The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali Part 28

"Yes, and--and you've pushed my face into the desert," came the m.u.f.fled voice of Chunky Brown.

Laughing and all talking at once, the knot was slowly untied. Two of them grabbed the fat boy under the arms, while a third got between the lad's feet and picked them up, much as one would the handles of a wheelbarrow. In that manner they triumphantly carried Stacy back to the camp.

Reaching his tent, they threw the fat boy into his bed.

The tall, gaunt figure of the Professor appeared suddenly at the tent entrance. Some of the boys darted by him, the others crawling out under the sides of the tent, all making a lively sprint for their own quarters.

"Young men, the very next one who raises a disturbance in this camp to-night is going to get a real old-fashioned trouncing. Not having any slipper, I'll use my shoe. Do you hear?"

Not a voice answered him, but as he strode away the moon-like face of Stacy Brown might have been seen peering out at him. Quiet reigned in the camp of the Pony Rider Boys for several hours after that. Yet they were destined not to pa.s.s the night without a further disturbance, though the Professor did not use his shoe to chastise the noisy ones.

It lacked only a few hours to daylight when the second interruption occurred. And when it arrived it was even more startling than had been the fat boy's chase of the cowardly coyotes.

There was a sudden sound of hoof-beats.

"Ki-yi! Ki-yi!" shrieked a chorus of voices.

A volley of shots was fired as an accompaniment to the startling yells.

A moment later and a body of hors.e.m.e.n dashed into camp, which they had easily located by the smouldering camp-fire.

The Pony Rider Boys were out of their tents in a twinkling.

"Wow!" piped Stacy.

Bang! Bang!

Two bullets flicked the dirt up into his face. Bud Stevens and his companions were in a playful mood again.

"Hey, you! Better look out where you're shooting to!" warned Stacy.

Bud let go another volley.

"The Professor'll take you over his knee and chastise you with his shoe, if you don't watch sharp," said Stacy.

"Come out of that. Where's the kiddie? I want to see my kiddie!"

laughed Bud Stevens.

By this time, with his companions, he had dismounted, turning the ponies loose to roam where they would. The whole camp, aroused by the shouting and shooting, had turned out after pulling on their trousers and shoes. Tom Parry, piling fresh fuel on the embers of the camp-fire, soon had the scene brightly lighted. There was no more sleep in camp that night. Professor Zepplin accepted the new disturbance with good grace.

"We're going to eat breakfast with you," Bud Stevens informed them.

"That's right. What we have is free," answered the Professor hospitably.

"That's what I was telling the bunch," nodded Bud. "Our chuck wagon'll be along when it gets here. We've got a schooner with six lazy mules toting it down along the edge of the foothills. If it ever gets here we'll stock you up with enough fodder to last you the rest of your natural lives."

"A schooner, did you say?" questioned Stacy, edging closer to the cowboy.

"Yep; schooner."

"Where's the water?"

"Say, moon-face, didn't you ever hear tell of a prairie schooner!"

Chunky shook his head.

"Well, you've got something coming to you, then," replied Bud, turning to the others again.

"When do you start your horse-hunt? I presume that's the purpose of your visit here?" asked the Professor.

"Yep. Soon as the wagon gets here with the trappings. After breakfast we'll look around a bit. Been some of them through here to-day, I see."

"Yes, how did you know that!" questioned Tad.

"We crossed the trail just at the edge of the camp here when we came in. Didn't you see them?"

"We saw one of them and the tracks of the rest----"

"Yes, we--we--we saw the white horse----"

"The Angel?" demanded Bud, interested at once.

"I don't know whether you'd call it an angel or not. It struck me that it was quite the opposite," laughed Tad. "It was a white stallion, and when I got in its way it just bowled me over and rolled me down the hill----"

"The white stallion, fellows," nodded Bud. "I told you so. Come along, kiddie, and show me that trail. I'll tell you in a minute if he's the one."

Tad took the horse-hunter to the trail that he had followed up the mountain side. Bud lighted match after match, by the light of which he ran over the confusion of hoofprints. Finally he paused over one particular spot, and with a frown peered down upon it.

"That's him. That's the Angel," he emphasized.

"Why do you call him that?"

"Because of two things," answered Bud. "First place, he's white.

That's the color angels is supposed to be, most of 'em says. Then, if you'll look at his hoof-mark, you'll see the frog is shaped like a heart. More angel. Then again--that's three times, ain't it?--he's got a temper like angels ain't supposed to have."

"So I have observed," agreed Tad, with a laugh.

"And that's why we call him the Angel. We'll get the old gentleman this time or break every cinch strap in the outfit."

There was rejoicing among the horse-hunters when they heard that it was indeed the Angel himself whose trail they had come upon.

"He's got the finest bunch of horse flesh with him that you'll find anywhere on the desert," averred another. "Old Angel won't travel with any scarecrows in his band. He's proud as a peac.o.c.k with a new spread of tail feathers."

"S'pose you don't know how many there are in the band, eh, kiddie?"

questioned Bud.

"Twenty-one and a colt," answered Tad promptly.

"Oho! So--but Tom Parry told you, of course."