The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico Part 24

"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 gra.s.s, 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 he 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 s.p.a.ce 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 gra.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sist 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 b.u.t.te 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 pa.s.sed Tad, slowed up ever so little. He had pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s 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.