The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali Part 38

"Find any?" asked Tad, eyeing him inquiringly, for Tad had an idea as to the object of the guide's early morning ride.

"Nary," was the comprehensive reply. "Have to take a dry shampoo to-day, I reckon."

"I suppose there is no water in sight yet?" asked the Professor, he not having caught the meaning of the brief dialogue between Tad and Tom Parry.

"No, sir. Not yet. We'll be moving as soon as possible after breakfast. Better use sparingly what little water you have left in your canteens. You may need it before we strike another water hole,"

he advised.

As usual, however, the spirits of the Pony Rider Boys were in no way affected by the shortage of water. Time enough to worry when their canteens were dry. These days, Tad and Stacy were occupying all their spare time in working with the two stallions they had captured. The Angel, under Tad's kind but determined training, was advancing rapidly and already had been taught to do a few simple tricks. Stacy, on his part, was not doing quite so well with Satan. The latter, like his namesake, was inclined to be vicious, biting and kicking whenever the evil spirit moved.

Ahead, on all sides of them as the sun rose that morning, lay wide stretches of gray, dusty soil, blotches of alkali alternating with huge patches of scattering sage brush, with no living thing in sight.

Overhead burned the blue of a cloudless sky; about them the suffocating atmosphere of the alkali desert.

It was not a cheerful vista that spread out before the lads. The ponies, suffering for want of water, took up the day's journey with evident reluctance. With heads hanging low they dragged themselves along wearily, half in protest, now and then evincing a sudden desire to turn about and head for the mountains.

"What ails these bronchos?" grumbled Ned Rector.

"Guess they're afraid of heat prostration," replied Chunky. "Don't blame them. I'm half baked myself."

"Glad you know what ails you," laughed Ned. "You ought not to feel bad about that, seeing it's your natural condition."

As they plodded on the guide's eyes were roaming over the plain in search of telltale marks that would reveal the presence of that of which they were in most urgent need--water. The landscape, by this time, had become a white glare, and the blue flannel shirts of the Pony Riders had changed to a dirty gray as if they had been sprinkled with a cloud of fine powder.

Their hair, too, was tinged, below the rims of their sombreros, with the same grayish substance, while their faces were streaked where the perspiration had trickled down, giving them a most grotesque appearance.

"How do you like it, Chunky?" grinned Ned.

"Oh, I've seen worse in Chillicothe," answered the fat boy airily.

"The dust in Main Street is worse because it's dirtier."

"Judging from the appearance of your face at this minute, I'm obliged to differ with you," interjected the Professor, his own grim, dust-stained countenance wrinkling into a half smile. "Do we take a rest at midday, guide?"

Parry shook his head.

"Think we'd better keep going. Only be worse off if we stop now.

Hungry, any of you?"

Stacy made a wry face and felt of his stomach, which action brought a laugh from the others.

Just then Stacy stiffened, then uttered a loud sneeze that shook him to his very foundations, causing Satan to jump so suddenly that he nearly unseated his rider.

"Whew! Thought my head had blown off. Guess we're all getting the grippe," he grinned, as the others began sneezing.

"Alkali," answered Parry. "You'll like that and the sage brush taste in your mouth more and more as you get to know them better."

"Excuse me," objected Ned. "I prefer talc.u.m powder for mine, if I've got to sneeze myself to death on something. What time is it?"

"Dinner time," answered Stacy promptly. "I'll take ice cream."

"Dry toast will be more in your line, I'm thinking," suggested Ned.

"Or a sandwich," added Walter humorously.

"Hurrah, fellows! Walt Perkins has cracked a joke at last!" shouted Ned.

"Yes, it was cracked all right," muttered Chunky maliciously.

"Put him out! Put 'em both out!" cried Ned and Tad, while Tom Parry's stolid face relaxed into a broad smile.

"It appears to me that you young gentlemen are very humorous to-day,"

laughed the Professor.

"It's dry humor, Professor," retorted Ned.

Tad unslung his lariat.

"I'll rope the next boy who dares say anything like that again," he threatened. "See, even the burros are ashamed. They're hanging their heads, they're so humiliated."

"I don't blame them. Mine's swimming from the heat," rejoined the guide.

"Say, what's that?" demanded Chunky, pointing ahead of him, with a half-scared expression on his face.

"I don't see anything," answered the other lads.

"Chunky's 'seeing things,'" suggested Ned.

The fat boy was pointing to a bright circle of light that hung over the desert some five feet from the ground, directly ahead of him. The peculiar thing about it appeared to be that the circle of light kept continually moving ahead of him, and at times he caught the colors of the rainbow in it.

Stacy looked intently, but the bright light hurt his eyes and he was forced to lower his eyelids a little. This made the circle seem brighter than before.

Now Professor Zepplin had discovered the peculiar thing.

"What is that--what does it mean, guide?" asked the scientist.

"That--that ring of light?" asked Parry.

"Yes."

"That is a halo, sir."

"A halo?" chorused the boys.

"Must be Chunky's then," suggested Walter.

"I agree with you," added Ned. "But I don't see what right he has to a halo."

"That particular halo is a very common thing in the Desert Maze," Tom Parry informed them. "It is caused by heat refraction, or something of the sort----"