Books: The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
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Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in Montana
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Above them swung an oil lantern which dimly shed its rays over the
little company. Professor Zepplin was poring over an old volume that
he had brought with him, while the boys were discussing the merits
of their new ponies, which by this time had developed their
individual peculiarities.
Chunky, growing sleepy, had crawled to the rear of the tent, where
he sat leaning against the closed flap, nodding drowsily.
Finally they saw him straighten up and brush a hand over the back of
his head.
"He's dreaming," laughed Ned. "Imagines he's rolling down the river
bank again."
Suddenly they were aroused by the fat boy's voice raised in angry
protest.
"Stop tickling my neck," he growled, vigorously rubbing that part of
his anatomy. "Funny, you fellows can't let me alone."
"You must be having bad dreams," laughed Ned. "We are not bothering
you. We're all over here."
"Yes, you are. You've done it three times and you woke me up,"
answered the fat boy, settling back and closing his eyes preparatory
to renewing his disturbed nap.
He was asleep in a moment, not having heeded the laughter of his
companions, nor their noisy comments.
But Stacy dozed for a moment only. He sat up quickly and very
straight, while a shrewd expression appeared in his eyes. Had they
been looking they might have observed one of his hands being drawn
cautiously behind him, as if he were reaching for something. The
boys were too busy, however, to pay any heed to the lad, and the
Professor was deeply absorbed in his book.
"I've got you this time! Tell me you weren't tickling my neck? I'll
show you Stacy Brown's not the sleepy head you----"
The boy paused suddenly and scrambling to all fours turned about on
his hands and knees, intently gazing at the flap against which he
had been leaning.
"What's the matter, gone crazy over there!" called Tad. "Anybody
would think you had from the racket you are making."
Stacy did not answer. He had not even heard Tad speak to him. His
eyes, bulging with fear, were fixed on the flap. What he saw was a
long black snout poked through the slit in the canvas, and just back
of that a pair of beady, evil eyes.
"Y-e-o-w!" yelled Stacy. The lad leaped to his feet and dashed from
the tent, bowling over Walter and Tad as he ran, shouting in his
fright and crying for help. Knowing instinctively that something
really serious had happened, the others sprang up, peering at the
other end of the tent. For a moment, they could see nothing in the
flickering shadows; then as their eyes became more accustomed to the
half light, they discovered what filled them with alarm as well.
"Run for your lives!" shouted Tad, bolting from the tent in a single
leap, followed almost instantly by Ned Rector and Walter Perkins.
The Professor with one startled glance, hurled his precious book at
the object he saw entering the tent at the back, and bolted through
the front opening, taking the end tent pole down with him in his
hasty flight.
CHAPTER V
THE PURSUIT OF THE BURNING BEAR
What is it?" cried Walter breathlessly, slowing up when he observed
that the others were doing likewise. "It's a bear, I think," replied
the Professor. "I only saw the head so I can't be sure. Keep
away. Where is Stacy?"
"I--I think he's running, still," answered Ned, his voice somewhat
shaky.
"There goes the other tent pole down!" shouted Tad.
"He's wrecking the place. That's too bad," groaned Walter.
"Are the provisions all in there?" asked the Professor anxiously.
"No, most of them are over in my tent, where I took them from the
pack pony," Ned informed him.
"We are that much ahead anyway. I think we had better get a little
further away, young gentlemen. We had better get near trees so we
can make a fairly dignified escape if that fellow concludes to come
out after us."
"He's too busy just now," announced Tad, with an attempt at
laughter.
"Get the guns," ordered the Professor.
"I can't," cried Tad.
"Why can't you? I will get them myself."
"They are all in that tent there with the bear," groaned Tad.
"There's a box of shells in there, too," added Walter. "I put it
there myself."
"Then, indeed, we had better take to the trees," decided Professor
Zepplin.
"Wait," warned Tad. "He won't get out right away. See, he has pulled
the tent down about him."
"Yes, he's having the time of his life," nodded Ned. "I hope he
never gets out. If we had our guns now!"
And, indeed, Mr. Bruin was having his own troubles. Angry snarls and
growls could be heard under the heaving canvas as the black bear
plunged helplessly about, twisting the tent about him in his
desperate struggles to free himself.
They could hear the clatter of the tinware as he threshed about, and
the crash and bang of other articles belonging to their equipment.
"Look! What's that light?" exclaimed Walter.
"Fire!" cried the Professor.
"The tent's on fire!" shouted Tad.
"Quick, get water!" urged Ned.
"What for? To put out the bear?" laughed Tad.
"I had forgotten about the lantern. That's what has caused the
fire. When the tent collapsed the lantern went down with it, and in
his floundering about he has managed to set the place on fire," the
Professor informed them.
"There goes the parlor tent. That settles it," said Walter.
The other two boys groaned.
"Has he-ha-ha-has he gone?" wailed Chunky, peering from behind a
tree.
"No, he hasn't gone. He's very much here. Don't you see that tent!
What do you suppose is making it hump up in the middle, if he isn't
there? And the tent's on fire, too," answered Ned, in a tone of
disgust. "This is a bad start for sure."
"I didn't fall in that time, did I? I fell out," interrupted
Stacy. "Lucky for me that I did, too. I would have been in a nice
fix if that tent had come down on me and that animal at the same
time." He shivered at the thought. "What is it, a lion?"
"Lion! No, you ninny, it's a bear. B-e-a-r," spelled Ned, with
strong emphasis. "Do you understand that?"
"Y-y-e-s. I-I-I thought it was a lion. I did, honest," he
muttered. "And it tickled my neck with its paw, too. Wow!"
Stacy instinctively moved further away from the tent.
Disturbing as their situation was at that moment. the lads could not
repress a shout of laughter over Stacy's funny words. But Stacy's
face was solemn. He saw nothing to laugh at.
"Lucky for both of you that you didn't yawn. The bear might nave
fallen in," jeered Ned.
"Might have been a good thing for us if Chunky had yawned. Maybe the
bear would have got to yawning at the same time, and yawned and
yawned until he was so helpless that we could have captured him,"
laughed Walter.
"Not much chance of that," answered Tad. "Bears don't yawn until
after a full meal. I guess our bear over there hasn't had one lately
or he wouldn't have been nosing about our camp when we were all
there."
"Keep back there, boys. Please don't get too close. He is liable to
break out at any time. He is a small bear, but there is no telling
what he may do in his rage when he emerges," warned the Professor.
"We're not afraid," answered Ned.
The boys, having no weapons, had armed themselves with clubs,
prepared to do battle with their visitor should he chance to come
their way.
"What's that racket over there in the bushes?" demanded Ned,
wheeling sharply.
"It's the ponies," answered Tad, darting away.
At last the little animals had discovered the presence of the bear
in camp and were making frantic efforts to break their tethers.
"Come over here, some of you. The bronchos are having a fit. I can't
manage all of them at once," called Tad in an excited tone.
"What's the matter--are they afraid?" called the Professor.
"I should say they are. They'll get away from me if you don't
hurry."
Leaving the hear to his own desperate efforts, the boys rushed to
the aid of Tad Butler. They were not quick enough, however.
"There goes one of them!" cried Tad.
A pony had broken the rope and with a snort, had bounded away. Tad,
leaped on the bare back of his own pony, first having caught up his
lariat, and set out after the fleeing animal.
Luckily the runaway broncho had headed for the open and Tad was able
to overhaul him before they had gone far from the camp.
Riding up beside the little animal it was an easy matter to drop the
loop over his head and bring him down.
"There, that will teach you to run away," growled the boy, cinching
the rope and dragging the unruly pony back to camp.
In the meantime the others, after considerable effort, had succeeded
in securing the other plunging bronchos, more rope having been
brought for the purpose, while Tad, breathing hard, staked down the
frightened animal he had roped.
"Now we'll see how Mr. Bear is getting along," announced the
Professor, as they turned back toward the camp, where the bear was
still fighting desperately with the smouldering tent.
As they reached the scene they observed Professor Zepplin hurrying
to his tent. He was back again almost at once.
"Just happened to think of my revolver," he explained.
"Think you can kill him with that?" asked Tad.
"I don't know. I can try. It's a thirty-eight calibre."
"Won't even feel it," sniffed Ned. "I've read lots of times that it
takes a lot to kill a bear."
The Professor raised his weapon and fired at the spot where the tent
appeared to be most active.
Though he had pulled the trigger only once a series of sudden
explosions followed, seemingly coming from beneath the tent itself.
"What's that!" demanded the Professor, lowering his own weapon,
plainly puzzled.
"Guess the bear's shooting at us," suggested Chunky wisely.
"No. I know what it is," cried Tad.
"You know?" demanded Ned.
"Sure. It's our cartridges exploding. The fire from the lantern has
got at those pasteboard boxes in which we carried the shells."
Now they were popping with great rapidity, and instinctively the
boys drew further away from the danger zone, though the Professor
told them the bullets could not hurt them, there being not
sufficient force behind to carry them that distance.
The Professor stood his ground as an object lesson and again resumed
his target practice. The tough canvas resisted the bear's efforts,
and the fire was burning slowly. However, the tent seemed to be
ruined and the boys feared their rifles would share a similar fate.
"He's breaking out!" yelled Chunky, who was some distance to the
right of the others, now dancing up and down in his
excitement. "Look out for him!"
With a last desperate effort, the animal had succeeded in forcing
his way through the stubborn canvas.
"Look, look!" yelled Walter Perkins, greatly excited.
The spectacle was one that for the moment held the boys
spellbound. A mass of flame separated itself from the ruins of the
tent. With snarls of pain and rage the mass ambled rapidly away in a
trail of fire.
"The bear's on fire!" shouted Ned Rector.
"Help!" screamed Chunky.
Blinded by the pain and the flames that had gotten into its eyes,
the animal not seeing the lad, lurched heavily against him and Stacy
Brown went down with a howl of terror.
The boy, who had not been harmed, was up like a flash, running from
the fearful thing as fast as his short legs would carry him.
"Oh, that's too bad!" exclaimed Tad.
He did not refer to the accident to his companion, which he
considered as too trivial to notice, but rather to the sufferings of
the animal. Tad felt a deep sympathy for any dumb animal that was in
trouble, no matter if it were a bear which would have shown him no
mercy had they met face to face.
"Professor, let me have your revolver please," he cried.
"What for?"
"I want to put the brute out of his misery. Please do!"
"There are no more shells in it."
"Then load it. I'm going to get Pink-eye. Hurry, hurry! Can't you
see how the miserable creature is suffering?"
The lad darted away for his pony, while Professor Zepplin, sharing
something of the boy's own feelings, hurried to his tent and
recharged his weapon.
He had no more than returned when Tad came dashing up on Pink-eye.
"Where is he? Do you see him?"
"Over there, I can see the fire in the bushes," answered Ned Rector.
"Quick, give me the gun," demanded Tad.
"Wait, I'll go with you," said Ned.
"No, remain where you are," ordered Professor Zepplin. "Some of you
will surely be shot. Thaddeus, remember, you are not to go far from
camp.
Tad was off in a twinkle. Putting the spurs to Pink-eye, the animal
leaped from the camp and disappeared among the trees.
"I am afraid I should not have allowed him to go," announced the
Professor, with a doubtful shake of his head. But it was too late
now for regrets.
Tad found the going rough. He soon made out the flaming animal just
ahead of him. The beast was down rolling from side to side in a
frantic effort to put out the fire that was burning into his flesh.
Tad could not understand why the fur should make so much flame. He
spurred the pony as near to the animal as he could get. Then he saw
that the bear had become entangled in the guy ropes, and that he was
pulling along with him portions of the burning canvas, attached to
the ropes. It was this which made the animal a living torch.
The pony in its fright was rearing and plunging, bucking and
squealing so that the lad had difficulty in keeping his seat.
"Steady, steady, Pink-eye," he soothed.
For an instant the broncho ceased its wild antics and stood
trembling with fear.
"Bang!"
Tad had aimed the heavy revolver and pulled the trigger.
Instantly the pony went up into the air again and the lad gripped
its sides with his legs, giving a gentle pressure with the spurs.
"Whoa, Pink-eye! I hit Mm, I did. I aimed for his head, but I must
have merely grazed it. I wish I could kill the brute and put him out
of his misery," said the lad more concerned for the suffering animal
before him than for his own safety.
No sooner had he fired the first shot, than the bear sprang to its
feet and sped away up a steep bank. Tad noticed that the bear's
rolling had extinguished some of the fire, but he knew that it was
still burrowing in the beast's fur, causing him great agony.
"I am too far away to hit him. I've got to get closer," decided the
boy. "Pink-eye, do you think you can make that climb?"
The pony shook its head and rattled the bits in its mouth.
"All right, old chap, try it."
A cluck and a gentle slap on the broncho's flanks sent him straight
for the steep bank. At first his feet slipped under him; he
stumbled, righted himself and digging in the slender hoofs fairly
lifted himself up and up. In the meantime Mr. Bruin was making
better progress. He seemed unable to escape from the fire, but he
could get away from this new enemy, the gun in the hands of the boy
on the horse.
Every little while as he found he had gained on his pursuer the bear
would throw himself down, and with snarls and angry growls, take a
few awkward rolls; then be up and off again.
Once more the lad thought he was near enough to take another shot.
Releasing the reins and dropping them to the pony's neck, he
steadied the hand that held the gun with the left and fired.
"Oh, pshaw, I missed him!" he groaned. "That's too bad. I'm only
adding to his misery. Next time I'll get nearer to him before I try
to shoot."
He went at Pink-eye, applying every method with which he was
familiar to increase the pony's speed. Pink-eye responded as best he
could, and began climbing the hill that had now developed into a
fair sized mountain, making even more rapid headway than the bear
himself.
"Good boy," encouraged Tad. "We'll overhaul him if you can keep that
up. Steady now. Don't slip or you'll tumble me down the hill and
yourself, too. Steady, Pink-eye. W-h-o-e-e!"
"Bang!"
The bear was running broadside to him and the lad could not resist
taking another shot at it. Like the previous effort, however, he had
failed.
Tad tittered an exclamation of disgust and put spurs to the pony.
"I never did know how to handle a revolver," he complained. "I'll
begin to practise with this gun to-morrow if I get out of this
scrape safely."
He had failed to take into consideration that a bear was an
extremely difficult animal to kill, and that frequently one of them
could carry many bullets in its body without seeming to be bothered
at all.
But the lad was determined to get this one. He had not thought of
where he was going nor how far from camp he had strayed. His one
desire now was to get the animal and put a quick end to it.
This time Tad was enabled to get closer to Bruin than at any time
during the chase. He drove the pony at a gallop right up alongside
of the animal.
Leaning over he aimed the gun at the beast's head, holding it firmly
with both hands.
Tad gave the trigger a quick, firm pressure. A sharp explosion
followed.
At the same instant, Pink-eye in a frightened effort to get clear of
the bear, leaped to one side. The lad, leaning over from the saddle,
was taken unawares, and making a desperate effort to grasp the
saddle pommel, Tad was hurled sideways to the ground.
"Whoa, Pink-eye!" he commanded sharply as he was falling. But
Pink-eye refused to obey. The pony uttered a loud snort and plunged
into the bushes. There he paused, wheeled, and peered out
suspiciously at the boy and the bear.
Tad's shot had gone home. His aim had been true. Yet the sting of
the bullet served only to anger the bear still further. With an
angry growl, it turned and charged the lad ferociously.
In falling, the plucky boy had struck on his head and shoulders, the
fall partially stunning him. For an instant, he pivoted on his head,
then toppling over on his back, he lay still.
Powerless to move a muscle, the lad was dimly conscious of a hulking
figure standing over him, its hot breath on his face. His right hand
clutched the revolver, but he seemed unable to raise it.
A loud explosion sounded in Tad Butler's ears, then sudden darkness
overwhelmed him.
CHAPTER VI
LOST IN THE ROSEBUD RANGE
"Whoa, Pink-eye!" muttered the lad, stirring restlessly. "I'll get
him next time. Look out, he's charging us. Oh!"
The boy suddenly opened his eyes. The darkness about him was deep
and impenetrable and he was conscious of a heavy weight on his
chest. What it was, he did not know, and some moments passed before
he had recovered sufficiently to form an intelligent idea of what
had happened.
All at once he recollected.
"It was the bear," he murmured. "I wonder if I am dead!"
No, he could feel the ground under him, and a rock that his right
hand rested on, felt cold and chilling. But what of the pressure on
his chest?
Cautiously the lad moved a hand toward the object that was holding
him down. His fingers lightly touched it.
Tad could scarce repress a yell.
It was the head of the bear that was resting on him, and he had no
idea whether the animal were dead or asleep, awaiting the moment
when the lad should stir again to fasten its cruel teeth into his
body.
The boy was satisfied, however, that by exerting all his strength he
would be able to pull himself away before the beast could awaken,
even, providing it were still alive.
First he sought cautiously for his weapon, his fingers groping about
over the ground at his right hand. He could not find it. Undoubtedly
it had fallen underneath the bear.
Tad determined to mate a desperate effort to escape. He felt as if
his hair were standing on end.
With a cry that he could not keep back, the lad whirled over and
sprang to his feet. As he did so he leaped away, running with all
his might until he had put some distance between himself and the
prostrate animal.
Realizing that he was not being followed, Tad brought up sharply and
dodged behind a tree. There he stood listening intently for several
minutes.
Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the night. The leaves of the
trees hung limp and lifeless, for no breeze was stirring.
"I wonder if he's dead," whispered the lad, almost afraid to trust
his voice out loud. "Maybe that shot finished him. I must find out
somehow."
Tad searched his clothes for matches, finally finding his match
safe. Next he sought to gather some sticks with which to make a
torch, but the only wood he was able to find was of oak and so green
that it would not burn.
"That's too bad," he muttered. "I'll have to try it with the
matches."
Lighting one he picked his way carefully toward the place where he
had been lying, peering into the shadows ahead of him suspiciously
as he went.
"There he is," breathed Tad.
He could faintly make out the figure of the bear lying half on its
side as it had been before, the only difference being that the
animal's head was stretched out on the ground instead of on the
lad's chest.
"I believe he's dead. He must be or he'd have been after me before
this," decided the boy. "I 'm going to find out."
Mustering his courage, Tad continued his cautious approach, lighting
match after match, shading the flame with his hands so that the
light would not get into his eyes and prevent him from seeing
anything ahead of him.
It required no little courage for a boy alone in the mountains to
walk up to a bear, not knowing whether the animal were dead or
alive. Yet when Tad Butler made up his mind to do a certain thing,
he persisted until he had accomplished it.
He reached the side of the animal, that is, close enough so that he
could get a good view of it.
The bear never moved and Tad drew closer, walking on his toes that
he might make no sound. There seemed no other way to make certain
except to stir the animal.
"I'll do it," whispered Tad.
Cautiously lighting another match he drew back his left foot and
administered a sound kick to the beast's side.
Thinking that the bear had moved under the blow, Tad whirled and ran
tittering a loud "Oh!"
He waited, but could hear no sound.
"I believe I am afraid of myself. That bear hasn't stirred at
all. I'm going back this time and make sure."
He did. But this time, steeling himself to the task, Tad stood still
after he had prodded the beast with his foot again. There was no
movement other than a slight tremor caused by the impact of the
kick.
"Hurrah, I've shot a bear!" cried the lad in the excess of his
excitement. "I wonder what the boys will say. The next question is
how am I going to get him back to camp?"
Tad pondered over this problem some moments.
"I know," he cried. "I'll hitch a rope to him and make Pink-eye tow
him out. But where is that pony?"
All at once the realization came to him that the pony had thrown him
off. That was the last he had seen of Pink-eye.
Tad whistled and called, listening after each attempt without the
slightest result.
"He's gone. I've got to find my way back as best I can. The worst of
it is I may be a long way from camp, but I guess I can find my way
with the compass all right."
The compass, however, was nowhere to be found. The lad went through
his pockets twice in search of it.
"Pshaw! Just my luck. I'm as bad at losing things as Chunky is in
falling in. I'll get the gun anyway, for the Professor will be
provoked if I go back without it. Ah, there it is."
Tad picked up the weapon joyfully.
"I've got something to defend myself with, at least," he told
himself. A moment later when he discovered that the weapon held
nothing but empty shells, the keen edge of his joy was dulled.
"Well, it's better to pack back an empty gun than no gun at all," he
decided philosophically. Let me see, I think we came up that way.
They'll build a big fire so I can see it and I ought to be there
within half an hour at least."
The lad struck out confidently. He had been lost in the wilderness
before, and though he felt a slight uneasiness he had no doubt of
his ability to find the camp eventually.
He walked vigorously for half an hour. Then he halted. The same
impressive silence surrounded him.
"I think I have been going a little too far to the left," he
decided. He changed his course and plodded on methodically again.
Another half hour passed and once more the lad paused, this time
with the realization strong upon him that he had lost his way.
Placing both hands to his mouth Tad uttered a long drawn
"C-o-o-e-e-e!" He listened intently, then repeated the call.
The sound of his own voice almost frightened him.
"Oh, I'm lost!" he cried, now fully appreciating his position.
The panic of the lost seized him and Tad ran this way and that,
plunging ahead for some distance, then swerving to the right or to
the left in a desperate attempt to free himself from the endless
thicket, bruising his body from contact with the trunks of the trees
and cutting his hands as they struck the rocks violently when he fell.
"Tad Butler, you stop this!" he commanded sternly, bringing himself
up sharply. "I didn't think you were such a silly kid as to be
afraid of the dark." But in his innermost heart the lad knew that it
was not the shadows that had so upset him. It was the feeling of
being lost in an unknown forest.
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