Books: The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico
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Frank Gee Patchin >> The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico
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Riding in, they were soon swallowed up in the shadows.
"Hold my pony a moment," directed Tad, slipping to the ground.
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere, just this minute. I'm going to look around."
The lad peered through the bushes until, uttering a low exclamation,
he turned to his companion.
"I see him. He's over on the other side--"
"Who? Juan?"
"Yes. Now I want you to remain right here. Don't move away. I'll tie
my pony so he won't give you any trouble. Sit perfectly quiet, and if
any Indians come along don't bother them. I'm going around the
outside, so I don't have to pass through the crowd, though they seem
too busy to notice anyone."
Tad slipped away in the shadows until he came to a spot opposite where
he had caught a glimpse of the lazy Mexican.
He discovered Juan in the center of a circle of dusky Indians who were
squatting on the ground. Some of the braves were clothed in
nondescript garments, while others were attired in gaudy blankets.
These were the gamblers.
At that moment their efforts were concentrated on winning from Juan
the wages of his first week's work with the Pony Rider Boys. A blanket
had been spread over the ground, and on this they were wagering small
amounts on the throw of the dice, a flickering camp-fire near by dimly
lighting up the blanket and making the reading of the dice a difficult
matter for any but the keenest of eyes. The sing-song calls of the
players added to the weirdness of the scene.
Tad waited long enough to observe that the guide lost nearly every
time, the stolid-faced red men raking in his coins with painful
regularity.
"It's a wonder he has a cent left. But they're not playing for very
large amounts, as near as I can tell."
Each time the Mexican lost he would utter a shrill "si, si," then
lured by the hope that Dame Fortune would favor him, reached greedily
for the next throw.
"It's time for me to do something," muttered Tad.
Stepping boldly from his cover, he walked up to the edge of the
circle.
"Juan!" he called sharply.
"Si," answered the Mexican, without looking up.
"Juan!"
This time the word was uttered in a more commanding voice.
"You come with me!"
The guide, oblivious to all beyond the terrible fascination of the
game he was playing, gave no heed to Tad Butler's stern command. Three
times did Tad call to him, but without result. One of the red men cast
an angry glance in the Tad's direction, and then returned to his play.
Without an instant's hesitation, Tad sprang over into the center of
the circle, and grasping Juan by an ear, jerked him to his feet.
Red hands fell to belts and dark faces scowled menacingly at the
intruder.
"You come with me, Juan!"
Juan sought to jerk away, but under the strong pull on his ear, he did
not find it advisable to force himself from his captor's grip.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. You're lucky if Professor
Zepplin doesn't give you another dose of hot drops for this. I suppose
these Indians sat down to rob you," growled Tad.
"No, no, no," protested Juan.
By this time the Indian gamblers had leaped to their feet, an ugly
light in their eyes that boded ill for the Pony Rider Boy who had
interrupted them in the process of fleecing the Mexican.
With one accord they barred the way in a solid human wall. Tad found
himself hemmed in on all sides. It had been easy to gain an entrance
to the circle, but getting out of it was another matter.
"This man belongs to me," he said with as much courage in his tone as
he was able to command. "You will please step aside and let us go.
You're breaking the law. If you offer any resistance I'll have the
government officers after you in short order."
He could not have said a worse thing under the circumstances. At first
they took him for a spy, possibly a Government spy. Now they were sure
of it, for had not the lad told them so himself?
With a growl, one who appeared to be the most important personage in
the group drew his sheath knife and sprang straight at the slender
figure of Tad Butler.
Tad acted without an instant's hesitation.
Stepping aside quickly; he cleverly avoided the knife-thrust. At the
same instant, while the Indian was off his balance, not yet having
recovered from the lunge, the Pony Rider Boy's fist and the Indian's
jaw met in sudden collision.
The impact of the blow might have been heard more than a rod away.
The red man's blanket dropped from his shoulders; he staggered
backward, made a supreme effort to pull himself together, then dropped
in a heap at the feet of the boy who had felled him.
Without waiting for the astonished red gamblers to recover their wits,
Tad grasped an arm of the Mexican and sprang away into the bushes.
He had done a serious thing, even though in self-protection. He had
knocked down an Apache brave with his fist. The sting of that blow
would rest upon the savage jaw until the insult was wiped out by the
victim himself.
CHAPTER VI
THE FIRE DANCE OF THE RED MEN
The Indians made a sudden move to pursue the lad who had done so
daring a thing. One of their number restrained them, pointing to the
fallen brave, as much as to say, "Revenge is for him!"
With a shrug of their shoulders the Indians sank down and resumed
their game as stoically as before. They gave no further heed to the
unconscious Apache, who still lay just outside the circle where he had
been knocked out by Tad's blow.
"Hurry! Hurry!" commanded the lad, fairly dragging his companion
along. "They'll be after us in a minute."
Yet before the minute had elapsed Tad had halted suddenly, his
wondering eyes fixed upon the scene that was being enacted before him.
About a pit of red hot coals, naked save for the breech clouts they
wore, swayed the bodies of half-a-dozen powerful braves.
They were the fire dancers and Tad was gazing upon a scene that
probably never will he seen again in this country-- the last of the
fire dances-- a secret dance of which it was to be supposed the
Government agents knew nothing.
Back and forth waved the copper-colored line, right up to the edge of
the pit of glowing coals, uttering a weird chant, which was taken up
by others who were not in the dance.
The voices of the chanters grew louder, their excitement waxed higher,
as the thrill of song and dance pulsed through their veins.
All at once, Tad was horrified to see one of the dancers leap into the
air, uttering a mighty shriek. While still clear of the ground the
dancer's body turned, then he dove head first into the bed of hot
coals. He was out in an instant.
The chant rose higher as the remaining dancers followed the leader
into the burning pit and out of it. So quickly did they move that they
seemed not to feel the heat, and from Tad's point of vantage, he was
sure that none was burned in the slightest.
Juan tried to pull away. But Tad held him in a firm grip.
Now that the dancers had passed through the fire unscathed, others
followed them, some no more than touching the live coals, then
bounding out on the other side of the pit; others remaining long
enough to roll swiftly across the glowing bed.
Excitement was rapidly waxing higher and higher. The red men were in a
dangerous mood. It boded ill for the paleface who sought to interfere
with their carnival at this moment.
"Come!" whispered Tad in a low, tense voice. "We've got to get out of
this mighty quick! Chunky's probably half scared to death, too."
Tad did not go far. He had scarcely taken half a dozen steps when a
frenzied yell, a series of shrill shrieks sounded in the air. The
sounds seemed to come from all directions at once.
"What's that?"
"Me not know."
"Somebody's running a pony. I hear it coming. It's headed right for
that bunch of crazy savages. Probably an Indian gone mad."
It was not an Indian who was the cause of this new disturbance, as the
lad discovered almost immediately afterward.
"Yip, yip! Y-e-o-w! W-o-w!"
The yells were uttered in the shrill voice of Stacy Brown.
"It's Chunky!" groaned Tad. "Here's trouble in earnest!"
They never knew just how it happened, and Chunky could not tell them,
but in all probability the excitement had been too much for the fat
boy!
He had moved closer when the dancing began, and the fever of it got
into his veins until his excitement had reached a pitch beyond his
control.
With a series of howls and yells, the fat boy drove the rowels of the
spurs deep into his pony's aides.
The animal dashed forward at a break-neck pace.
Stacy headed straight for the glowing pit, yelling with every leap of
the pony.
Tad gazed spellbound. He seemed powerless to move. He had been deeply
affected by the scenes he had seen; but this was different. The lad
held his breath.
Reaching the edge of the pit, Stacy's pony rose in the air, clearing
the bed of coals in a long, curving leap.
Two red men had just risen from their fiery bath. The hind hoofs of
the pony caught and bowled them over.
"Run to the camp and get help! Take my pony! Ride for your life! Don't
lose a second!" gasped Tad, giving the lazy Mexican a shove that sent
him stumbling until he had measured his length upon the ground.
Juan picked himself up slowly; and, crawling away into the bushes, lay
down to rest or hide.
Stacy's pony landed fairly in the center of a bunch of half-clothed
savages; some of whom went down under the pony when it landed on them
so unexpectedly.
The next instant the fat boy had been jerked from the animal's back,
to which he was clinging desperately.
With a yell the redskins hurled him toward the fire. But the force of
the throw had not been quite strong enough. Stacy landed on the edge
of the pit, rolling half into it, the upper part of his body being on
the ground to which he was hanging, yelling lustily. His shod feet
were in the fire, however, but as yet he did not realize that his
clothes were burning.
Tad Butler sprang quickly from his hiding place.
"Crawl out!" he roared. "You'll be burned alive!"
"I-- I can't. I fell in," piped Stacy, all his bravery gone now.
Tad leaped across the intervening space and bounded to the side of his
companion.
"Ouch! I'm on fire!" shrieked Stacy.
Tad grabbed and hauled him from his dangerous position. One of Tad's
feet slipped in while he was doing so. By this time the clothes of
both lads had begun to smoulder.
"Run for it! Better be burned than scalped!" shouted Tad.
Holding to Chunky's arm the Pony Rider Boy started to run. He was
tripped by a moccasined foot before they had gone ten feet. Both boys
fell headlong. Ere they could rise half a dozen mad savages were upon
them.
The lads were jerked roughly to their feet, Chunky shivering, Tad pale
but resolute. There was nothing that he could say or do to repair the
damage that his companion had done.
One whom the lad took to be a chief, from his head-dress and
commanding appearance, pushed his way into the crowd about the two
boys, hurling the red men aside with reckless sweeps of his powerful
arms.
"Ugh!" he grunted, folding his arms and gazing sternly at the two
prisoners.
"Who you?"
Tad explained as best he could.
"Why you do this?"
"My friend here got excited," Tad declared.
"Huh! Lie!"
Tad's face burned. He could scarcely resist the impulse to resent the
imputation that the savage had cast upon him. He conquered the
inclination with an effort.
"Sir, we had no wish to interfere with you. We came here to get one of
our men who had come here to gamble. If you will release us we will
return to our camp and give you no further trouble. I promise you
that."
"T-h-h-h-at's so," chattered Chunky.
"Keep still," whispered Tad. "You'll get us into more trouble."
The chief appeared to be debating the question in his own mind, when
one of the men, whom Tad recognized as a member of the gambling
circle, whispered something to the chief.
The chief's eyes blazed. Uttering a succession of gutteral sounds, he
gave some quick directions to the red men near him.
"He makes a noise like a litter of pigs," muttered Chunky.
Acting upon the chief's direction two braves grabbed the lads, and
hurried them away, Tad meanwhile watching for an opportunity to break
away. Had he been alone, he felt sure he could do so safely. But he
would not leave his companion, of course.
The Apaches took the boys a short distance from the camp, planked them
down roughly with their backs to a rock.
"Now, I wonder what next?" muttered Tad.
While one of the braves stood guard over them, the second trotted back
to the camp, returning after a few minutes with a third savage who
carried a rifle.
The boys were sure then that they were to be shot.
"Huh! You run, brave shoot um!" warned one of the first pair, after
which parting injunction the two captors strode away, leaving their
companion to guard the boys.
For a few moments the Indian walked up and down in front of them,
keeping his eyes fixed on the lads. Tad noted that he walked rather
unsteadily. Finally, the guard sat down facing them, some ten feet
away.
"Well, you've certainly gone and done it this time, Chunky," said Tad
in a low voice. "What on earth made you do a crazy thing like that?"
"I-- I don't know."
"Well, it's too late for regrets. All we can do will be to make the
best of our situation and watch for an opportunity to get away."
For several minutes the boys sat gazing at the stolid figure before
them. Tad's mind was working, though his body was not.
"Make believe you're going to sleep, but don't overdo it," whispered
Tad.
This was something that Stacy could do, and he did it with such
naturalness that Tad could not repress a smile.
"That Indian is dazed from his excitement, and if we make him think
we're asleep he's likely to relax his vigilance," mused Tad, as the
two boys gradually leaned closer together, soon to all appearances
being wrapped in sleep. Little by little the Indian's head nodded.
Finally he toppled over to one side, the rifle lying across his feet.
Tad and Chunky remained motionless.
The Indian snored.
The boys waited. Soon the snores became regular. The moment for action
had arrived.
Tad pinched Chunky.
"Huh! Wat'cher want?"
The fat boy had in reality been asleep.
"For goodness sake, keep quiet!" begged Tad in a whisper. "Don't you
know there's an Indian with a gun guarding us? He's asleep. Come, but
be quiet if you value your life at all. Anyway; remember that I want
to save mine."
Stacy was wide awake now. Together the lads crawled cautiously away,
every nerve on the alert. Over by the pit of live coals the uproar
was, if any thing, louder than before.
The boys gave that part of the camp a wide berth.
"Now get up and run!" commanded Tad. "Raise your feet off the ground,
so that you won't fall over every pebble you come to."
Tad and Chunky clasped hands and scurried through the bushes, making
as little noise as possible, and rapidly putting considerable distance
between them and the sleeping red man who had been set to watch them.
"Having lots of fun, ain't we, Tad?"
"Fun! You're lucky if you get off with a whole scalp--"
"Wow!" exclaimed Stacy.
The lads brought up suddenly.
At first they were not sure what had disturbed them, that is, Tad was
not. This time Stacy had seen more clearly than his companion.
"Ugh!" grunted a voice right in front of them, and there before their
amazed eyes stood an Indian. To their imaginations, he was magnified
until he appeared nearly as tall as the moonlit mountains in the
background.
For one hesitating instant the lads stood staring at the figure
looming over them.
With an angry growl the red man bounded toward them. He had recognized
the boys and was determined that they should not escape him.
It was Stacy Brown's wits that saved the situation this time. As the
Indian came at them the fat boy dived between the savage's naked legs,
uttering a short, sharp yelp, for all the world just like that of a
small dog attempting to frighten off a bigger antagonist.
There could be only one result following Chunky's unexpected tactics.
Mr. Redskin flattened himself on the ground prone upon his face.
Somehow the fellow was slightly stunned by the fall, not having had
time to save himself from a violent bump on the head.
"Run for it, Chunky! He'll be after us in a second."
The lads made a lively sprint for the open. In a moment, observing
that they were not being followed, they halted, still in the shadows
of the bushes. All at once Tad stumbled over an object in the dark. At
first he thought it was another Indian, and both boys were about to
run again, when the voice of the prostrate man caused them to laugh
instead.
"Si, si, seņor," muttered the fellow.
"Juan? It's Juan! Get up! You here yet?"
They pulled the lazy guide to his feet, starting off with him, when
all at once Tad happened to think that one of the ponies was back
there somewhere among the Indians.
"You stay here, and don't make a fool of yourself this time!"
commanded Tad.
"Where are you going?"
"After your pony. You hang on to Juan. I'll hold you responsible for
him, Chunky."
"Guess I can take care of a lazy Mexican if I can floor a redskin,"
answered Stacy proudly.
But Tad was off. He had not heard the last remark of his companion. In
picking his way carefully around the camp to where he had seen a lot
of ponies tethered, Tad found a Navajo blanket. He quickly possessed
himself of it, throwing it over his head, wrapping himself in its
folds.
He was now in plain sight of the wild antics of the dancers, who,
still mad with the excitement of the hour, were performing all manner
of weird movements. For a moment, the lad squatted down to watch them.
He had been there but a short time when a voice at his side startled
him, and Tad was about to take a fresh sprint when he realized that it
was not the voice of a savage.
"Young man, you'd better light out of here while you've got the
chance," said the stranger.
Turning sharply, Tad discovered a man, who, like himself, was wrapped
in a gaudy blanket. He was unable to see the man's face, which was
hidden under the Navajo.
"Who are you?" demanded the lad sharply.
"I'm an Indian agent. I only got wind of this proposed fire dance late
this afternoon. These men will all be punished unless they return to
their reservations peaceably. If they do, they will be let go with a
warning."
"Do they know you're here?"
"They? Not much," laughed the agent.
"But supposing they ask you a question?"
"I can talk all the different tribal languages represented here. You'd
better go now. Where are you from?"
Tad explained briefly.
"Well, you have had a narrow escape tonight. If they catch you again
they'll make short work of you."
"They won't catch me. Thank you and good-bye."
"Don't go that way. Strike straight back; then you will have an open
course."
"I'm going after my companion's pony. I think I know where to find
it," answered Tad, wrapping the blanket about himself and stealing
across an open moonlit space without attracting attention.
The Indian agent watched him curiously for a moment; then he rose and
followed quickly after Tad.
"That boy is either a fool-- which I don't think-- or else he doesn't
know the meaning of the word 'fear.'"
Tad did not find Stacy's pony where he had expected. Indian ponies
were tethered all about, singly and in groups, while here and there
one was left to graze where it would.
"What sort of a looking pony is yours?" questioned the agent, coming
up to him.
"A roan."
"Then I think I know where he is. He was not like the horses in this
vicinity, which attracted my attention to him."
The agent led the way, in a roundabout course, to the south side of
the camp, where they began looking over the animals. Occasionally a
redskin would pass them, but no one gave either the slightest heed.
"Here he is," whispered Tad."
"Lead him off. Don't mount just yet."
Tad did as the agent had suggested. But all at once something
happened. Tad's blanket had dropped from his shoulders, revealing him
in his true colors. An Indian uttered a yell. Tad sprang into his
saddle and put spurs to the pony. In a moment more than a dozen
redskins had mounted and started yelling after him, believing he was
stealing a pony.
Tad headed away to the south to give his companions a chance to get
out of the way, and the savages came in full cry after him.
CHAPTER VII
FLEEING FROM THE ENEMY
A shrill cry was wafted to the boy.
After a few moments Tad realized that they were no longer on his
trail. He knew the cry had been a signal, warning them to halt. What
he did not know, however, was that the Indian agent had been
responsible for the signal; that he in all probability had saved the
boy's life.
The lad, after satisfying himself that the Indians had abandoned the
chase, at once circled about, coming back to the point where he had
left Chunky and the Mexican. They were both there waiting for him.
"What was all that row?" demanded the fat boy. "We were having a
little horse race, that's all," grinned Tad grimly; "Hurry along,
now."
They reached their own camp in safety an hour later. The two boys had
much to relate, and as the narration proceeded, Professor Zepplin
shook his head disapprovingly.
"Young gentlemen, much as I have enjoyed this summer's outing, it's a
wonder I haven't had nervous prostration long before this. It'll be a
load off my mind if I get you all back in Chillicothe without anything
serious happening to you."
"I think," suggested Tad, "that we had better strike camp at once and
move on. The moon is shining brightly, and Juan ought to have no
trouble in leading the way."
"Yes; that will be an excellent idea. You think they may give as
further trouble?" questioned the Professor.
"They may before morning. They're getting more ugly every minute."
"Everything worth while seems to happen when I am not around,"
protested Ned.
"Good thing you weren't along," replied Stacy. "You'd been scared
stiff. It was no place for tenderfeet."
"You-- you call me a tenderfoot?" snapped Ned, starting for him.
"Stop quarreling, you two!" commanded Tad. "We've had all the fighting
we want for one night. Get busy and help strike this camp. Guess none
of this outfit could truthfully be called a tenderfoot. We've all had
our share of hard knocks, and we'll have enough to look back to and
think about when we get home and have time to go over our experiences
together this winter."
The thought, that at any minute the half-crazed savages might sweep
down on them hastened the preparations for departure. The Pony Rider
Boys never struck camp more quickly than they did in the soft southern
moonlight that night.
All at once Juan set up a wail.
"What is it-- what's the trouble now?" demanded Tad.
"My burro. I go for him."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll walk, or ride a pack animal,"
answered Stacy. "You don't deserve to have a burro."
"Here's his old burro now," called Walter, as a shambling object, much
the worse for wear, came stumbling sleepily into camp.
The boys set up a shout that was quickly checked by Tad.
"If the burro can find the way what do you think an Indian could do,
fellows?"
"That's right," agreed Professor Zepplin. "We had better keep quiet--"
"And hit the trail as fast as possible," added Tad. "Daylight must
find us a long ways from here."
"And ride all night-- is that what you mean?" complained Stacy.
"Yes; it'll give you an appetite for breakfast."
"I've got one already."
"That goes without saying," agreed Ned.
"Come, come, Juan!" urged Tad, observing that the guide was doing
nothing more in the way of work than rubbing the nose of his prodigal
burro. "Aren't you going to help us?"
"Yes; what do you think we're paying you good American dollars for?"
demanded Ned.
"I think some of the Professor's hot drops would be good for what ails
him," observed Stacy Brown. "I'll get the Professor to give him a dose
right now."
"No, no, no! Juan no want fire drops."
"All right; get busy, then."
He did. Not since the last dose of the Professor's medicine had he
shown such activity. Very soon after that the camp had been struck and
the party was ready to take up its journey.
Tad took a last look about, to make sure that nothing had been left.
"I think I'll put out the fire," he said, tossing the bridle reins to
Stacy, while he ran over to the dying camp-fire, whose embers he
kicked apart, stamping them out one by one. "No use leaving a trail
like that for any prowling redskin."
They were quickly under way after that, Juan leading the way without
the least hesitancy. He and the burro worked together like a piece of
automatic machinery.
"He might better walk and lead the burro," said Stacy, who had been
observing their peculiar method of locomotion. "Should think it would
be easier."
The moon was dropping slowly westward, and the party was using it for
a guide, keeping the silver ball sharply to their right. Juan on the
other hand had hitched his lazy chariot to a star.
By this star he was laying his course to the southward. The Pony Rider
Boys enjoyed their moonlight trip immensely; and a gentle breeze from
the desert drifting over them relieved the scorching heat of the late
afternoon and early evening.
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