The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico Part 22

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 amus.e.m.e.nt 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 b.u.t.tes, followed by large areas of bottom lands which were covered with rank growths of bunch gra.s.s. 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 gra.s.s, 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.