Back Aa

Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali

Close

<h3> CHAPTER XIII </h3> <h4> COYOTES JOIN IN THE CHORUS </h4> Those down in the foothills saw the animal whirl and face the other way. "He sees something," cried Walter, forgetting in his excitement that they were trying to keep quiet. "Yes, he has probably scented Master Tad," explained the guide. "Think he'll try to catch the horse?" asked Stacy. "Hope not. Those wild horses are bad medicine. No, of course, he has no rope with him. But he'll be wise if he keeps out of the way of the beast." Tad had no thought of doing either. He stood perfectly still, gazing in awe and wonder at the handsomest horse he had ever seen. The stallion's eyes blazed. He uttered a loud snort, then rose right up into the air on his hind feet. One bound brought him many feet nearer the boy who was observing him. It was the only direction in which the stallion could go without plunging into a chasm. "Whoa!" commanded Tad sharply. The white horse never having been trained, failed to understand the word, but he halted just the same, gazing angrily at the bold boy standing there, who, it appeared, was defying him. Uttering another snort, this time full of menace, the animal leaped straight toward the lad in long, graceful bounds. Tad threw up his hands to frighten the stallion aside. The animal, however, refused to be swerved from its course. "He's going to run over me," cried the boy, as he noted that the horse was rising for another leap. Tad ducked just as the beast sprang clear of the ground. He felt the rush of air as the gleaming body was lifted over his head, the boy at the instant uttering a shrill yell to hasten the stallion's movements. The front hoofs caught the rim of the Pony Rider Boy's sombrero, snipping it from his head. The hind feet came closer. They raked Tad's head, bowling him completely over, rolling him from the knoll on which he had been standing. He brought up with a jolt some ten feet further down. Tad scrambled to his feet a little dizzy from the blow and the fall. "Whew! That was a close call," he muttered, feeling his head to learn if it had been injured. "No; the skin isn't broken, but I'm going to have a beautiful goose egg there," he concluded. "It's swelling already. If I'd had my rope I could have roped him easily when he rose at me that last time." Scrambling up the bank, Tad found his hat. Then he picked his way to the pyramid-shaped rock on which he had first discovered the stallion. Poising himself, he swung his sombrero to his companions down in the foothills. "Hurrah!" he shouted. "I met the enemy. I've seen the white stallion, fellows!" "Is the enemy yours?" jeered Ned Rector. "No; I rather think I was his," laughed Tad, turning back and hurrying down the rocks to rejoin his companions. He was met by a volley of questions the moment he reached the foothills. With his companions gathered about him, Tad told them how he had followed the trail, finally coming upon the handsome animal while the latter was taking an observation from the pyramid-shaped rock. "It's a wonder he didn't attack you," said the guide after the lad had finished his narration. "Those wild stallions are very savage when aroused." "I guess he tried to do so all right," laughed Tad. "I knew he was up there somewhere, watching us, but I did not think for a minute that you would get close enough to him to be in any danger," announced Tom Parry, with a disapproving shake of his head. "I could have roped him easily," said the lad. "Lucky for you that you didn't try it. It's getting late now. I presume the Professor is beginning to think we are not going to finish pitching our camp. Come, we'll go back and get to work." The work went rather slowly, however, for the lads were too full of the subject of the wild stallion to devote their whole attention to putting their camp to rights for the night. Then again, they had to go all over the story for the Professor's benefit. "Do you think we could catch one of these wild ones to take back East with us?" asked Tad. "You couldn't catch one yourself, but you might be able to buy one for a small sum from the horse-hunters," the guide informed him. "How much?" "Depends on the animal. Perhaps twenty or twenty-five dollars." "Then, I'll do it. I could get him home for as much more, and he'd be worth at least two hundred dollars. Perhaps I might take two of them along, providing I can get what I want." "You ought to be a horseman," laughed the guide. "You've got the horseman's instinct." "He is a horseman," volunteered Stacy. "There aren't any better." "Thank you," glowed Tad. "I'll pull you out next time you fall in, for that." They were very jolly at supper that night. They had nothing to trouble them. Water was near by and they were soon to participate in the most exciting event in their lives, a wild-horse hunt. "Do you think they will be able to find us!" questioned Walter. "Who, the horses?" returned Ned. "I hope they do," laughed the guide. "No; Master Walter means Bud Stevens and the gang. Find us? Why, those fellows could trail a cat across the Desert Maze if they happened to take a notion to do so." There being plenty of dry stuff about, the boys built up a blazing camp-fire as soon as night came on. Gathering about it they told stories and sang songs. "I move that Stacy Chunky Brown favor us with a selection," suggested Ned. "He has a very rare voice—an underdone voice some might call it." "Yes, Chunky," urged Walter. "You haven't sung for us since we started." "Me? I can't sing. Besides it might scare the wild horses," protested Stacy. "I guess there's no doubt about that. But we'll take the chances." "Yes, do sing, Chunky," added Walter. "It may soften Ned's hard heart." Stacy cocked an impish eye at Ned Rector. "All right, I'll sing," decided the fat boy, clearing his throat. "Stand up," thundered Ned. "Have some respect for the audience." Stacy stood up. "What are you going to favor us with?" questioned Tad. "It's a little thing of my own," grinned Stacy. "Hope you'll like it." "Oh, we'll like it all right," chuckled Ned. "The audience will please refrain from applauding until the performer finishes." "What's the name of the piece?" demanded Walter. "Hasn't been named. You can name it if you wish." "Go ahead, go ahead. Never mind the name," chorused the lads. Stacy surveyed the upturned, laughing faces of his companions and then launched out in a shrill soprano: It's all day long on the alka-li, Where the coyotes howl and the wells run dry, Where the badgers badge in the water holes, And the twisters twist the old tent poles—             Right up from the alka-li. "Yeow!" shrieked the Pony Rider Boys. "It's a new poet. Hurrah for the poet lariat!" shouted Ned Rector, jumping up and down, slapping his thighs in his amusement. "Go on, give us another verse," laughed the guide. "That's real po'try that is." "Is there another verse?" cried Walter. Chunky nodded solemnly. "Hush! He is going to sing some more," cautioned Tad Butler, holding up his hand for silence. "Ahem," began Stacy. Throwing back his head he began again: When the wind blows high o'er the Desert Maze, And sand in your eyes interferes with your gaze, Then the Pony Rider Boys they lose their pants; Don't dare sit down for fear of the ants—             That hide in the alka-li. Stacy sat down blinking, solemn as an owl. But if he was solemn his companions were quite the opposite. The boys formed a ring about him, and between their yells of appreciation, began dancing around in a circle shouting out in chorus the last two lines of the second verse: Don't dare sit down for fear of the ants—             That hide in the alka-li. Professor Zepplin and Tom Parry were laughing immoderately, but their voices could not be heard above the uproar made by the joyous Pony Riders. No such carnival of fun probably ever had disturbed the foothills of the San Antonio range, nor extended so far out over the maze of the great Nevada Desert. "Sing it again! Sing it again!" commanded the boys. They hauled the protesting Chunky to his feet, stood him on a box of pickled pigs' feet, compelling him to begin the song all over again. "It's all day long on the alka-li. Where the coyotes howl and——" "Ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! Ki-i-i-i-o-o-o-ki! K-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" A long wailing sound—a dismal howl, suddenly cut short the joyous ditty. "What's that!" "Ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! Ki-i-i-i-o-o-ki!" "Coyotes," laughed the guide. There seemed to be hundreds of them. From every peak in the range their mournful voices were protesting. All at once out in the black maze of the desert another bunch of them began their weird wailing. "We're surrounded," announced the Professor. "Shall we get the guns?" asked Walter. "No, they're expressing their indignation at Chunky's song," jeered Ned. "Let 'em howl. I don't care. If they don't stop I'll sing some more," threatened the fat boy. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2