The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico Part 25

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 gra.s.s.

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 compa.s.s 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. h.e.l.lo, 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."