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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"The prairie's on fire!" cried Tad.
CHAPTER XII
THE DASH FOR LIFE
The shouts of the Pony Rider Boys and of the guide were swallowed up
in the roar of the flames."
"They'll be burned alive!" whispered the lad.
Then, all at once he realized that he himself was in dire peril.
"I'll have to go the other way and be quick about it at that," he
decided, making a dash for the pony, that already was whinnying with
fear and tugging at its tether.
Tad did not wait to untie the stake rope. With a sweep of his knife he
severed it and vaulted into the saddle.
Whirling the animal about he headed to the west. To his alarm he
suddenly discovered that the prairie fire was rapidly encircling him,
the flames running around the outer edge of the bottoms with express
train speed, threatening to head him off and envelop him. Had it not
been for the long grass, which, tangling the feet of the pony, made
full speed impossible, the race with the flames would have been an
easy one to win. As it was, Tad knew that the chances were against
him.
But the dire peril in which he found himself did not daunt the Pony
Rider Boy. Perhaps his face had grown a shade paler underneath the
tan, but that was all. His senses were on the alert, his lips met in a
firm pressure and the hand gripped the bridle rein a little more
firmly, perhaps, than usual.
Uttering a shrill cry to inform his companions that be was alive to
his peril, and at the same time to encourage the broncho, Tad dug in
the rowels of his spurs.
The frightened pony cleared the ground with all four feet, uttering a
squeal, and launching itself at the rapidly narrowing clear space
ahead of him; and urged to greater and greater endeavor at every leap
by the short, sharp "yips" of his rider.
For all the concern that showed in his face, Tad Butler might have
been running a horse race for a prize rather than fleeing for his
life.
"If I make it I'm lucky,"-- commented Tad grimly. He found himself
wondering, at the same time, how the fire had started. He knew that
the flames first showed themselves midway between where he was at work
and the place where his companions were engaged at the water hole.
He could not understand it. Fire was necessary to use to start fire,
and he knew that none of them had been foolish enough even to light a
match in the dry bunch grass of the prairie.
The flames were reaching mountain high by this time, great clouds of
smoke rolling in on the breeze and nearly suffocating him.
At times Tad was unable to see the opening ahead of him. When,
however, the smoke lifted, giving him a momentary view, he saw that
the gap was rapidly closing.
All at once his attention was drawn from the closing gap.
"Yeow ! Yeow! Yeow! Y-e-o-w!"
A series of shrill, blood curdling yells from out the pall of smoke
and flame at the rear, bombarded his ears.
At first he thought it was Indians; then the improbability of this
being the case came to him.
"Yeow! Yeow! Yeow!" persisted the voice behind, and it was coming
nearer every second.
Tad slackened the speed of his pony ever so little, despite the peril
of his position.
"There's somebody in there behind me, and, he'll never get out alive
if he loses his way."
The moment this thought occurred to him, Tad began to yell at the top
of his voice.
Suddenly from out the thick veil of smoke burst a pony with a mighty
snort, coming on in bounds, each one of which cleared many feet of
ground. On the pony's back was Stacy Brown, hatless, coatless, his
hair standing up in the breeze, his face as red as if it had come in
actual contact with the flames.
"Yeow!" he roared, as his pony shot past Tad as if the latter's mount
were standing still. Where Stacy had come from, how he had passed
through that wall of flame, Tad had not the slightest idea.
As a matter of fact the explanation was simple enough. The guide had
sent Chunky out to assist Tad in bringing in the rip-rapping material.
Stacy had made a detour from the camp, having gotten just inside the
danger zone when the fire broke out. Guided by the butte where he knew
his companion must be, Stacy headed for that point. There he came upon
Tad's trail, and began yelling to attract his attention. He had heard
Tad's answering cry, and this inspired the fat boy to renewed efforts.
Stacy, now that he had passed Tad, slowed up ever so little. He had
passed his companion so swiftly that he was unable to determine
whether or not Tad were in distress.
The latter came up, overhauling Stacy in a few moments. Both ponies
were steaming from the terrific gruelling they were giving themselves.
"What you doing here?" exploded Tad.
"Same thing you are."
"What do you mean?"
"Trying to save myself from being burned alive--"
"Don't slow up! Don't slow up!" shouted Tad. "Keep going!"
"I am. Wat's matter with you?"
"I don't see what you had to come tumbling into this mess for,"
objected Tad.
"Didn't tumble in. Rode in. Came to help you--"
"Precious lot of help you'll be to me. Lucky if we're not both burned
with our boots on. See! The flame's narrowing in on us. More steam,
Chunky! More steam!" urged Tad.
"Can't. Blow up the boiler if I do," Stacy could not be other than
humorous, even under their present trying situation.
"That's better than burning out your fires, and it's quicker too--"
All at once, Chunky uttered a terrible howl. His pony had stepped into
a hole and gone down floundering in the long grass, Chunky himself
having been hurled over the animal's head, landing several feet in
advance.
"Help! Help!"
The rest was lost as the fat boy's face plowed the earth filling
mouth, eyes and nostrils.
Tad did not lose his presence of mind, though events had been
following each other in such quick succession.
Changing the reins to his right hand and bunching them there, he
grasped the pommel of the saddle, driving his own pony straight at the
kicking, floundering Chunky.
The pony swerved ever so little, Tad's body swept down, and when it
rose, his fingers were fastened in the shirt collar of his companion,
with Chunky yelling and choking, as he was being dragged over the
ground at almost a killing pace.
Tad had no time to do more than hold on to his friend. He dared not
stop to lift him to the saddle just then. The flames were roaring
behind them and on either side, leaving a long, narrow lane ahead,
through which lay their only hope of safety.
"Buck up! Buck up, Chunky!" shouted Tad, himself taking a fresh brace
in the stirrups, for the weight of the fat boy's dragging body was
slowly pulling Tad from the saddle.
Stacy was howling like an Indian, not from fear, but from anger at the
rough usage to which he was being subjected. He did not stop to think
that it was the only way his life might be saved-- nor that his own
pony lay back there in the bunch grass amid the flame and smoke.
Tad knew it.
Now, by a mighty effort Tad righted himself again, and, leaning
forward, threw one arm about the pony's neck, trusting to the animal
to follow the outward trail to safety of its own accord.
Tad felt a sudden jolt that nearly caused him to slide from his pony
on the side opposite Chunky. At the same time, the strain on the lad's
arm was suddenly released.
Tad was up on his saddle like a flash. His right hand held the fat
boy's shirt, while a series of howls to the rear told him where the
owner of the shirt lay.
Tad groaned. Pulling his pony fairly back on its haunches, he dashed
back where Stacy lay kicking, entangling himself deeper and deeper in
the bunch grass.
Had Tad not had presence of mind they both might have perished right
there. He was off like a flash. With supreme strength, he grasped the
body of his fallen companion, raising him into the saddle.
"Hold on!" he shouted. "Don't you dare fall off!"
Stacy clung like a monkey to a pony in a circus race.
"Y-i-i-p!" trilled Tad. He had no time to mount. Already he could feel
the hot breath of the flames on his cheek.
The broncho was off with a bound.
"Tad! Tad!" cried Chunky in sudden alarm, now realizing that he was
alone. "Whe-- where are you?"
"H-h-h-h-e-r-e!"
"W-w-where?"
"H-h-h-holding to the b-r-r-oncho's t-tail."
"Wow!" howled Stacy, as, turning in the saddle, he discovered his
companion being fairly jerked through the air, holding fast to the
pony's tail, the lad's feet hardly touching the ground at all. The
broncho, that ordinarily would have resented such treatment, too fully
occupied in saving his own life from the flames, gave no heed to the
weight he was dragging, and it is doubtful if he even realized there
was any additional weight there.
With a final, desperate leap, the broncho shot out ahead of the
narrowing lane. Like the jaws of some great monster, the two lapping
lines of fire closed in behind them, roaring as if with deadly rage.
The pony dashed out into a broad, open water course, whose dry,
glistening sands would prove an effectual barrier to the prairie fire.
Tad, though everything was swimming before his eyes, realized quickly
that they were now well out of danger.
"St-t-t-top him. I c-c-c-an't let go if you d-d-don't."
"Whoa! Whoa! Don't you know enough to quit when you're through?"
chided Chunky, tugging at the reins. The broncho carried them some
distance before the lad was able to pull him down. Finally he did so.
"Leggo!" he shouted, at the same time whirling the pony sharply about,
fairly "cracking the whip" with Tad Butler.
Chunky's clever foresight probably saved Tad Butler's life, for,
instantly the pony found itself free, it began bucking and kicking in
a circle, kicking a ring all round the compass before it finally
decided to settle down on all fours. Finishing, it meekly lowered its
nose to the ground and now, as docile as a, kitten after having supped
on warm milk, began dozing, the steam rising in a cloud from its
sides.
"Well, of all the fool fools, you're the champion fool!" growled
Stacy, slipping from the saddle and surveying the broncho with
disapproving eyes. "Hah! I guess we'd been done to a turn by this if
it hadn't been for you, just the same. Hello, Tad!"
Tad had doubled up in a heap where the tail of the broncho had flung
him. He was well-nigh spent, but he smiled back at his companion, who
stood on a slight rise of ground, almost a heroic figure.
Chunky's shirt was entirely missing, his skin red from the heat,
ridged with scratches where he had come in violent contact with cactus
plants, his hair tousled and gray with dust.
"Well you are a sight," grinned Tad.
"You wouldn't take a prize at a baby show yourself," retorted Stacy,
spicily.
Tad's clothes were torn, and his limbs were black and blue all the way
down where the hoofs of the broncho had raked them again and again.
"My arms feel a foot longer than they did. What are you looking at?"
Stacy's eyes grew large and luminous as he gazed off over the plains.
"Look! Look, Tad!" he whispered.
CHAPTER XIII
FOLLOWING A HOT TRAIL
"Fire! Fire!" cried Professor Zepplin, leaping up from where he had
been leaning over, watching the water bubbling in the bottom of the
excavation they had made.
The guide had been hanging over the hole, dipping water to Ned, who
was turning it into the water-bags.
"Where, where?" demanded Mr. Kringle explosively. He also sprang to
his feet. "It's a prairie fire!"
"The boys are caught. They'll perish!" exclaimed Professor Zepplin,
with blanching face. "Go to them, go to them, Mr. Kringle!" he begged.
"No living thing could get through that wall of fire, Professor,"
announced the guide impressively. "We'll shout and perhaps, if alive,
they'll bear us."
They did so, with the result already known.
"Which direction did Master Stacy take?" Mr. Kringle asked.
"I saw him riding down that way," replied Walter, pointing excitedly.
"Then, perhaps he is safe outside of the fire zone. Some of you hurry
back to the camp, The stock may take fright and stampede. No, we'll
all go. The wind may shift at any moment, and while I do not think the
flames could reach the camp, all our animals might be suffocated, even
if they did not succeed in getting away."
"But you're not going to desert Tad and Chunky, are you?" demanded
Walter indignantly.
"Certainly not. What can we do here? We must get the ponies first;
then we'll hurry to them. I'm afraid they've been caught," answered
the guide.
"If there's any way of escape you may depend upon it that Master Tad
has discovered that way," answered the Professor. "He is a resourceful
boy, and--"
But the rest were already dashing madly toward the camp and Professor
Zepplin began to do so with all speed to catch up with them. The hot
breath of the prairie fire had brought the color to his blanched
cheeks.
"How-- how do you think the fire started?" stammered the Professor,
when he at last came up with the guide.
"It was set afire," answered Kris Kringle grimly.
"Set!" shouted the Professor and the two boys all in one breath.
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"That remains to be seen."
"Do you mean that one of the boys was imprudent enough to build a fire
in that grass? Surely they would not have been so foolish as to do a
thing like that."
"As I said, that remains to be seen. The first thing to be done is to
get to them as quickly as possible, though I don't know that we can do
any good. They're either out of it, by this time, or else they're
not," added Mr. Kringle suggestively. "Professor, I wish you and one
of the boys would get out your rifles, mount your ponies and watch the
camp, while two of us go in search of the lost ones."
"Watch the camp?"
"Yes."
"For what reason?"
"Merely as a precaution."
"I'll attend to that. I want all of you to get after Tad and Stacy. We
don't care about the camp particularly, when compared with two human
lives."
The smoke was rolling over them in such dense clouds that the camp was
wholly obscured from view until they were upon it.
"Quick! Get the horses before they break away!" commanded the guide.
"I can't find them!" shouted Ned, who had bounded on ahead and
disappeared in the great suffocating cloud.
Walter was only a few steps behind him, both boys groping, blinking
and coughing as the smoke got into eyes and lungs.
"Lie down when it gets stronger than you can stand. There's always a
current of fresh air near the ground," called the guide.
Both lads adopted his suggestion instantly, and they were none too
soon, for already they were getting dizzy. After a few long breaths,
they were up, groping about once more in search of the stock.
"Over to you right," called the Professor.
"We've been there. They're not there at all," answered Ned.
By this time the guide had dived into the cloud.
"The stock has gone," they heard him shoat.
"Have they stampeded?" roared the Professor.
"I don't know. I'll find out in a minute."
"Queer that this smoke blows two ways at once," said Walter.
"There is a slight breeze blowing this way," explained Ned. "Not
enough, however, to turn the fire back. It has got too good a start."
Suddenly a weird "c-o-o-e-e" sounded to the right of them.
"What's that?"
"It's the guide, Walt. He's trying to call the boys, to see if they
are alive," explained Ned.
"I don't think so. That cry is for some other purpose. I'm going over
where he is to find out what it does mean. Come on."
Together the lads ran as fast as they could in the direction from
which the guide's voice had come.
They found him with hands shaped into a megaphone, uttering his shrill
cries. He made no answer to their questions as to what he was trying
to do.
All at once off in the cloud they heard rapid hoofbeats. The boys
glanced at each other in surprise.
"It's the ponies returning," breathed Walter Perkins.
Ned shook his head.
The cries now took on a more insistent tone, and a moment later two
ponies came whinnying into the camp, snorting with fear. Kris Kringle
spoke to them sharply, whereupon they came trotting up to him with
every evidence of pleasure.
The lads were amazed.
"Can you boys shoot a rope?"
"Yes," they answered together.
"Which one is the better at it?"
"Ned is more expert than I am."
"Take one of my ponies. We've got to go after the stock. Rope and
bring them in as fast as possible. It's getting late, and it will be
dark before we know it. There's not more than two hours of daylight
left."
"I can take my pony and help," began Walter.
"You haven't any pony. They're all gone."
Ned and the guide dashed from the camp at break-neck speed. Emerging
from the dust cloud they saw some of the stock far off on the plain.
"There they are!" cried Ned
"Thank goodness, they're all together. And they are not running. We've
got them bunched."
"Were they afraid of the smoke? What made them break away?"
"They didn't break away."
"What?"
"Their tethers were cut and they were sent adrift," answered the guide
grimly;
Ned was speechless with surprise.
Some of the ponies, objecting to being roped, ran away, necessitating
a lively chase. Kris Kringle worked with the precision of an automatic
gun and with proportionate speed. In half an hour they had roped all
the ponies, and, with the burros trailing along behind, started back
to camp as rapidly as possible.
A heavy pall of smoke still hung over the camp and all the surrounding
country.
Once more they staked down the ponies and pack animals, and urging
vigilance on the part of Professor Zepplin, Ned and the guide dashed
away at full gallop in search of the two missing lads.
"Are we going through the fire?" questioned Ned apprehensively.
"We're going to try it. The worst of it must have passed before this,
but we may have to turn back or turn out for spots. It's the shortest
way, and the only course to follow if we want to know what has become
of them."
Spreading out a little they continued on their way, the ponies
snorting, threatening to whirl about and race back into the open
plain. The ground was like a furnace and the grass smouldered beneath
them, heating their feet and singeing their fetlocks.
Suddenly Ned's pony reared into the air, bucked and hurled its rider
far over into the smouldering bunch grass.
Ned uttered a yell of warning as he felt himself going.
The guide wheeled like a flash. Ned's mount had whirled and was away
like a shot. But the guide was after him with even greater speed. The
chase came to an abrupt ending some few rods farther on, when Kris
Kringle's lariat squirmed out, bringing the fleeing pony to the ground
with its nose in the hot dust.
Without dismounting, the guide turned his own mount, and fairly
dragging the unwilling pony behind him, pounded back to the place
where Ned had been unhorsed.
"Grab him!" commanded the guide to Ned, who had quickly scrambled to
his feet. "What was it that he saw?"
"I don't know. Guess he made up his mind to go back."
"No; he saw something. Hang on to him and cover the ground all about
you till you find it."
"Wha-- what do you--"
"Never mind. Look!"
"Here! Here it is!" cried Ned aghast.
The guide was at his side instantly.
"It's a pony," gasped the Pony Rider boy.
Kris Kringle was off his own mount instantly, and bidding Ned hold the
animal, he made a brief examination of the fallen horse, after which
he darted here and there, unheeding the fact that the still burning
grass was blistering his feet through the heavy soles of his boots.
For several rods Kringle ran along the faint trail that Tad and Stacy
had left, or rather, that the fire had left after passing over it.
"They beat their way out here. We may find them later. Come on!"
Again Ned and the guide dashed away, both keeping their gaze on the
smoking prairie about them. The smoke now was almost more than they
could bear.
"Do-- do you think they are alive?" asked Ned unsteadily.
"So far. If they are not, it's not their fault. The Professor is
right. Those boys have pluck enough to pull them through, but
sometimes pluck alone will not do it. A prairie fire is no respecter
of pluck."
They burst out into an open space. There were no signs of either of
the missing boys.
"Something has happened to them. We must have missed them," announced
the guide.
CHAPTER XIV
AGAINST BIG ODDS
"What is it, Chunky?"
"There!"
Tad jerked his companion flat on the ground, flattening himself beside
Stacy at the same instant.
What had caused their sudden alarm was the sight of two Indians,
sitting on their ponies without saddles, some distance out on the open
plain. The redskins were wrapped in their brightly colored blankets,
which enveloped them from head to knees. Even the hands were invisible
beneath the folds of the blankets.
"D-d-do you think they saw us, Tad?"
"I don't know. It's safe to say they did. Indian eyes don't miss very
much. You ought to know that, by this time. I wish we could make that
pony lie down."
"Why don't you?"
"He's too afraid of the ground-- thinks it's still hot, and I don't
blame him. The fire has singed him pretty well as it is.
The Indians sat their mounts as motionless as statues, the ponies
headed directly toward where the two lads were lying.
"I'll bet they're got guns under those blankets," decided Tad. "You
can't trust an Indian even while you are looking at him."
"Anybody'd think you'd been hunting Indians all your life," growled
Stacy.
"They've been hunting me mostly," grinned Tad.
"And usually caught you," added Chunky.
"I don't like this lying here as if we were scared of them."
"But, what else can we do, Tad?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do I. Wish I had a shirt. I'll spoil my complexion clear down
to my waist. Resides, I'm not fit to be seen."
"You're lucky to be alive," growled Tad. "I'm going to get out of
this."
"How?"
"Listen, and you'll know. I'm going to get on the pony; then, as soon
as I'm in the saddle, you jump up behind me and we'll start back to
camp."
"Not-- not through that fire?" protested Stacy.
"No; I don't dare try it. I'm afraid we'd get lost in the smoke and
perhaps get burned as well. We'll ride out some distance, then turn to
the left and try to go around the burned district."
"What if the Indians chase us?"
"I don't believe they will. They'll hardly dare do that. And, besides,
these may be friendly Indians."
"Huh!" grunted Stacy. "They look it."
Tad got up boldly, and without even looking toward the silent red men,
began fussing about his saddle, cinching the girths, and straightening
the saddle. His last act before mounting was to see that the coils of
his lariat were in order.
"All right," announced the lad, vaulting into the saddle.
Stacy scrambled up behind him without loss of time, and they rode out
into the open, the fat boy peering apprehensively over his companion's
shoulder.
"You keep watch of them, Chunky, but don't let them see you doing it.
I won't look at them at all. We don't want them to think we're
afraid."
Stacy fidgeted.
"You bet I'll watch 'em. Wish I had my rifle."
"I don't."
"Huh!"
"You have distinguished yourself quite enough with that rifle as it
is. We don't want any more of your fancy shooting."
"There they go," warned Stacy.
"I see them." Tad had been cautiously observing the horsemen out of
the corners of his eyes. "Moving in the same direction we are. I don't
like the looks of it. Still, if they don't get any nearer we may be
thankful."
The pony carrying the boys was walking easily, and the mounts of the
Indians were doing the same.
"Jog a little," suggested Stacy.
"That's a good idea. It will tell us quickly whether they are trying
to keep up with us."
He touched the pony lightly with his spurs. The little animal switched
its tail, for its sides were tender, and started off.
"There they go, Tad! Jogging the same gait as ours!"
Tad's face took on the stubborn look it always wore when he had
determined upon a certain course of action.
"I'll beat them yet, even if there are only two of them. I wish there
weren't two of us on this nag."
"I'll get off and walk," suggested. Stacy.
"You'll do nothing of the sort. That would be a nice thing to do,
wouldn't it? They'd round you up quicker'n they could a lame burro."
"Say, Tad."
"What?"
"I've got an idea."
"What is it?"
"You know that sage hen we had?"
"Yes, what's that got to do with our present predicament?"
"I was wondering why there aren't any sage roosters?"
"You'll be a sage rooster, with your head off, first thing you know,"
snapped Tad in disgust. "Can't you be serious for a minute? Don't you
see we are in a fix?"
"Uh-huh!"
"There, that fellow is trying to head us off."
One of the Indians had shot away from his companion, running obliquely
toward the point to which Tad was headed.
The red man had gotten quite a start before the boys caught the
significance of his manoeuvre.
Tad dug in the spurs.
At that instant the fat boy's hands had been removed from Tad, to
whose body they had been clinging.
The pony leaped forward, and Stacy slid over its rump, hitting the
ground with a jolt that jarred him.
"Wow!" howled Stacy.
Tad, instantly divining what had happened, pulled up sharply; wheeled
and raced back to where his companion was still complaining loudly and
rubbing his body.
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