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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"Chunky would be the only one to get in the way, and I imagine the
others would hold him back."
"Come this way; we'll go down by a different trail. The redskins are
watching the fire in the cave, but they may be keeping an eye on the
trail at the same time."
Silently the man and the boy took their way along the rough, uneven
path, slowly working down into the valley. They soon reached this, for
the range was low there.
Reaching the foothills, the two scouts once more fell into single
file, Tad Butler to the rear. He knew that the guide's rifle ahead of
him was ready for instant use, and at any second now Tad expected to
see the flash of a gun.
The lad was not afraid, but he was all a-quiver with excitement. This
stalking an enemy in the dark, not knowing at what minute that enemy
might make the attack, was not the same as a stand-up fight in broad
daylight. Tad wondered why the guide had not permitted the rest of the
party to escape while they had the opportunity. He did not know that
Kris Kringle fully expected an ambush, nor that two would stand a
better chance to get through and out-wit the savages than would half a
dozen of them. The pair had approached nearly to the camp, for which
the guide was heading, when suddenly a hand was laid on the boy's arm
in a firm grip. Tad knew the guide had seen or heard something.
"What is it?"
"There!"
In the faint light of the camp-fire the lad, gazing where Kris Kringle
had pointed, was astonished to see a figure seated at their table.
From his motions it was evident that the intruder was stowing away the
stolen fool at a great rate.
"Is that one of them?"
"Yes."
"He'll have indigestion, the way he's eating. Hope he doesn't swallow
the dishes, too."
"I'm going to find the other one. You crawl as close to the camp as
you can with safety. If you hear a disturbance, dive for the tents the
instant that fellow starts. He'll move if he hears any noise. Get a
gun and hurry to me, but be quiet about it."
"Yes."
"Remember your instructions. I may be able to handle both of them, but
if I don't get the missing one at the first crack I shan't be able to
take care of them both. You'll have to help me. Got the nerve?"
"I'm not afraid," whispered the boy steadily. "And I've got some
muscle as well."
"That's evident. I'm off now."
Tad was left alone. This time he could feel the guide's movements, as
the latter slipped away on the soft earth. But in a moment all sound
was lost,
"I think I'll crawl up nearer, so as to be handy if anything occurs,"
decided the lad, creeping along on all fours. He could not see the
light in the camp now, but he reasoned that the man at the table was
sitting with his back to it, as near as Tad could judge of direction
in the dark. The Indian seemed not to fear a surprise.
"That's what comes from overconfidence," grinned the lad.
"I wish I had something to defend myself with," he added after a
pause.
Tad had no sooner expressed his wish, than his fingers closed over
some object on the ground. He grasped it with about the same
hopefulness that a dying man will grasp at a straw.
What he had found was a heavy tent stake, one that Kris Kringle had
dropped from his bundle on the way to the cliff dweller's home.
The lad breathed a prayer of thankfulness and crept on with renewed
courage.
He proceeded as far as he dared; then, lay still, listening for the
noise of the expected conflict between the guide and the other red
man.
It came. The sound was like that of a body falling heavily.
Once more the Indian at the table turned his head, listening
inquiringly. He made a half motion to rise, glanced at the table, then
sat down again and began to eat.
"His appetite has overcome his judgment," grinned Tad. The lad could
hear the faint sound of conflict somewhere to the rear of him. He was
getting uneasy and began to fidget.
All at once the red man sprang up, starting on a run, trailing Stacy's
rifle behind him. He was headed directly for the place where Tad lay
flattened on the ground, though the lad felt sure his enemy did not
see him.
But when the Indian suddenly sprang up into the air to avoid stepping
on the object that lay there, Tad knew that further secrecy was
useless. The redskin had jumped right over him, dropping Chunky's
rifle as he leaped. The gun fell on the Pony Rider boy and for a
second hindered his movements.
But Tad was up like a flash, while the Indian whirled no less quickly,
knife unsheathed, ready for battle.
This was where Tad's tent stake came in handy. Without it he would
have been in a much more serious fix. It was bad enough as it was.
Without an instant's hesitation the lad brought the stake down on the
wrist of the hand that held the knife. The knife fell to the ground,
while the Indian, with a half-suppressed howl, sprang at the slender
lad. Though the fellow's wrist was well-nigh useless at that moment,
he was as full of fight as ever.
Tad stepped nimbly aside and tried to trip his adversary, but the
Indian was too sharp to be caught that way.
"If he ever gets those arms around me I'm a goner," thought Tad,
taking mental measure of his antagonist.
Suddenly the Indian swooped down, making a grab for the rifle that he
had dropped.
As the redskin stooped, Tad hit him a wallop on the head with the tent
stake. It must have made the savage see a shower of stars.
At least, it staggered him so he was glad to let the weapon remain
where it was. For a few seconds the air was full of flying legs and
arms, during which the boy landed three times on the red man, being
himself unhurt.
Then the Indian succeeded in rushing into a clinch, and Tad found
himself gripped in those arms of steel. Wriggle and twist as be would
he could not free himself from their embrace. His adversary, on the
other hand, found himself fully occupied in holding on to his slippery
young antagonist, giving him neither time nor opportunity effectually
to dispose of the slender lad.
Tad was unusually muscular for his years, to which was added no little
skill as wrestler. The Indian soon discovered both these qualities.
And, at about that time, the lad was resorting to every trick he knew
to place the Indian in a position where he could be thrown.
The moment came with disconcerting suddenness, and Mr. Redman uttered
a loud grunt as he landed on the ground, flat on his back. With a
spring he lifted himself up, and the next instant he had thrown the
slight figure of the Pony Rider Boy so heavily that everything about
Tad grew black. He felt himself going. Then all at once he lost
consciousness.
When finally he awakened, Tad found a figure still bending over him.
Quick as a flash the boy's arms went up, encircling the neck of the
man kneeling by him. The next instant the fellow was on his back, with
Tad sitting on his chest.
"Here, here! What's the matter with you?" gasped a muffled voice,
which Tad instantly recognized.
"Kris Kringle!" he gasped.
"Yes; and you nearly knocked the breath out of me," grinned the guide,
struggling to his feet. "Well, you certainly are a whirlwind."
"I-- I thought you were the Indian," mattered Tad in a sheepish tone.
"If it had been, there would have been no need for my interference."
"Where is he?"
"Over there, tied up. Both of them are. We'll decide what to do with
them when we get the party together."
"Tell me what happened," begged Tad.
The other fellow was so busy watching the cave that he forgot to keep
his ears open. I was able to approach him without being detected. When
I got near enough I laid the butt of my rifle over his head. No, I
didn't hurt him much. Just made him curl up on the ground long enough
to enable me to tie his hands and feet.
"About that time I caught the sound of something going on over here. I
made a run, suspecting that you were mixing it up with the other
redskin. Guess I was just in time, too, for he had you down and was
reaching for something--"
"His knife," nodded Tad. "It's somewhere around here now."
"Well, I gave him the same medicine that I had given the other. Now
we'd better go and call the others."
"Thank you. I'd have been in a bad fix, if you hadn't come as you
did."
"So might I, had you not stopped the second one. We're quits then,"
said the guide, extending his hand, which Tad grasped warmly.
"I'll call the others, if you wish."
"Yes."
Tad ran over to the base of the cliff, and shouted loudly for his
companions. In half an hour the party had gathered about the camp
fire, engaged in an animated discussion over the stirring experiences
of the evening.
It was decided that the Indians should be placed on their ponies, to
which they were to be tied, with hands free and provisions enough to
last them until they reached their reservation in the northern part of
the state;
The guide restored their rifles to them after first taking their
ammunition and transferring it to his own kit.
"I've wasted nearly that much on you," he said. "And, if ever you ride
across my trail again, I'll use your own lead on you in a way that
will stop you. You won't need bullets like these in the Happy Hunting
Grounds, where you'll be going. Now, git!"
And they did. The redskins rode as if a ghost were pursuing them.
"That's the last, we shall see of those gentlemen," laughed Kris
Kringle. "To-morrow morning we shall be on our way in peace."
But the trail of the Pony Rider Boys was not to be all peace. Before
them-- ere they reached the end of the Silver Trail-- they were to
find other thrilling experiences awaiting them.
CHAPTER XX
TILTING FOR THE SILVER SPURS
Their journey led the young horsemen across the plains, over low-lying
ranges, across broad, barren table-lands and down through the bottom
lands until the wide sweep of the Rio Grande River at last lay before
them.
After the weeks of arid landscape the sight of water, and so much of
it, brought a loud cheer from the Pony Rider Boys. The next thing was
to find a fording place. This they did late in the afternoon of the
same day, and their further journey took them to the little desert
town of Puraje.
They camped on the outskirts of the village.
"Here's where we get a real bath. Who's going in swimming with me?"
asked Tad.
"I am," shouted all the boys at once.
The Professor and Kris Kringle concluded that they, too, would take a
dip, and a merry hour was spent in a protected cove of the big river,
where the boys proved themselves as much at home as they were in the
saddle.
In the evening, they purchased such supplies as the town afforded. The
night passed with-out disturbance, the boys taking up their journey
next morning before the sleepy town had awakened.
It was a week later, when, tired and dusty, the outfit pulled up at La
Luz, a quaint hamlet nestling in the foothills of the Sacramento
Mountains. The place they found to be largely Mexican, and it was
almost as if the visitors had slipped over the border to find
themselves in Mexico itself.
Decorations were in evidence on all sides; bright-colored mantillas,
Indian blankets and flags were everywhere.
"Hello, I guess something is going on here," laughed Tad.
"We are in time, whatever it is," nodded the guide. "Probably it's a
feast of some kind. You will be interested in it, if that is what it
is.
The feast, they learned, was to be celebrated on the morrow with
games, feats of strength and horsemanship.
"Do you think they will let us take part?" asked Tad, as the party
made camp in the yard of a little adobe church, where they had
obtained permission to camp.
"I'll see about it," answered the guide. "There may be reasons why it
would not be best to do so."
"Maybe I can win another rifle," suggested Chunky.
"These people don't give away rifles. They're too-- too-- what do you
call it?-- too artistic. That's it."
The camp being on the main street of the village, attracted no little
attention. After sundown, crowds of gayly bedecked young people
strolled up and stood about the church yard, watching the American
boys pitching their tents and preparing for their stay over night.
The villagers were especially interested in watching the boys get
their supper, which was served up steaming hot within fifteen minutes
after preparations had begun. Chunky had bought several pies at the
store, which, with a pound of cheese brought in by Ned, made a
pleasant change in the daily routine.
Chunky started in on the pie.
Ned calmly reached over and took it away from him; then the supper
went along until it came time for the dessert, when Chunky fixed his
eyes on the cheese suspiciously.
"See anything wrong with that cheese?" demanded Ned.
"No, but I've got an idea."
"Out with it! You won't rest easy until you do. What's your idea?"
"I was thinking, if I had a camera, I could make a motion picture of
that cheese. I heard of a fellow once--"
"That will do, Master Stacy," warned Professor Zepplin.
"Can't I talk?"
"Along proper lines-- yes."
"Cheese is proper, isn't it?"
"Depends upon how old it is," chuckled Tad.
"You needn't make fun of my cheese. Here give it to me; I'll eat it."
"You're welcome to it, Ned," laughed the boys.
The fun went on, much to the amusement of the villagers, who remained
near by until the evening was well along and the lads began preparing
for bed. Next morning the visitors began coming in to town early.
There were men from the ranches, Mexican ranch-hands arrayed in bright
colors and displaying expensive saddle trimmings. There were others
from the wild places on the desert, far beyond the water limits, whose
means of livelihood were known only to themselves.
It was a strange company, and one that appealed considerably to the
curiosity of the Pony Rider Boys.
The early part of the day was given over to racing, roping, gambling
and other sports in which the lads were content to take no part. But
there was an event scheduled for the afternoon that interested Tad
more than all the rest. That was a tilting bout, open to all comers. A
tilting arch had been erected in the middle of the main street, and
had been decorated with flags and greens.
The tilting ring, suspended from the top of the arch, was not more
than an inch in diameter. The horseman who could impale it on his
tilting peg and carry the ring away with him the greatest, number of
times, would be declared the winner. Each one was to be given five
chances.
The prize, a pair of silver spurs, was to be presented by the belle of
the town, a dark-eyed seņorita.
The guide had entered Tad in this contest; but, as the lad glanced up
at the ring only an inch in diameter, he grew rather dubious. He never
had seen any tilting, and did not even know how the sport was
conducted.
Kris Kringle gave the lad some instructions about the method employed
by the tilters, and Tad decided to enter the contest.
Only ten horsemen entered, most of these being either Mexicans or
halfbreeds.
The first trial over, five of the contestants had succeeded in
carrying away the ring.
Tad had waited until nearly the last in order to get all the
information possible as to the way the rest of the contestants played
the game. A pole had been loaned to him, or rather a "peg," they
called it, eight feet long, tapered so as to allow it to go through
the brass ring for fully two feet of its length.
The Pony Rider boy took his place in the middle of the street, and
without the least hesitancy, galloped down toward the ring, which,
indeed, he could not even see. When within a few feet of the arch he
caught the sparkle of the ring.
His lance came up, and putting spurs to his broncho, he shot under the
arch, driving the point of the peg full at the slender circle. The
point struck the edge sending the ring swaying like the pendulum of a
clock.
A howl greeted his achievement. Tad said nothing, but riding slowly
back, awaited his next trial.
The rule was that when one of the contestants made a strike, he was to
continue until he failed. He would be allowed to run out five points
in succession if he could.
"Rest the peg against your side, and lightly," advised a man, as Tad
turned into the street for another try. The man was past middle age,
and, though dressed in the garb of a man of the plains, Tad decided at
once that he was not of the same type as most of the motley mob by
which he was surrounded.
The lad nodded his understanding.
With a sharp little cry of warning, the boy put spurs to his pony. He
fairly flew down the course. No such speed had been seen there that
day. The northern bronchos that the boys were riding were built for
faster work and possessed more spirit than their brothers of the
desert.
As he neared the arch, this time, the lad half rose in his stirrups.
He knew where to look for the ring now. Leaning slightly forward he
let the point of the peg tilt ever so little. It went through the
ring, tearing it from its slender fastening and carrying it away.
Loud shouts of approval greeted his achievement.
Once more he raced down the lane, this time at so fast a clip that the
faces of the spectators who lined the course were a mere blur in his
eyes.
He felt the slight jar and heard the click as the ring slipped over
the tilting peg.
"Two," announced the scorer.
He missed the next one. Then the others took their turn. Only one of
these succeeded in scoring. He was one of the Mexicans who made such a
brave show of color in raiment and saddle cloth.
"That gives the seņor and the boy three apiece. Each has one turn
left. The others will fall out. If neither scores in his turn, both
will be ruled out and the others will compete for the prize,"
announced the scorer.
The Mexican smiled a supercilious smile, as much as to say, "The idea
of a long-legged, freckle-faced boy defeating me!" The Mexican was an
expert at the game of tilting as it was practised on the desert.
The man took the first turn. He sat quietly on his pony a moment
before starting, placing the lance at just the proper angle-- then
galloped at the mark. He, too, rose in his stirrups. The spectators
were silent.
The ring just missed being impaled on the tilting peg, slipping along
the pole half way then bounding up into the air.
The spectators groaned. The Mexican had lost.
Now it was Tad's turn.
He rode as if it were an everyday occurrence with him to tilt, only he
went at it with a rash that fairly took their breath away.
Just as he was about to drive at the ring, some one uttered a wild
yell and a sombrero hurled from the crowd, struck Tad fairly across
the eyes.
Of course he lost, and, for a moment, he could not see a thing. He
pulled his pony to a quick stop and sat rubbing and blinking his
smarting eyes.
A howl of disapproval went up from the spectators. None seemed to know
whether the act had been inspired by enthusiasm or malice. Tad was
convinced that it was the latter. His face was flushed, but the lad
made no comment.
"You are entitled to another tilt," called the scorer.
To this the Mexican objected loudly.
"Under the circumstances, as my opponent objects, and as we all wish
to prevent hard feelings, why not give him a chance as well? If he
wins I shall be satisfied."
A shout of approval greeted Tad's suggestion. This was the real
sportsman-like spirit, and it appealed to them.
The proposition was agreed to. But again the Mexican lost.
"If the young man is interfered with this time, I shall award the
prize to him and end the tournament," warned the scorer.
Though Tad's eyes were smarting from the blow of the sombrero, he
allowed the eyelids to droop well over them, thus protecting them from
the dust and at the same time giving him a clearer vision.
On his next turn, Tad tore down the narrow lane; he shot between the
posts like an arrow, and the tilting peg was driven far into the
narrow hoop, wedging the ring on so firmly that it afterwards required
force to loosen and remove it.
Without halting his pony, Tad rode on, out a circle and came back at a
lively gallop, pulling up before the stand of dry goods boxes, where
the young woman who was to award the prize stood swinging her
handkerchief, while the spectators set up a deafening roar of
applause.
Tad was holding the tilting peg aloft, displaying the ring wedged on
it. He made the young woman a sweeping bow, his sombrero almost
touching the ground as he did so.
Another shout went up when the handsome spurs were handed to him,
which the enthusiastic young woman first wrapped in her own
handkerchief before passing the prize over to him. And amid the din,
Tad heard the familiar "Oh, Wow! Wow!" in the shrill voice of Stacy
Brown.
CHAPTER XXI
THE FAT BOY'S DISCOVERY
"I saw him! I saw him, Tad!"
"Saw who, Chunky?"
"I tell you, I did. Don't you s'pose I know what my eyes tell me in
confidence. Don't you to go to contradicting to me."
Stacy had fairly overwhelmed Tad Butler with the importance of his
discovery; but, thus far, Tad had not the least idea what it was all
about.
"When you get quieted down perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me
who it is you saw?"
"The man, the man!"
"Humph! That's about as clear as the water in an alkali sink. What
man?"
"The one we saw on the train. Don't you know?"
Tad thought a moment.
"You mean the one we heard talking just before we got to Bluewater?"
Butler had entirely forgotten the incident.
"Yes; that's him! That's him," exploded Stacy.
"You say that fellow-- Lasar, that's his name-- is he here!"
"Uh-huh."
"Where?"
"He got off the stage down by the postoffice, just when I was coming
up here."
"Was he alone?"
"The other fellow wasn't with him, if that's what you mean?"
"Yes." Tad went over in his mind the conversation the man Lasar had
held with his companion, in which the pair were plotting against some
one by the name of Marquand.
"Oh, well, Chunky, it's none of our concern. I think we must have
magnified the incident. I--"
"He'll bear watching, Tad. He will and it's muh-- muh-- you understand
who's going to do it," declared Chunky, swelling out his chest and
tapping it with his right fist.
"All right, go ahead," laughed Tad. "It's time some of us get into
more trouble. The Professor will begin to think we've got a fever, or
something, if we let two days in succession pass without stirring up
something."
"I've got an idea," exploded Stacy.
"There you go. It's coming now."
"I'll go tell the policeman."
"Why, you ninny, there are no policemen here. Perhaps there is a
sheriff. Hello, here comes the gentleman who gave me the advice that
helped me to win those handsome spurs. He's introducing himself to the
Professor and Mr. Kringle. Let's go over."
Forgetting for the moment the subject they were discussing, Tad and
Stacy strolled over to the camp-fire.
"O Tad, this is Mr. Marquand, Mr. James Marquand from Albuquerque. He
wants to know you. And this is another one of our Pony Rider Boys,
Master Stacy Brown," said the Professor, presenting his boys.
"Marquand!" exclaimed both boys under their breaths.
"I am glad to know you, Master Butler. That was a very fine piece of
work you did this afternoon. You've steady nerves."
"If there's any credit due it is to you. Your suggestion helped me to
win the prize. Without it I should have failed," answered Tad
generously.
"Which way are you headed?" asked Mr. Marquand.
"Guadalupes," answered the guide. "The boys want to explore some of
the old pueblos."
"And I also," spoke up Professor Zepplin. "I understand there is much
of interest in them."
"I should say so," muttered their guest.
"I'd like a few moments to speak with you in private, if you can spare
the time," said Tad in a low voice, at the first opportunity.
"At your service now, sir."
"No; not here."
"Then come to my room at the hotel. I'll fix it with the others," said
Mr. Marquand, observing at once that the lad had some serious purpose
in mind.
"My friend Chunky will go with me, if agreeable to you?"
"That's all right. Professor, if you have no objection I should like
to have these two young men go to my quarters with me for a little
while. I--"
"Certainly. Don't stay out too late, boys."
"No, sir."
"Wonder what they've got up their sleeves?" muttered Ned, watching the
receding figures of his two companions and Mr. Marquand.
"You may talk," smiled the latter after they were well started.
"I'd rather not until we are where we shall not be overheard,"
answered Tad promptly.
All three fell silent. The boys followed their host to his room,
apparently without having been observed. The little village was too
full of its own pleasures to notice.
"Be seated, boys. I take for granted that neither of you smoke?"
"Oh no, sir."
"Now, what can I do for you? I am sure you have something of
importance to yourselves on your minds."
"Not to us specially. Perhaps to you, though," replied Tad.
"Indeed?"
"We may be foolish. If so, you will understand that we have no motive
beyond a desire to serve you."
"That goes without saying."
"Do you know a man by the name of Lasar-- Bob Lasar, Mr. Marquand?"
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