Where'd your hear that?" demanded Ned.
"Heard some men talking about it in the hotel back at Forsythe."
"Mustn't believe all you hear. What did they say?"
"Acting upon your advice, I should say that you wouldn't believe it
if I told you," answered Tad sharply. "These men are a kind of
outlaws, I believe. They steal horses and cattle. Probably sell the
hides--I don't know. Somehow the Government officers have not been
able to catch them, let alone to find out who they are."
"Indians, probably," replied Ned. "The country is full of them about
here, so I hear."
"Mustn't believe all you hear," piped up Stacy, repeating Ned
Rector's own words, and the latter's muttered reply was lost in the
laughter that followed.
It was close to twelve o'clock when they finally emerged on a broad
table or mesa. Before them lay the foothills of the Rosebud, rising
in broken mounds, some of which towered almost level with the lower
peaks of the mountains themselves.
"I don't see anything of our guide's cabin," said Tad, halting and
looking about them. "What do you think, Professor!"
"We will go on to the foothills and wait there. I imagine he will he
waiting for us somewhere hereabouts."
"Yes, we have followed our course by the compass," answered Tad.
However, the lad had overlooked the fact, as had the others, that in
order to find a suitable fording place, they had followed the hanks
of the East Fork for several miles. This served to throw them off
their course and when they finally reached the foothills they were
some six miles to the north of the place where the guide was to pick
them up.
As they rode on, the ground gradually rose under them, nor did they
realize that they were entering the foothills themselves; and so it
continued until they finally found themselves surrounded by hills,
narrow draws and broad, rocky gorges.
"Young gentlemen, I think we had better halt right here. We shall be
lost if we continue any farther," decided the Professor. "This is a
nice level spot with just enough trees to give us shade. I propose
that we dismount and make camp."
"Yes, we haven't had the tents up since we were in the Rockies,"
replied Ned. "We shall be forgetting how to pitch them soon if we do
not have some practice."
On this trip, besides their small tents, the Pony Riders had brought
with them canvas for a nine by twelve feet tent, which they proposed
to use for a dining tent in wet weather, as well as a place for
social gathering whenever the occasion demanded its use. They named
it the parlor.
In high spirits, the lads leaped from their ponies and began
removing their packs. Stacy Brown began industriously tugging at the
fastenings which held the large tent to the back of the pack pony.
'I can't get it loose," he shouted. "What kind of hitch do you call
this, anyway?"
"Young man, that's a squaw hitch. Ever hear of it before?" laughed
Tad.
"No. What kind of hitch is a squaw hitch?" asked Chunky.
"Probably one that the braves use to tie up their wives with when
they get lazy," Ned informed him.
"I know," spoke up Walter. "It's a hitch used to fasten the packs to
the ponies. Mr. Stallings explained that to me when we were in
Texas."
"Right," announced Tad, skillfully loosening the hitch, thus
allowing the canvas of the parlor tent to fall to the ground.
While Tad and Walter were doing this, Professor Zepplin with Stacy
had started off with hatchets to cut poles for the tents.
The sleeping tents were erected in a straight row with the parlor
tent set up to the rear some few rods, backing up against the hills
nearest to the mountains.
In front of the small tents the ponies were tethered out among the
trees so as to be in plain view of the boys in case of
trouble. Profiting from past experiences, they knew that without
their mounts they would find themselves helpless.
In an hour the camp was pitched and the boys stood off to view the
effect of their work.
"Looks like a military camp," said Ned.
"All but the guns," replied Walter. "We might stack our rifles
outside here to make it look more military like."
"Let's do it." suggested Tad.
Laughing joyously, the lads got out their rifles, standing them on
their stocks, with the muzzles together in front of the small
tents. Not being equipped with bayonets the guns refused to stand
alone, so they bound the muzzles together with twine wrapped about
the sights. This held them firmly.
"There!" glowed Ned. "Where's the flag? Somebody get that and I'll
cut a pole for it," suggested Tad Butler.
In a few moments Old Glory was waving idly in the gentle summer
breeze and the boys, doffing their hats, gave three cheers and a
tiger for it, in which Professor Zepplin joined with almost boyish
enthusiasm.
"I always take off my hat to that beautiful flag," said the
Professor, gazing up at it admiringly.
"How about your own country's flag?" teased Ned.
"That is it. I am an American citizen. Your flag is my flag. And now
that we have done homage to our country and our flag, supposing we
consult our own bodily comfort by getting dinner. Of course, if you
young gentlemen are not hungry we can skip the noon----"
"Not hungry? Did you ever hear of our skipping a meal when we could
get it?" protested Walter.
"For a young man with a delicate appetite, you do very well,"
laughed the Professor. "It wag less than two months ago, if I
remember correctly, that the doctors thought you were not going to
live, you were so delicate."
"Almost as delicate as Chunky now," chuckled Ned maliciously.
The midday meal was more successful than had been their
breakfast. They ate it under the trees, deciding to dine in the
parlor tent just at dusk.
The afternoon was spent in shooting, at which the boys were becoming
quite proficient. By this time, even Stacy Brown could be trusted to
manage his own rifle without endangering the lives of his
companions.
"Is there any game in these hills?" asked Ned, while he was
refilling the magazine of his repeating rifle.
"Plenty of it, I am told," replied the Professor. "There is big game
all over the state."
"What kind?"
"Bears, mountain lions and the like."
"W-h-e-w. That sounds interesting. May we go gunning to-morrow?"
"Better wait until the guide joins us. It will be best to have some
one with us who understands the habits of the animals. As you have
learned, hunting big game is not boys' play," concluded the
Professor.
"Yes, I remember our experience in hunting the cougar in the
Rockies. I guess I'll wait."
During the afternoon, the boys made short trips along the foothills
hoping to find some trace of the guide, but search as they would
they were unable to locate him. Nor did they dare stray far from the
camp for fear of being unable to find their way back. The foothills
all looked so alike that if one unfamiliar with them should lose his
way he would find himself in a serious predicament.
"I guess we shall have to camp here for the rest of the summer,"
Professor Zepplin said, while they were eating their supper. "We
must be a long distance from our man if he has not heard our
shooting this afternoon."
The boys were enjoying themselves, however; in addition, there was a
sense of independence that they had not felt before. They were alone
and entirely on their own resources, which of itself added to the
zest of the trip.
The supper dishes having been cleared away and the camp-fire stirred
up to a bright, cheerful blaze, all hands gathered in the parlor
tent for an evening chat.
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