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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In the meantime the camp slept in peace-- that is, the lads did until
nearly time for the change of guard. Then the whole party was aroused
with the sudden, startling conviction that something serious had
happened.
All at once the crack of a rifle sounded on the still night air. It
was followed by another shot, and another, until four distinct reports
had rolled across the plains.
In wild disorder the Pony Rider Boys tumbled from their cots, and,
grasping their weapons, leaped from the tents.
"What's the row?" inquired the Professor.
"Wow! Wow! Wow! Yeow!" shrieked a shrill voice to the northward.
"It's Chunky. He's giving the alarm! We're attacked!" cried the lads.
Bang ! Bang!
They saw the flash of the fat boy's weapon before the report reached
their ears.
A moment later the other boys caught sight of Stacy dashing into camp,
hatless, waving his rifle and yelling as if bereft of his senses.
"What is it? What is it?" cried the boys with one voice.
"Indians! Indians! The prairie's full of them!"
CHAPTER X
MEETING THE ATTACK
Instantly the camp was thrown into confusion. The lads ran here and
there, not knowing what to do.
"Get behind the ponies! That's the only cover we can find here. Run
for it!"
And run they did, the Professor outdistancing all the rest in his
attempt to secrete himself where the enemy's weapons would not be
likely to reach him.
In a moment more, the camp of the Pony Rider Boys was deserted, and
behind each sleeping pony lay a boy, with rifle barrel poked over the
animal's back, ready to shoot at the first sign of the redskins.
Stacy, in his excitement, had forgotten that not a cartridge was left
in his magazine, and the others were too fully occupied to remember to
tell him.
For all of half an hour did the party lie protected. The boys began to
grow restive. Tad's suspicions were being slowly aroused.
"I'm going to do a little scouting," he told them, slipping from
behind the pony and skulking along back of the tents. The moon was
shining brightly now. He could see a long distance. Not a human being
was in sight.
"I thought so," he muttered, retracing his steps. "See here, Stacy
Brown, what did you see-- what did you shoot at?" he demanded sternly.
"I-- I shot the chute-- I-- I mean I chuted the shot-- I mean--"
"Say, what do you mean?"
"I-- I mean-- say, leggo my neck, will you?" roared Chunky.
"Fellows, he doesn't know what he means."
"Guess he's been feeding on crazy grass out on the prairie," was Ned's
conclusion.
"There isn't an Indian anywhere around here. I know it. They would
have been after us long before this, if there had been."
One by one the boys came from their hiding places, the lazy Mexican
last. Disapproving eyes were turned on Stacy.
"Chunky, you come along and show us where you were when you shot-- did
you shoot at an Indian?" asked Tad.
"Yes, and I-- I-- I shot him."
"Show us. We're all from Chillicothe," demanded Ned.
Stacy, with a show of importance, led the way, keeping a wary eye out
for the enemy. It was noticed, however, that each of the lads held his
rifle ready for business in case there should be an enemy about.
"There! I was standing right over there-- I guess."
"You guess! Don't you know?" questioned the Professor.
"Yes; that's the place."
The lad walked over to the identical spot from which he had first
fired his rifle.
"He was over there and I shot at him, so," said Stacy, leveling the
weapon. "Ye-ow! There he is, now!" shrieked the boy.
Every weapon flashed up to a level with the eyes.
"There is something over there on the ground," decided the Professor.
"Put down your guns so you don't shoot me," said Tad. "I'm going to
find out what it is."
Keeping his own weapon held at "ready," the lad walked boldly over to
where a heap of some sort lay on the plain. It surely had not been
there during the afternoon-- Tad knew that.
He reached it, stooped, peered, then uttered a yell.
"What is it" they cried, hurrying up.
"You've done it now, Chunky Brown. You certainly have gone and done
it."
"What-- what is it?" cried the others in alarm.
"You've shot the lazy Mexican's burro. That's your Indian, Stacy
Brown."
Juan, who had followed them out on the plain, uttered a wail and threw
himself upon the body of his prostrate burro. The animal, it seemed,
had recovered consciousness during the night, and in a half-dazed
condition had wandered out on the plain. Stacy, while crouching down
on the ground, had seen the head and long ears of the burro. He
thought the ears were part of the head dress of a savage and let fly a
volley of bullets at it.
"He-- he isn't dead," shouted the fat boy. "See, I just pinked him in
the ears."
And, surely enough, an examination revealed a hole through each ear.
The holes were so close to the animal's head that it was reasonable to
suppose the shot had stunned him, being already in a weakened
condition from the sleepy grass.
The boys set to work to rouse the burro, which they succeeded in doing
in a short time. Juan, with arm around the lazy beast's neck, led it
back to camp, petting and soothing it with a chattering that they
could not understand.
There was no more sleep in camp that night, though the boys turned in
at the Professor's suggestion. Every little while, laughter would
sound in one of the tents, as the others fell to discussing Stacy's
Indian attack.
The next morning they were overjoyed to find that the ponies had
awakened and were trying to get up.
"Lead them out of that grass, fellows," shouted Tad, the moment he saw
the ponies were coming around. "We don't want them to make another
meal of that stuff"
"Nor take another of Chunky's Rip Van Winkle sleeps," added Ned.
Never having had a like experience, none of the lads knew what to do
with their mounts after getting them sufficiently awake to lead them
to a place of safety. They appealed to Juan for advice, but the lazy
Mexican appeared to know even less than they.
Tad, after studying the question a few moments, decided to give them
water, though sparingly. This they appeared to relish and braced up
quite a little. But the boy would not allow them to graze until nearly
noon, when each one took his pony out, making sure that there was none
of the sleepy grass around. The animals were then permitted to graze.
About the middle of the afternoon Tad decided that all were fit to
continue the journey, and that it would be safe to travel until
sunset. Everyone was glad to get away from the spot where they had had
such unpleasant experiences, and the boys set off, moving slowly, the
stock not yet being in the best of condition.
Late in the afternoon, when they had about decided to make camp, one
of the boys espied an object, something like a quarter of a mile away,
that looked like the roof of a house.
Ned said it couldn't be that, as it appeared to be resting on the
ground. They asked Juan if he knew what it was, and for a wonder he
did. He said it was a dug-out-- a place where a man lived.
"Is he a hermit?" asked Stacy apprehensively, at which there was a
laugh. Stacy had not forgotten his experiences in the cave of the
hermit of the Nevada Desert.
For the next hour, the lads were too busy, pitching tents and
unloading the pack animals, to give further thought to the dug-out or
its occupant; but when, after they had prepared their evening meal,
they saw some one approaching on horseback, they were instantly
curious again.
The newcomer proved to be the owner of the dug-out. He was a tall,
square-jawed man, with a short, cropped iron-gray beard and small
blue, twinkling eyes.
"Will you join us and have some supper?" asked Tad politely, walking
out to greet the stranger.
"Thank you; I will, young man," smiled the stranger.
Tad introduced himself and companions.
"You probably have heard my name before, young men. It is Kris
Kringle; I'm living out here for my health and doing a little ranching
on the side."
Stacy looked his amazement.
"Is-- is he Santa Claus?" he whispered, tugging at Tad's coat sleeve.
"No, young man. I am not related to the gentleman you refer to,"
grinned Mr. Kringle.
There was a general laugh at Stacy's expense.
After supper, the visitor invited all hands to ride over to his
dug-out and spend the evening with him. The boys accepted gladly,
never having seen the inside of a dug-out, and not knowing what one
looked like. Professor Zepplin had taken a sudden liking to the man
with the Christmas name, and soon the two were engaged in earnest
conversation.
The distance being so short, Tad decided that they had better walk,
leaving the ponies in charge of Juan so they might get a full night's
rest. Then all hands set out for the dug-out.
A short flight of steps led down into the place, the roof of which was
raised just far enough above the ground to permit of two narrow
windows on each side and at the rear end.
The room in which they found themselves, proved to be a combination
kitchen and dining room. Its neatness and orderliness impressed them
at once.
"And here," said Kris Kringle, "is what I call my den," throwing open
a door leading into a rear room and lighting a hanging oil lamp.
The Pony Rider Boys uttered an exclamation of surprised delight.
On a hardwood floor lay a profusion of brightly colored Navajo rugs,
the walls being hung with others of exquisite workmanship and
coloring, interspersed with weapons and trophies of the chase, while
in other parts of the room were rare specimens of pottery from ancient
adobe houses of the Pueblos.
At the far end of the room was a great fire-place. Book cases,
home-made, stood about the room, full of books. The Professor
realized, at once, that they were in the home of a student and a
collector.
"This is indeed an oasis in the desert," he glowed. "I shall be loath
to leave here."
"Then don't," smiled Mr. Kringle. "I'm sure I am glad enough to have
company. Seldom ever see anyone here, except now and then a roving
band of Indians."
"Indians!" exclaimed Tad. "Do you have any trouble with them?"
"Well, they know better than to bother with me much. We have had an
occasional argument," said their host, his jaws setting almost
stubbornly for the instant. "Most of the tribes in the state are
peaceful, though the Apaches are as bad as ever. They behave
themselves because they have to, not because they wish to do so."
"I saw their fire dance the other night," began Tad.
"What?" demanded Mr. Kringle.
"Fire dance."
"Tell me about it?"
Tad did so, the host listening with grave face until the recital was
ended.
He shook his head disapprovingly.
"And this-- this Indian that you knocked down-- was he an Apache?"
"I don't know. I think so, though. He had on a peculiar head dress
"That was one of them," interrupted Mr. Kringle, with emphasis. "And
I'll wager you haven't heard the last of him yet. That's an insult
which the Apache brave will harbor under his copper skin forever.
He'll wait for years, but he'll get even if he can."
The faces of the Pony Rider Boys were grave.
"Have you a reliable guide?"
"Far from it," answered the Professor. "If I knew where I could get
another, I'd pack him off without ceremony.
Kris Kringle was silent for a moment.
"I need a little change of scene," he smiled. "How would you like to
have me take the trail with you for a week or so?"
"Would you?" glowed the Professor, half rising from his chair.
"I think I might."
"Hurrah!" cried the Pony Riders enthusiastically. "That will be fine."
"Of course, you understand that I expect no pay. I am going because I
happen to take a notion to do so. Perhaps I'll be able to serve you at
the same time."
The Professor grasped Mr. Kringle by the hand impulsively.
"I'll send that lazy Juan on his way this very night--"
"Let me do it," interposed Stacy, with flushing face. "I'll do it
right, Professor. But I'll put on my pair of heavy boots first, so
it'll hurt him more."
The boys shouted with laughter, while the new guide's eyes twinkled
merrily.
"I think, perhaps, the young man might do it even more effectively
than you or I," he said. "Have you weapons, Professor?"
"Rifles."
"That's good. We may need them."
"Then you think?"
"One can never tell."
CHAPTER XI
RIDING WITH KRIS KRINGLE
A slender ribbon of dust unrolling across the plain far to the
northward marked the receding trail of Juan and his lazy burro. They
had given him a week's extra pay and sent him on his way.
The burro was making for home, aided by the busy feet of its master,
while Stacy Brown, shading his eyes with one hand, was watching the
progress of the guide, whom he had just sent adrift.
"Well, he's gone," grinned Stacy, turning to his companions, who were
busy striking camp.
"And a good riddance," nodded Tad.
"He'll probably join the Indians and tell them where we are,"
suggested Walter.
"I hadn't thought of that," replied Tad. "Still, if they wish to find
us they know how without Juan's telling them."
"How?"
"They can follow a trail with their eyes shut," said Ned.
"That's right. They do not need to be told," muttered Tad.
Everything being in readiness, the boys started with their outfit for
the dug-out, where they were to be joined by Kris Kringle. They felt a
real relief to know that they were to have with them a strong man on
whom they were sure they could rely to do the right thing under all
circumstances. Tad, however, believed that Mr. Kringle had decided to
join them, fearing they would be attacked by the Apaches and come to
serious harm. Yet he hardly thought the redskins would dare to follow
them, after the latter had once gotten over the frenzy of their fire
dance. By that time the Indian agents would have rounded them all up
on the reservations, where the Indians would be able to do no more
harm for a while.
After picking up the new guide the start was made. The party had water
in plenty in the water-bags, so that no effort was made to pick up a
water hole when they made camp late in the afternoon. The guide had
brought in his pack a tough old sage hen, at which the lads were
inclined to jeer when he announced his intention of cooking it for
their supper.
"You'll change your mind when you taste it, young gentlemen. It
depends upon the cooking entirely. A sage hen may be a delicious
morsel, or it may not," answered Mr. Kringle, with a grin.
They were encamped near a succession of low-lying buttes, and to while
away the time until the supper hour, the boys strolled away singly to
stretch their legs on the plain after the long day's ride in the hot
sun.
When they returned an hour or so later, Stacy, they observed, was
swinging a curious forked stick that he had picked up somewhere a few
moments ago.
"What you got there?" questioned Ned.
"Don't know. Picked it up on the plain. Such a funny looking thing,
that I brought it along."
"Let me see it," asked Mr. Kringle.
Stacy handed it to him.
"This," said the guide, turning the stick over in his hand, "is a
divining rod."
"Divining rod?" demanded Stacy, pressing forward.
"Yes."
"Never heard of it. Is it good to eat?"
"Looks to me like a wish bone," interjected Ned. "Do you eat wish
bones, Chunky?"
"Might, if I were hungry enough."
"A divining rod is used to locate springs. Some users of it have been
very successful. I couldn't find a lake with it, even if I fell in
first."
"Indeed," marveled the Professor. "I have heard of the remarkable work
of divining rods. What Rind of wood is it?"
"This is hazel wood. Oak, elm, ash or privet also are used, but hazel
is preferred in this country."
"Then-- then we won't have to go dry any more-- I can find water with
this when I'm dry?" questioned Stacy.
"You might; then again you might not."
"Better take it away from him," suggested Ned. "He might find a
spring. If he did he'd be sure to fall in and drown."
The stick, which was shaped like the letter Y, was an object of great
interest to the Pony Rider Boys. One by one they took it out on the
plain, in an effort to locate some water. The guide instructed them to
hold the Y with the bottom up, one prong in each hand and to walk
slowly.
But, try as they would, they were able to get no results.
"The thing's a fraud!" exclaimed Ned disgustedly, throwing the
divining rod away.
Stacy picked it up.
"I know why it doesn't work," he said.
"Why?" demanded the other boys.
"'Cause-- 'cause there isn't any water to make it work," he replied
wisely.
The boys groaned.
Shortly after returning to camp, they found the fat boy standing over
a pail of water holding the stick above it.
He was talking to the stick confidentially, urging it to "do
something," to the intense amusement of the whole outfit.
"Now, where's your theory?" questioned the Professor.
"Why, it doesn't have to work, does it? Don't we know there's water
here? If we didn't the stick would tell us, maybe. Take my word for
it, this outfit won't have to go dry after this. Stacy Brown and his
magic wand will find all the water needed," continued the fat boy
proudly.
"Your logic is good, at any rate, even if the rod doesn't work at
command," laughed the Professor.
Supper was a jolly affair, for everyone was in high spirits. The sage
hen, contrary to general expectation, was found to be delicious.
Chunky begged for the wish bone and got it. He said he'd use it for a
divining rod when he wanted to find a little spring.
"Mr. Kringle, I am commissioned by the fellows to ask you a question,"
announced Tad, after the meal had been in progress for a time.
"Ask it," smiled the guide.
"We thought we'd like to call you Santa Claus, seeing you've brought
us so much cheer. Then again, it's your name you know. Kris Kringle is
Santa Claus."
"Oh, well, call me what you please, young men."
From that moment on, Kris Kringle was Santa Claus to the Pony Rider
Boys.
They had now come to a rolling country, with here and there high
buttes, followed by large areas of bottom lands which were covered
with rank growths of bunch grass. Traveling was more difficult than it
had been, and water more scarce.
It was on the second day out, after they had been skirmishing for
water in every direction, that the lads heard the familiar yell from
Chunky.
"There goes the trouble maker," cried Ned. "He's at it again."
The guide bounded up, starting on a run for the spot where Chunky's
wail had been heard. The others were not far behind.
They saw the red, perspiring face of the fat boy above a clump of
grass, his yells for help continuing, unabated.
"What is it?" shouted the guide.
"I've got it, Santa Claus! I've got it!"
"Got what?" roared the Professor.
"The stick!-- I mean it's got me. Help! Help!"
Stacy was wrestling about as if engaged in combat with some enemy.
They could not imagine what had gone wrong-- what had caused his
sudden cries of alarm.
"It's the divining rod!" called the guide.
"He's found water!" shouted the boys.
"I've got it! I've got it! Come help me hold it. The thing's jerking
my arms off."
To the amazement of the Pony Rider Boys, the forked stick in the hands
of the fat boy was performing some strange antics. Breathing hard, he
would force it up until it was nearly upright, when all at once the
point of the triangle would suddenly swerve downward, bending the rod
almost to the breaking point.
"See it? See it?"
"Most remarkable," breathed Professor Zepplin.
"Yes, there can be no doubt about it," nodded the guide.
"He's bluffing," disagreed Ned.
"Doesn't look to me as if he were," returned Tad.
"Take hold with me here, if you don't believe me," cried Stacy. "No,
not on the stick, take hold of my wrists."
Ned promptly accepted the invitation.
Instantly the tug of the divining rod was felt by the new hands.
Ned let go quickly.
"Ugh! The thing gives me the creeps."
"Let me try it, Master Stacy," said Professor Zepplin.
"I can't let go of it," wailed Chunky.
"Step off a piece," directed the guide.
Stacy did so, whereupon the divining rod immediately ceased its
peculiar actions.
The Professor took hold of it, but the rod refused to work for him.
"Let Santa Claus try it," suggested Ned.
The guide did so, but with no more success than the Professor had had.
"I told you it wouldn't work for me," Mr. Kringle grinned. "Here,
Master Tad, you try it."
Tad, with the rod grasped firmly in his hands, walked back and forth
three times without result. On the fourth attempt, however, the stick
suddenly bent nearly double.
All were amazed.
"Why were we unable to get results, Mr. Kringle?" questioned the
Professor.
"According to some French writers as much depends upon the man as on
the divining rod. Where one succeeds another fails absolutely.
Supposing the others take a try?"
Walter and Ned did so, but neither could get the rod to move for him.
"I guess Chunky is the champion water-finder," laughed Ned.
"Would it not be a good idea to find out whether or not there is water
here?" asked the Professor.
"Yes," agreed the guide. "It may be so far down that we cannot reach
it, however. You know in some parts of this region they are locating
water with the rod and sinking artesian wells."
"Why-- why didn't we think to bring some down with us?" demanded
Chunky. "Can't we get any in some of the towns down here?"
"Some what?" questioned the guide.
"Artesian wells."
A roar greeted the fat boy's question.
"Bring down a load of artesian wells!" jeered Ned.
"An artesian well, my boy, is nothing more than a hole in the ground,"
the guide informed him, much to Chunky's chagrin.
The spot where the divining rod had so suddenly gotten busy was about
midway of an old water course, covered with a thick growth of bunch
grass.
"Get some tools, boys," directed the Professor.
Tad ran back to camp, which lay some distance to the east of where
they were gathered. Searching out a pick and two shovels, he leaped on
his pony, dashing back to the arroyo.
"That was quickly done," smiled Santa Claus. "Are all of you lads as
quick on an errand as that?"
"Only Chunky," answered Ned solemnly.
The guide began to dig, in which effort he was joined by Stacy Brown,
who, with a shovel, caved in about as much dirt as he threw out.
"Here, give me that shovel," commanded Ned. "You'll fill up the bole
before we get it dug."
Tad, having tethered his pony, took the extra shovel and went to work.
"Guess it's a false alarm," decided Ned, after they were up to their
shoulders in the hole.
"Don't be too sure. The ground is quite damp here. Try your rod, young
man."
"Chunky held the divining rod over the excavation, whereupon it drew
down with even greater force than before.
"Dig," directed the guide.
They did so with a will.
"Here's water!" shouted Kris Kringle.
They crowded about the hole, amazement written on every face.
A fresh, cool stream bubbled up into the hole, causing those in the
pit to scramble out hastily.
"Some of you boys run back to camp and fetch pails and water-bags,"
directed the guide.
"I'll go. I've got the pony here," spoke up Tad.
"No; I want you to do something else for me."
"We'll all go," offered Walter. The three lads started on a run,
Chunky holding his precious divining rod tightly clasped in both
hands.
"What is it you wish?" questioned Tad.
"I wish you would ride over toward that small butte and cut a load of
brush. Want to rip-rap the outer edge of this water hole, so the bank
will not cave in and undo all our work! Have you a hatchet?"
"Yes, in my saddlebags."
"Good. Hurry, please."
Tad leaped into the saddle, and putting spurs to his broncho, tore
through the high bunch grass, above which only his head was now
observable. In a short time he was back with the green stuff piled
high on the saddle in front of him, with a large bundle tied to the
cantle of the saddle behind.
Unloading this, Butler started back at a gallop for more. When there
was work to be done, Tad Butler was happy. Activity to him was a tonic
that spurred him on to ever greater efforts.
This time he found himself obliged to climb higher up the butte in
order to get branches of available size. These he cut and threw down.
After having procured what he thought would be all he could carry the
lad scrambled down, and, dropping on his knees began tying them into
bundles. The heat was sweltering, and occasionally be paused to wipe
away the perspiration.
"I smell smoke," sniffed Tad. "I wonder where it comes from?"
The odor grew stronger, but so interested was he in his labor that he
did not at once understand the significance of his discovery.
"W-h-o-o-e-e!"
It was a long-drawn, warning shout.
"It's a signal!" exclaimed the lad, straightening up. "I wonder what's
the matter?"
As he looked toward the camp a great wall of flame seemed to leap from
the ground between him and his companions. There it poised for one
brief instant, then, with a roar swooped down into the tall bunch
grass, rushing roaring and crackling toward him.
For an instant he stood unbelieving, then the truth dawned upon him.
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