"Turn out!" bellowed the guide, his voice faintly heard above the roar of the storm.
"Run for your lives!" piped the shrill voice of Tad Butler.
"Flat on the ground, every one of you!" commanded the guide.
All the warnings had come a few seconds too late. Ere the boys had awakened sufficiently to realize what was wanted of them there sounded above the roar a report like that of a cannon.
The tents were lifted from over the startled Pony Riders and hurled high into the air. A cloud of sand swept over the boys like an avalanche, burying them, suffocating them, while the resistless coils of the funnel picked them out of the drift and cast them far from the spot where but a few minutes before they had been sleeping so peacefully.
Above the roar they heard the shrill voice of Stacy Brown.
"W-o-o-ow!" he shrieked. His voice appeared to be somewhere in the air over their heads.
Blankets, trappings, together with all the other belongings of the party, shot up into the black funnel and disappeared, while the ponies strained at their tethers, floundering, kicking where they had been hurled on their backs, screaming with fright.
The mad medley continued for only a few seconds, though to the unfortunate lads it seemed to have been tumbling them about for hours.
As suddenly as it had appeared the funnel tore itself from the camp and went roaring off into the hills to the northward.
Staggering to his feet, some distance from where he had been caught, the guide rubbed the sand from his eyes and mouth and stood gasping for breath.
An impressive silence had settled over the scene.
"Hallo, the camp!" he shouted when he had cleared his mouth sufficiently to enable him to do so.
"Hello!" answered Tad Butler far to the right.
"Are the others with you?"
"I don't know."
One by one the others of the party straggled to their feet, choking and coughing.
As if to mock them, the moon suddenly burst forth, shedding a brilliant light over the scene which a few moments before had been the center of a whirling, devastating cyclone.
Not a speck of anything save the white, glistening sand of the desert remained to mark the spot where the camp of the Pony Rider Boys had stood.
They gathered shivering in their pajamas, looking fearsomely into each others' eyes, still dazed from the shock and the fright of their experience.
"Wha—what was it?" stammered Walter Perkins.
"A genuine twister," laughed the guide.
"Twister?" questioned the Professor. "Cyclone, you mean?"
"Yes."
"It was awful," breathed Walter.
"All our things gone, too," mourned Ned ruefully.
"You should be thankful that you are alive," chided the Professor.
"How about the ponies?" questioned Walter.
"They're over there. More scared than hurt, I guess."
"But Chunky—where's Chunky? He isn't here!" cried Tad, suddenly realizing that Stacy Brown was not with them.
"Chunky?" wondered the others.
"Why, I thought he was here a moment ago," said Walter in an alarmed tone. "What can have become of him?"
"Probably went up with the twister," suggested Ned.
"Yes, I heard his voice and it seemed to be right over my head," nodded Tad. "We must look for him."
The lads set up a shout as they started running about
"Better look for him that way," directed the guide, motioning in the direction that the funnel had taken after wrecking their camp.
The boys spread out, calling and searching excitedly over the sand, peering into the sage brush and cactus shadows. But not a trace of Stacy Brown did they find, until they had gone some distance from camp.
A faint call at last answered their hail.
"Hooray! We've got him!" shouted Walter.
"Where are you, Chunky?" called Tad, hurrying forward.
"Here."
"Are you all right?"
"No, I'm dead."
The boys could afford to laugh now, and they did, after calling back to the camp that they had found the missing one.
Half buried in a sand drift they located him. Stacy's head and one foot were protruding above the sand, the only parts of his anatomy that were visible above the heap of white sand beneath which he had been buried.
The Pony Riders could not repress a shout when they came up with young Brown and understood his predicament.
"Get me out of here."
"No; you're dead. You stay where you are," retorted Ned.
Tad, however, grasped the foot that was sticking up through the sand, and with a mighty tug hauled Chunky right through the heap, choking, coughing and sputtering angrily, to the accompaniment of roars of laughter from his companions.
Ned grabbed the boy by the collar, shaking him until the sand flew like spray.
"Wake up! Wake up! How did you get here?" demanded Ned.
"I—I don't know. I—I guess I fell in."
"You fell up this time. That's a new trick you've developed. Well, it's safer. You won't get hurt falling up, but look out when you strike the back trail."
"Wha—what happened?" asked the fat boy peevishly.
"Everything," laughed Tad. "We got caught in a cyclone. We don't know whether you were rolled along with it or carried here. Which was it?"
"I guess I flied," decided Stacy humorously. "But I came down so hard that it knocked all the breath out of me. Where's the camp?"
The boys laughed.
"Ask the wind," replied Ned. "We don't know. Come! We'd better be getting back."
"Yee, I reckon there will be plenty for us to do," agreed Tad. "Can you walk all right, Chunky?"
"I guess so."
"Why not fly? It's easier and quicker. Chunky doesn't need a flying machine. He's the original human heavier-than-air-machine," averred Ned.
The guide had by this time gathered a heap of sage brush, to which he touched a match, that they might the better examine their surroundings.
"Anything left?" called Tad, as with his companions he approached the camp.
"I don't see anything but the saddles and the rifles."
"What, everything gone?" demanded Professor Zepplin anxiously.
"It certainly looks that way."
"Where's my pants?" wailed Chunky.
"All 'pants' have gone up," chuckled Ned.
"And so have provisions and everything else so far as I am able to observe," added Tad.
"Then—then we've got to cross the desert in our pajamas," mourned Walter.
They looked at each other questioningly; then the entire party burst out laughing. They were all arrayed in pink night clothes. Not a stitch of clothing beyond these pajamas did any of them have.
"We must look about and see if we can find any of the stuff," decided Parry, his mind turning at once to the practical side of their predicament. "I hope we find the food at least."
"Yes, I'm hungry," spoke up Stacy.
"No wonder, after the shaking up you've had," agreed the Professor. "Guide, where do you think we'll find our belongings?"
"You are lucky if you find them at all. More than likely they are scattered over the Diamond Range for half a dozen miles."
"May—maybe it'll come back and bring our pants," suggested Chunky, at which there was a loud protest.
All hands formed in line, and with the guide to pilot them, started off in their bare feet, hoping to find some of their belongings. Stacy made the first find. He picked up a can of tomatoes. Ned Rector rescued a can of pickled pigs' feet from the shadow of a sage brush, while their guide discovered a sombrero that belonged to Stacy Brown.
But that was all. They traveled nearly to the foot of the mountains, yet not a scrap did they discover beyond what they already had picked up.
"No use going any further," announced the guide.
"Well, this is a fine predicament," decided Professor Zepplin.
"Nice mess," agreed Ned Rector.
"I want my pants," wailed Stacy.
"You'll want more than that. Look at the guide, if you think you are in difficulties," grinned Tad.
All eyes were turned on Tom Parry. Then they uttered a shout that might have been heard far off on the silent desert. The guide was clad only in a blue flannel shirt and a sombrero. He was in an even worse predicament than the party that he was guiding.
Minutes passed before the boys could control their merriment sufficiently to permit a discussion of their situation.
Tom Parry took their joking good-naturedly. He was too old a campaigner to be greatly disturbed over his own laughable condition.
"Something must be done," announced the Professor, after the laughter had subsided. "What do you propose, Mr. Parry?"
"Well, in the first place, like our friend, Master Stacy Brown, I want a pair of pants. I can't very well cross the desert in this rig."
Once more their laughter drowned the voices of the guide and the Professor.
"Is there no town near here where we can get a fresh outfit? I am thankful that I kept my money belt strapped about me. We should be in a tight fix, had I lost the funds, too," said the Professor.
"I have been considering what is best to be done," replied Parry. "I see no other way than that we shall have to ride to Eureka. That is a railroad terminal and quite a town. I am sure we shall be able to get there all we need for our journey. It will prove a little more expensive than in a larger city, however."
"No question of expense just now," answered the Professor. "Will it be necessary for all of us to go?"
"I think it will be best. I don't care to leave any of the party behind. One never can tell what is going to happen, you know."
"So I have observed," commented the Professor dryly.
"How far is Eureka from here?" questioned Tad.
"Between twenty-five and thirty miles. The town lies to the northwest. If it were not for the pack train we could make it quickly, but we shall have to move rather slowly on the burros' account."
"Then why not start at once?" suggested Tad Butler. "The moon is shining brightly and the air is cool. That is, if you can find the way?"
"No trouble about that," grinned Parry. "Your suggestion is a good one. We'll start just as soon as I can get ready."
"I don't see anything left here to get ready," laughed Ned.
"You will excuse me, gentlemen, but there is something that I shall have to get ready," replied the guide with a peculiar smile.
"What's that?" demanded the Professor.
"I've got to take a double reef in my shirt before I can go anywhere, except to bed."
The boys shouted again.
Tom Parry hurried off beyond the ponies, where he was engaged for several minutes. When he returned they discovered that he had taken off his shirt. First he had cut off the sleeves, and by thrusting his feet through the arm holes had made for himself a very substantial pair of trunks. This odd outfit he had made fast about his waist with a thong of leather that he had cut from a bridle rein. This, with the broad-brimmed sombrero, completed his outfit.
The sight was too much for the Pony Rider Boys. They shouted peal after peal of merriment, in which the Professor joined, though in a somewhat more dignified manner.
Tom Parry's mouth was stretched in a grin as he got busy saddling the ponies and urging the sleepy burros to their feet.
"I think we are all ready now," the guide called back to the others.
With many a shout and jest the strange procession started off across the desert, under the brightly shining moon, the cool evening breezes making their scanty covering none too comfortable.
The boys devoted the greater part of their attention to the Professor and Tom Parry, both of whom were riding as dignifiedly as if they were leading a parade at a Fourth of July celebration. Every little while the boys, unable to contain themselves longer, would burst out into merry peals of laughter.
"Hope it doesn't snow," said Stacy Brown wisely.
"No," retorted Ned. "The colors in your pajamas might run."
"That's where the guide has the better of us," retorted Tad a little maliciously, which brought still another laugh from the boys.
"Say, fellows, this saddle is getting harder every minute," called Chunky, who was riding back and forth behind the pack train, urging on the burros.
"Stand up in your stirrups now and then," suggested Tad.
"What, in my bare feet?" yelled the fat boy. "Think I want to get pancake feet?"
"Chunky's getting aristocratic," jeered Ned. "He's so proud of those high insteps of his that he has to take off his shoes every little while to look at his feet. He's afraid they'll cave in some time when he isn't looking."
Daylight came all too soon, and following it the sun burst forth in a blaze of heat. Ahead of them across the desert they were able to make out the town of Eureka.
"Say, Mr. Parry, aren't you afraid this sunlight will spoil your complexion?" called Ned.
The guide grinned good-naturedly.
"Never mind," he retorted. "Your turn will come pretty soon, young man."
Ned Rector did not catch the significance of the remark just then, but he understood a few hours later.
"You are not going to ride into town in daylight, are you?" demanded Ned in surprise.
Though they had sighted the town of Eureka early in the morning, it was well along in the afternoon before they finally came up with it. Desert distances are deceptive and the further they journeyed the less headway did they seem to be making. This surprised all save the guide.
Parry explained to them that the clear air brought distant objects much closer than they really were.
"We are going into town exactly as we are," replied the guide in answer to Ned's question. "Why not?"
"Well, maybe you are, but I'm not," returned Ned.
"It may improve your complexion, young man," retorted Mr. Parry.
"I'll stay out here and hide on the desert while the rest of you go on in," said Ned.
"No, you don't," shouted the lads all at once. "You go willingly or we carry you."
They gathered around him threateningly.
"If you want a mix-up, we're here," warned Chunky, pushing his pony up beside that of Ned Rector.
Ned, forgetting for the instant that he was in his bare feet, let drive a kick at the side of Stacy's pony.
"Ouch!" roared Ned.
Jerking the injured toe up to the saddle, he grabbed it with both hands, rocking back and forth, for his foot had struck the pony with such violence that it is a wonder every toe on the foot was not broken.
"Did 'oo hurt 'oo little tootsie-wootsies?" cooed Chunky, with a grimace.
Ned Rector, forgetting the pain for the instant, made a quick grab for his tormentor. He just barely reached the sleeve of Chunky's pajamas. But his sudden movement caused the fat boy's pony to leap suddenly to one side.
Ned landed on his head and shoulders in the desert sand, feet kicking the air, to the accompaniment of yells of derision from his companions.
With red face and angry eyes, the lad scrambled to his feet and started limping to his pony, which had sprung to one side, where it stood, evidently wondering what next was about to happen.
"I'll get even with you, Chunky Brown," Ned growled, as he climbed into his saddle.
"Now, now, Ned!" warned the boys. "Take your medicine like a man. Chunky never got mad when you nagged him."
"I'll get even with him. I'll——"
Tad rode up beside the angry lad.
"Ned, you'll do nothing of the sort," said the boy gently. "You're mad, now, because your toes hurt. When they stop aching your temper will improve at the same time."
"Oh, pshaw! Stop your preaching. Of course it will. I'm a grouch. I take back all I said just now. Chunky, when these toes get straightened out—they're all crooked now—I'll come over and hobnob with you. I deserve all you can give me."
"You bet you do," chorused the lads.
"Stop teasing him," commanded Stacy, with well-feigned indignation. "Can't you see his toes hurt him?"
The incident was lost sight of in the general laugh that followed. The others were beginning to appreciate that Stacy Brown possessed a tongue as sharp as any of them.
Ned now offered no further protest to entering the village, but it was observed that he dropped back behind the others as they reached the outskirts of the town.
Tom Parry and Professor Zepplin were riding ahead, one in pajamas, the other clad in trunks—which resembled a meal sack—a sombrero hat and a sardonic grin of defiance. The others trailed along behind.
Not one of the party glanced to the right or left of him, except Stacy Brown, who could scarcely contain his bubbling spirits.
"They'll think it's some new kind of a menagerie come to town," he confided to Tad, who was riding beside him.
"Then I hope they don't shoot the animals," laughed Tad.
By this time they had entered the main street, down which they rode at a pace that the burros could follow. People passing along the street paused and gazed in unfeigned astonishment at the strange procession which they saw approaching.
The most conspicuous of them all was Tom Parry. He was a sight to behold, but not one whit did he care for the amazed stares that greeted his strange outfit.
Soon the grins of the populace gave place to yells of derision.
"Look at the purty boy with the pink toes there behind," shouted one, pointing to Ned Rector.
Ned's face went crimson.
"Now, aren't you glad you didn't lose the tootsie-wootsies?" teased Chunky.
Ned made no reply, but it boded ill for any of his tormentors who got within reach of his long arms. Already more than a hundred persons had turned to follow the strange outfit. This number was being rapidly added to as they proceeded.
"For goodness' sake, how much further have we to go?" begged Ned.
"The general store is down at the end of the street," the guide informed him. "I presume you want to get some clothes the first thing?"
"I should say so."
A whoop and a yell sounded far down the street.
"Here's trouble," muttered Tad, instantly recognizing the cowboy yell.
A band of them at that instant swung around a corner, straightening out in the main street, letting go a volley of revolver shots into the air. The band had come to town with a shipment of wild horses that had been captured among the desert ranges. They had been in Eureka for twenty-four hours and were by this time ready for whatever might turn up. The horsemen clad in pink pajamas attracted their attention at once. Here was fair game.
"Who-o-o-o-p-e-e-e!"
The shrill cry sent a shiver to the hearts of the boys. It was not a shiver of fear, either.
In a moment more the Pony Rider Boys were the center of a ring of racing ponies, as the horse-hunters dashed round and round, yelling like mad and firing off their revolvers.
"Oh, see that purty boy with the pink toes!" jeered one.
"Give him the tenderfoot dance," yelled another. "He ought to be able to dance the fairy lancers on them pinkies."
Ned did not dare refuse. He slipped from his pony, and, limping to the center of the ring which the racing ponies had formed about them, began to dance as the bullets from the revolvers of the cowboys struck the ground, sending up little clouds of dust under his feet. Faster and faster barked the guns, and faster and faster danced Ned Rector.
Stacy Brown was almost beside himself with joy.
"Better look out, or you'll be doing it next," warned Tad.
Evidently the cowboys had not recognized Tom Parry as yet. He might be the next victim.
Finally Tad rode his pony forward, right through the fire of the skylarking cowboys.
"I guess you've had enough fun with him, fellows," he warned. "Let up now."
A jeering laugh greeted the lad's command. Their attention was instantly turned to him.
"Get off that broncho and give us a dance, young fellow," they shouted.
"Thank you, I'm not dancing to-day," smiled Tad Butler.
"Ain't dancing? We'll see about that. Come off that nag."
Tad shook his head. At that instant a rope squirmed through the air from a moving pony. Butler threw himself to one side just in time to avoid it. The lad's eyes snapped.
"Guess I'll take a hand in this, too," he growled.
The lad unlimbered his rope in a twinkling and let fly at the cowboy who had just sought to rope him. With unerring aim Tad's lariat caught the left hind foot of the cowman's broncho. Pony and rider went down like a flash.
Instantly there was a loud uproar. The horse-hunters yelled with delight; at least all of them save the cowboy who had bit the dust, and he sprang up, bellowing with rage, as he made for the grinning Tad.
Tom Parry decided that it was time for him to take a hand.
The guide jumped his pony between Tad and the angry cowboy.
"That'll do, Bud! You stop right where you are!" Tom commanded.
"But the miserable coyote roped me."
"You tried to rope him first."
"It's Tom Parry," shouted the cowmen. "Hey, Tom! Them's a fine suit of clothes you've got on there. Where'd you get them?"
"Call off Bud and I'll tell you," grinned Tom, "He's got no reason to interfere with my boys here."
Laughing uproariously, the cowboys forced their bronchos between Bud and the others, cutting him off and bidding him attend to his own business. Then the cowmen halted their ponies, after closing in about the Pony Rider Boys, while Tom Parry related the experiences they had passed through on the previous night.
"Come along. We'll take you to a place where you can get all the pants you want," shouted the leader of the party, after Tom had finished his story.
The cowboys wheeled their ponies and the procession moved on down the street. They had discovered that the Pony Rider Boys were not the band of tenderfeet that they had at first taken them for.
Arriving at the store, the lads lost no time in leaping from their ponies, which they tethered at the rail in front, and hurried into the store. This was a postoffice as well as general trading post.
Half the town, it seemed, had gathered outside the building to get a look at the nearly naked strangers who had ridden in a short time before. But once inside the store, the boys did not propose to exhibit themselves further if it were possible to avoid it.
An entire new outfit was necessary—tents, provisions and all, and to purchase all these things would occupy the greater part of the rest of the afternoon.
No sooner had they entered the store and made their wants known, than the boys became conscious of the presence of ladies. The boys could not see them plainly, because it was a dim, dingy place at best.
But, all at once Ned felt a cold chill run down his back. One of the ladies was speaking to him.
"Isn't this Mr. Rector?" asked a pleasant voice. "I am quite sure I am not mistaken."
Ordinarily Ned would have been glad to meet an old acquaintance, but when a boy is clad only in a pair of pink pajamas, his feet bare of covering, he is not particularly anxious to see anyone he knows.
It was so with Ned Rector. At first he pretended not to hear. A hand was placed lightly on his shoulder. Then he turned, his face flushing painfully.
"I am Mrs. Colonel McClure from Texas," she informed him. "We had the pleasure of entertaining you and your companions when you were with the cattle drive in our state."
Ned bowed and mumbled some unintelligible words. He failed to note the twinkle in the eyes of Mrs. McClure.
"And this," she continued, "is my niece Miss Courtenay, Miss Barbara Parks and Miss Long," continued Mrs. McClure mercilessly.
The young women were blushing furiously as they acknowledged the introduction. Ned failed to observe it, however. His eyes were on his feet and the pink toes which seemed abnormally large at that moment.
"Where are your companions, Mr. Rector? I thought they were with you a moment ago?"
"Wh—ye—yes—they are here, they——"
Ned looked about him blankly. No one was in sight. Then he discovered the grinning face of Stacy Brown peering at him from behind the postoffice wicket.
At the first alarm Walter Perkins had sunk down behind a cracker barrel with Tad Butler crouching behind him. Over behind the counter was the guide, while, behind a pile of horse blankets, Professor Zepplin lay flat on the floor, shrinking himself into as small a space as possible.
Ned Rector was left to face the enemy alone.
The tension of the moment was relieved by a merry laugh from Mrs. McClure and her friends, in which Ned Rector joined spontaneously. The situation was too funny for even his offended dignity to resist.
The result was an invitation for the entire party to dine with Mrs. McClure and her friends that evening. Ned Rector accepted on the spot, much to the disgust of his companions, who felt a diffidence about meeting the ladies after the exhibition in the store.
However, after they had properly clothed themselves they felt better, and the evening passed at the home of Mrs. McClure's friends was one of the most enjoyable they experienced.
At sunrise next morning the Pony Rider Boys were once more on the desert, bubbling over with spirits and anticipation.
"I've got another invitation for you boys," announced Tom Parry after they had halted for the midday rest.
"I hope we'll have some clothes on when it comes off, then," growled Ned.
"It won't make much difference whether you have or not, so far as this invitation is concerned."
"What is the invitation?" asked Professor Zepplin.
"Bud Thomas and the other cowboys are hunting wild horses for market, you know?" replied the guide.
"Wild horses?" marveled Walter.
"Yes."
"I didn't know there were any about here," said Tad.
"It is estimated that there are all of a hundred thousand wild horses in the different ranges of this state," replied the guide.
"You haven't told us yet what the invitation is," reminded Stacy.
"You haven't given me a chance," laughed Tom. "Well, the invitation is to join in a wild horse hunt."
"Hooray!" shouted the lads.
"Very interesting," agreed the Professor.
"And lively, too," added the guide. "The boys took quite a fancy to you young gentlemen after the roping trick, and said if you would join in a hunt, you'd get all the fun that was coming to you."
Tad grinned at the recollection of their first meeting with the wild horse hunters.
"Whe—when do we join them?" asked Chunky enthusiastically.
"It will be a week or more yet before we reach that part of the desert where the hunts take place—that is, if we have good luck. But if we have any more such experiences as we have just passed through we shall not get there this summer," laughed the guide.
By sunset, that day, the town of Eureka had disappeared behind the copper colored hills, and the Pony Rider Boys were again merely tiny specks on the great Nevada Desert.
They pitched the new white tents for the first time that night, having made camp earlier than usual because they were not accustomed to working with the new outfit. No one knew where to find anything, which furnished the lads with plenty of amusement.
Ned and Tom Parry cooked the supper over a sage brush fire. They had brought a few cans of milk with them, but after sampling it all hands declared their preference for the condensed brand of which they had purchased a liberal supply. The fresh milk procured in Eureka was strong with the sage brush taste, as was almost everything else in that barren country.
The ponies refused the sage brush for their evening meal, having had a supply of real fodder back in town, so they were staked out near a growth of sage that they might browse on during the night should they decide that they were hungry enough.
"Well, I wonder what will happen to-night," said Tad, as they finished the evening meal.
"Let us hope that it will be nothing more serious than pleasant dreams," smiled Professor Zepplin.
"That means you, Chunky," nodded Ned. "You are not to have the nightmare to-night, remember."
"And you look out for your tootsie-wootsies," retorted Chunky.
"We shall have to take a long ride to-morrow," announced the guide.
"Why to-morrow?" asked Ned.
"It is all of twenty miles to the next water hole, or where the next water hole should be. One cannot depend upon anything in this country."
"Haven't we enough water with us?" asked the Professor.
"Enough to last us through to-morrow—that's all. We shall have to get water at night; so, if we have no interruptions during the night, we shall make another early start."
"Stacy, see to it that you do not lose your trousers this time. We don't wish to be disgraced by you again to-morrow," warned Ned.
Stacy merely grimaced, making no reply. He knew that he had not been the one to get the worst of it, and so did his companions. He was quite satisfied with the punishment that had been meted out to Ned Rector.
All hands turned in shortly after dark. They were tired after the long day's ride in the broiling sun. Besides, they had not yet made up the sleep they lost two nights before when the "twister" invaded their camp and wrecked it.
The boys had been asleep only a short time, however, before the entire camp was startled by a long, thrilling wail.
All the Pony Riders were wide awake in an instant, listening for a repetition of the sound. It came a moment later.
"K-i-i-o-o-o-o! K-i-i-o-o-o-o! K-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!"
The boys leaped from their tents. The sound plainly come from some wild animal, but what, they did not know.
"Wha—what is it? A lion?" stammered Stacy.
"I—I don't know," answered Walter. "Do you, Tad?"
"I certainly do not. It's no lion, though. There are none here?"
"Maybe it's a pack of wolves," suggested Ned. "There must be a lot of them to make such a howling as that."
"D-d-d-d-do you thi—thi—think they're going to attack us?" stammered Stacy.
"How do we know?" snorted Ned.
Neither the Professor nor the guide having made their appearance, the boys took for granted that the two men were asleep. Such was the case so far as the Professor was concerned, but Tom Parry was lying on his bed awake, a quiet smile on his face.
"Are you sure it's a wild animal, Tad?" whispered Walter.
"Of course. What else could it be?"
"Then I'll tell you what let's do."
"What?" demanded Ned.
"Let's get our rifles and crawl up to the top of that knoll yonder, where the sound seems to come from——"
"And take a shot at them," finished Ned. "Good idea. What do you say, Tad?"
"I guess there will be no harm in it," decided the lad, considering the question for a minute.
They had moved away from the tents so that the sound of their voices should not arouse the sleeping men there.
"Two guns will be enough. We're not so liable to hit each other if only two of us have them."
"Who is going to shoot?" demanded Walter.
"What's the matter with Ned and Chunky?"
That suited all concerned.
"You'd better hurry. The animals have stopped howling," advised Tad.
Ned and Stacy ran lightly to their tents, returning quickly with their rifles. Stacy bore the handsome telescope rifle that he had won in a pony race during their exciting trip through the Ozark Mountains. Even in the moonlight one could see a long distance with the aid of the telescope on the gun's barrel.
"See the brutes?" asked Stacy, with bated breath.
"No, nor hear them, either," answered Walter.
"I'll tell you what we'd better do," suggested Tad.
"Yes," answered Ned anxiously.
"We'll crawl along in the shadow to the south. I think the prowlers are up there on the ridge to the west. If they are, they'll be watching the camp-fire. Maybe they have smelled us and run away by this time, even if they didn't hear us talking."
"Keep still, everybody," warned Ned.
The boys stole along as silently as shadows. After moving some ten rods to the south, Tad motioned for them to turn west, which they did.
No sooner had they changed their course, however, than Chunky with a loud "Ouch!" plunged headlong, his rifle falling several feet ahead of him. With frightful howls he began hugging one foot, rocking back and forth in great pain.
"What's the matter?" snapped Ned Rector.
"My foot! My foot!"
"What about it——"
"I—I don't know. I——"
Tad grabbed the boy by the collar, jerking him clear of the place. The first thought that came to him was that Stacy had been bitten by a snake, though Tad did not even know whether or not there were snakes on the desert.
"Nice chance we'll have to shoot anything," growled Ned in disgust. "Stop that wailing."
"It hurts, it hurts——"
"Keep still. I'll find out what the trouble is," warned Tad, dropping down and examining his companion's injured foot.
"Ouch!" exploded Chunky, jerking his foot away.
"If you want me to help you, you'll have to be quiet."
Butler pressed gently on the bottom of the injured foot with the fingers of one hand, the other holding Chunky's ankle in a firm grip.
"Humph!" grunted Tad. "He's stepped on a cactus bush with his bare foot. It's full of prickers. Hold still and I'll pick them out."
"Guess there's no use to keep still any longer. Those animals probably have run away before this," complained Ned.
"K-i-i-o-o-o-o-! K-i-i-o-o-o-o! K-i-i-o-o-o-k-i!"
"S-h-h-h!" warned Tad. "They're there yet. Shall I take your rifle, Chunky? You probably don't feel much like tramping up the hill in your bare feet."
"No!" exploded the fat boy. "I guess if there's any shooting to be done, Stacy Brown can do it, even if he's only got one foot to hop along on."
Scrambling to his feet, Stacy recovered his rifle. He had forgotten all about his injured foot now.
Cautiously the boys crawled up to the top of the rise of ground.
"Sit down, everybody," directed Tad. "We ought to be able to see them from here."
Not a thing save clumps of sage brush met peering eyes of the Pony Rider Boys.
"Lay the barrel of your gun over my shoulder and look through the telescope," directed Tad softly.
Pointing the gun to the southward, Stacy rested it on his companion's shoulder, placing an eye to the peep hole. The lads fairly held their breath for a minute.
"I see him! I see him!" whispered Stacy in an excited tone.
"What is it?" demanded Ned. "Where?"
"I don't know. I guess it's a wolf."
"How many?" asked Walter, crawling up to him.
"See only one."
"Take your time, Chunky," cautioned Tad in a low voice. "Draw a careful bead on the fellow and let him have it."
"Over your shoulder?"
"Sure. You never'll hit him without a rest."
Once more they held their breath.
At last Stacy exerted a gentle pressure on the trigger.
There followed a flash and a roar.
"O-u-u-c-h!" yelled the fat boy.
The end of the telescope had kicked him violently in the eye as the gun went off.
"K-I-I-O-O-O-O! K-I-I-I-O-O-O!"
"There he goes!" shouted Walter.
Stacy was picking himself up from the ground where the rifle had kicked him.
Bang!
Ned Rector had risen to his feet the instant Stacy fired. Throwing his rifle to shoulder, he fired at an object that he saw bounding down the opposite side of the hill.
"I got him! I got him!" shouted Ned, dancing about in his glee. "Chunky Brown, you're no good. All you can do with a rifle is to get kicked and fall in. Take a lesson from your Uncle Dudley——"
"Good shooting, boys," said a laughing voice behind them.
They whirled around and found themselves facing Tom Parry, who had crept up to see that the boys got into no trouble.
"You here?" demanded Tad Butler sharply.
"I am that. Think I could let you boys go off with a couple of guns to hunt wild animals? Not without Tom Parry—no, indeed!"
"I got him, Mr. Parry," glowed Ned. "Did you see me tumble him over?"
The guide nodded good-naturedly.
"And Chunky missed him, even though he had a rest over Tad Butler's shoulder. Chunky can't shoot."
"Yes, I can, too," objected the fat boy.
"We'll see," replied the guide. "I am not sure whether he can shoot or not."
"What do you mean, Mr. Parry!" asked Walter. "Chunky shot at the animal and missed it, didn't he?"
"What kind of an animal was it?" interjected Ned.
"A coyote."
"I thought it was a wolf," muttered Stacy Brown. "How many of them was there?"
"Only one, you ninny. And I shot him," scoffed Ned.
"We'll go down the hill and find the one you got, Master Ned," decided the guide, moving away, followed by the rest of the party.
No sooner had they started than they heard Professor Zepplin, down in the camp, shouting to know what the shooting meant.
"It's all right, Professor," called the guide. "The boys have been shooting up some wild game. You'll be surprised when you see what they got."
Down the hillside sprang the enthusiastic lads.
"Remember, you're all barefooted," warned the guide. "You don't want to pick up any more cactus thorns."
"Were you here then?" demanded Tad, glancing up sharply.
"I was with you from the time you left the camp."
"Here he is," shouted Ned, who had run on ahead of the others in his anxiety to learn the result of his shot. "And I caught him on the wing, too, didn't I?"
"You certainly did."
"Just lift him. He's a whopper," went on the lad enthusiastically. "I'd like to see any of the others in this outfit make a shot like that——"
"Chance shot," mumbled Stacy. "Hit a bird once myself a mile up in the air, but I didn't flap my wings and crow about it. I couldn't have done it again. Neither could you have hit that—that—what do you call it!"
"Coyote," replied the guide, but he pronounced it "kiute."
"Oh, I don't know," grumbled Stacy.
"Suppose we go up the hill now and see what Master Stacy shot," suggested the guide, starting away.
"Shot?" sniffed Ned Rector. "Don't you know what he shot?"
"Yes, we know," interrupted Walter.
"He shot thin air, that's what he did."
"We shall see, we shall see," answered the guide enigmatically.
Though Stacy did not grasp the guide's meaning, he did catch a note in the tone that filled him with hope. Yet Chunky was unable to see how he could have hit anything, in view of the fact that Ned had shot the coyote.
Tom Parry strode up to the crest of the hill and began looking about, peering behind sage bush and greasewood. The boys were a little to the north of him, all hunting for they knew not what. Ned Rector had seated himself by the side of his dead coyote, stroking its rough coat proudly.
A sharp whistle from the guide attracted their attention.
"What is it?" called Tad.
"Come over here. I've got a surprise for you."
The boys obeyed on the run.
Tom Parry stood with a grin on his face, pointing a finger to the ground.
"What is it? What is it?" demanded the lads in chorus.
"Why, it's a dead animal," marveled Walter.
"Then that's what the coyote was doing up here. It was after the meat on the dead one," announced Ned. "I knew there must be some good reason for its remaining so near camp all that time."
"Guess again," sniffed Stacy, who had thrown himself down beside his prize.
"What's that?" asked Tad, who already suspected something of the truth.
"It's my coyote, that's what it is."
Tom Parry nodded.
"He's right. He killed the animal the first shot——"
"Then—then——" stammered Ned.
"There were two of them. Master Stacy killed one and you the other, and for your gratification I'll say that they are a very difficult animal to kill. One might try a hundred times and never hit one."
"If one knows how to shoot, it isn't," spoke up Stacy pompously.
"Which you certainly do," laughed the guide.
"May we take them back to camp and skin them?" asked Ned.
"You may take them in, of course; but I would not advise you to skin the brutes. The skins are not worth anything in the first place, and in the second, we should be unable to keep them all the way across the desert, I am afraid."
"You mean they would spoil?" questioned Ned.
"Yes."
"Then we'll take them down to show to the Professor. After that we'll bury them."
"Not necessary at all," smiled the guide. "The buzzards will attend to that part of the work. They'll be around in the morning. You'll see them."
"But how will the buzzards know?" asked Walter.
"That I cannot say. They do know. Instinct, I suppose. All animals and birds have the instinct necessary for their kind, yet it is all a mystery to us."
Very proudly the lads dragged their trophies to camp, where, after heaping fresh sage brush on the fire, the youngsters stretched the carcasses out full length that Professor Zepplin might see.
"Very fine, young men. You say they were howling and woke you up?"
"Yes; didn't you hear them!" answered Stacy loudly.
"Indeed I did not. The first thing I heard was the report of a rifle, and then, in a few seconds, another. I couldn't imagine what was going on. When I tumbled out and found the camp deserted, I was alarmed. I feared you boys had gotten into other and more serious trouble. You should not take the guns out without either myself or the guide being with you."
"He was with us," interrupted Chunky.
"Then that was all right."
"But we didn't know he was with us, Professor," Tad Butler hastened to explain. "So we were in the wrong, even if he was along. However, it has turned out all right, and we've bagged two coyotes. Wish we could take their pictures. Why didn't we think to bring a camera with us?"
"I think I can supply that," laughed the guide. "I always carry one with me. In the morning I'll take your pictures. I got a new camera in Eureka yesterday, having lost my old one in the blow-out we had the other night."
The boys gave three cheers and a tiger for Tom Parry.