The horse-hunters had bound the black and left him, while they entered the corral to assist in roping the rest of the herd that were dashing wildly about. Every time a rope swung above a broad-brimmed sombrero, and shot out, a wild horse came down.
"I fell in, but I got him," greeted Chunky Brown, triumphantly, as Tad Butler rode up to him.
Tad laughed heartily when he saw his companion, Stacy Brown, proudly sitting on the head of the angry, snorting black stallion.
"You did, indeed, Chunky. How did you ever do it?"
"Just like any other experienced man would," replied the fat boy, in an important tone. "We got them both, didn't we, Tad!"
"Yes."
"And we'll keep 'em, eh!"
"Oh, no, Chunky. We couldn't do that. These horses belong to the hunters. They spend a great deal of money in preparing to capture them. It would not be right for us to expect to keep these two. We've been well paid for our labor in the fun we have had. Don't you think so?"
"Well, yes," decided Stacy a little ruefully.
"Let's see if we can help them," concluded Tad, riding up to the edge of the corral.
"Orders?" he called, as soon as he could attract Bud Stevens' attention.
"Yes; you might ride around to the entrance and come in. You can help us rope and hobble the stock if you want to."
Tad did as directed. There was no sport of the range that he took a keener enjoyment in than he did in roping, and by this time there were few men who could handle a rope more skillfully than he.
Ned and Walter were assisting in guarding the narrow entrance to the canvas corral when Tad finally rode through, entering the enclosure, where the excited animals were charging back and forth and round and round.
Bud was sitting on his pony in the center of the milling animals, directing the operations. First the hunters would rope and throw an animal; then they would bind up one of the front legs at the elbow, after which the horse was released. When the animals had staggered about the enclosure a few times trying to throw off the leg-binders, they were quite willing to stand still and nurse their anger.
"Sail in, boy!" called Bud.
Tad picked out a little bay that was kicking and squealing, dodging every lariat that was thrown at it. His first shot missed. The lad coiled his rope deliberately.
"I'll see that you don't dodge me this time, Mr. Bay," Tad muttered, and began slowly following the animal about the ring. The instant the bay's head was turned away from him Tad let go the rope, and the next second the stubborn animal lay on its side, another cowboy having made a successful cast over its kicking hind legs the moment it struck the ground.
Tad released his rope, then started for another cast. So he went on from one to another, and with as much coolness as if he had been roping wild horses all his life.
After half an hour's work young Butler saw Bud motioning to him. Tad rode up. The boy was bare-headed, having lost his sombrero somewhere in the enclosure, and not having thought to look for it, even if he had realized its loss.
"Take a rest," directed the horseman.
"I'm not tired."
"Yes, you are, but you don't know it. First thing you know, you'll tumble off your pony with a bad case of heat knock-out. Your face is as red as a lobster. Too bad the stallions got away," added Bud, who had been so thoroughly occupied in the corral that he had given no heed to what had been taking place outside.
"Lost the stallions?" questioned Tad, elevating his eyebrows.
"Yes, Satan and the Angel."
"Why, Mr. Stevens, we didn't lose them."
"I know, we got them in the corral all right, but that isn't getting them. They always manage to give us the slip somehow."
Tad's eyes danced.
"Then you've got a surprise coming to you, Mr. Stevens. Both stallions are lying outside the corral at this minute, tied up so tightly that they won't get away again."
"What! You're joking."
"No, I'm not. I mean it," laughed the lad in high glee.
Bud bent a steady look upon the boy. He saw that Tad was speaking the truth.
"How did it happen, kiddie?"
"Chunky roped the black by one of its hind feet just as the animal was taking the jump. Chunky got a bad fall, but he held fast to the black till the others could get their ropes on it."
"Hurray!" shouted Bud, carried away by his enthusiasm. "But what about the Angel, eh? Get him too, did you say?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I jumped the fence after him, and ran a race with him out into the foothills, where I managed to get my lariat over his head and pulled him down. We had quite a scrimmage, but I should have lost him if I hadn't had help. The boys came to my rescue just in time."
"Huh!" grunted the cowboy, observing his companion with twinkling eyes. "You've got anything roped and hobbled that I ever saw."
That was Bud's only comment at the moment, but it carried with it a world of praise, causing Tad to blush.
All the rest of the afternoon was devoted to securing the animals that they had captured. Not a horse had escaped. Shortly after sunset the task was completed and the horse-hunters gave utterance to their feelings in a series of triumphant yells.
In the meantime three of the men had been sent back to bring over the camp outfit, which, owing to the fact that it had to follow a round-about trail, did not get in until some time after dark. Ned and Walter had accompanied the men back to camp to assist in packing their own outfit, Tad and Stacy remaining to keep watch over the prizes that they had captured.
Dinner that night, though a late one, was an occasion of boisterous good-fellowship, the two happy Pony Rider Boys coming in for much good-natured raillery.
"Don't want to join us, do you, kiddie?" asked Bud quizzically.
"I'd like to, of course. But it is not possible," answered Tad.
"We'll be off in the morning with our stock, you know. Better come along. You'll dry up and blow away down on the desert. It's had medicine where you're headed for."
"We're used to taking our medicine," laughed Tom Parry. "You probably have noticed as much in the short time you've known our bunch."
"You bet I have," laughed Bud. "And you take it in big doses, too."
"Allopathic doses," interjected the Professor.
"Don't know what they might be," answered Bud. "Sounds as though it might be something hard to swallow, though."
This bit of pleasantry caused a general laugh. The fun continued until late in the evening. Next morning the camp was astir at an early hour.
The captured horses were found to be considerably subdued after being roped all night. Bud's first work in the morning, after breakfast, was to take the two stallions in hand. They were freed of their bonds, and after a battle during which nearly every member of the party had been more or less mauled by the spirited beasts, the horse hunters succeeded in saddling and bridling Satan and the Angel.
Bud Stevens rode them about in turn, to the delight of the Pony Rider Boys who had never seen such bucking.
"Let me ride now," begged Stacy, after Stevens had to some extent subdued Satan.
The horseman permitted the lad to take to the saddle, but no sooner had Chunky done so, than Satan hurled him clear over the corral. Chunky, nothing daunted, came back smiling and tried it again, this time with entire success. Satan did not again succeed in unseating him.
Tad mastered the Angel without being thrown, and amid the cheers of the cowboys, who shouted their approval of his horsemanship.
All was now in readiness for the start of the cowboy band and their great herd of horses. Stevens had directed his men to take the two stallions outside the corral and stake them down securely. Then the men began driving the rest of the captured stock from the canvas prison. At first the animals evinced an inclination to run away. But with one leg in a sling this was not an easy task, and the horsemen rounded up the bunch with little difficulty.
"Here, here!" cried Tad. "You're forgetting the stallions, Mr. Stevens. You've left them staked down out back of the corral."
"Have I?" grinned Bud. "What did you want me to do with them?"
"Take them with you, of course," answered Tad, as yet failing to understand the horse-hunter's plan.
"Don't you want them, kiddie?"
"Want them—want them?" stammered Tad.
"Yes. They're yours, yours and the fat boy's."
"Oh, no, no, Mr. Stevens! I couldn't think of such a thing."
"Master Tad is right," approved the Professor. "We have not the least claim in the world on those animals. We——"
"Say, Professor, who's running this side show?" demanded Bud.
"Why—why, of course it's your hunt, but——"
"All right then, seeing as it's my outfit, I've decided that I don't want the stallions. Look here! We'd have lost part of that bunch, at least, if it hadn't been for your kids. Master Tad alone saved the herd from scattering all over the Ralston Desert. No, sir, I'm getting off cheaply. The stallions belong to the boys, and that's all there is to be said. S'long everybody. Come up to Eureka on your way out, and if I don't cut the town wide open for you, my name ain't Bud Stevens."
With a wave of his sombrero, Bud put spurs to his mount and galloped away to join his companions, who had started the herd on its way to Eureka, where the animals were to be shipped East.
Tad and Stacy were too full of surprise to express their feelings.
The Pony Rider Boys turned again to the Desert Maze. A week had elapsed since Bud Stevens and his party had left them. One evening, after a hard day in the saddle, the guide was sitting thoughtfully in his tent, when Professor Zepplin entered.
"Sit down?" asked the guide.
"For a moment only," answered the Professor.
"Weather's fine to-night."
"Yes, even though we have no water to speak of. Do you consider our situation at all serious, Mr. Parry?"
"Same old story, Professor. Sage brush and alkali. Tanks full one day, dry the next. There's no accounting for the desert. Every time I get out of the Desert Maze, as somebody has called it, I chalk down a mark on the wall."
"I am beginning to understand that it does hold perils of its own," answered Professor Zepplin, thoughtfully.
"Traveling over the desert is no picnic—that's a fact. Got to take it as it comes, though. If we go dry one day, most likely we fill up the next, or the day after that. Don't pay to get down in the mouth and fret."
"Yes, I understand all that. But I don't wish to take any great chances on account of the boys."
"The boys?" Tom Parry laughed. "Don't you worry about them. Those boys would thrive where a coyote would die at sight of his own eternal starvation shadow."
The Professor shook his head doubtfully.
"Turn 'em loose on the desert and they'd swim ashore somehow. Especially young Butler. He's quiet—he doesn't say much, but when he gets busy there's something doing. For sheer pluck he's got it over anything I ever saw—like a circus tent. Well, don't lose any sleep worrying about water. We'll catch a drop or two of dew out of a cactus plant some of these nights. See you in the morning. Good night," concluded the guide, rising and knocking the ashes from his pipe on his boot heel.
They had been working slowly toward the Death Valley region, and water was becoming more and more scarce as they proceeded. Indeed, the problem of where to find sufficient water for their needs had become a serious one. For the last three days all the water holes that the guide had depended upon to replenish their supply had failed them. What lay before them none knew.
When the camp awakened, late the next morning, the guide was nowhere to be seen. His pony likewise had disappeared. But they did not trouble themselves over Parry's absence, knowing that he had not left them without good reason and with many a sharp joke at each other's expense proceeded to get the breakfast ready. They had just sat down to the table when Tom Parry came riding in, covered with dust.
"Morning, boys. Fine day," he greeted, with his usual inscrutable smile, which might indicate either good or bad tidings.
"Prospecting?" questioned Tad.
"Taking my morning constitutional. Going to be hot enough to singe the pin feathers off a bald-headed sage hen to-day," he informed them, slipping from his saddle. After beating a cloud of alkali dust from his clothes he joined the party at the breakfast table.
"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 talcum 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——"
"Yes, yes. Oh, yes, I understand," nodded the Professor. "I recall having heard of something of the kind in hot countries, and——"
"Is this a hot country?" asked Stacy innocently.
"No, you ninny; this is a section of Greenland that's been dropped down here by an earthquake or something," laughed Walter.
"You're mistaken. It was washed down by the flood," corrected Ned.
All this helped to pass away the hours as well as to make the boys forget their troubles for the time being. Perhaps the lads did not fully realize the extent of their predicament. Not so the guide, however. He knew that they must find water soon. Not many hours would pass before the stock, unable to stand the strain longer, would give out, leaving the party in a serious plight. They would then be without water, and without horses to take them to water. The wild stallions, however, were accustomed to going without drink for long periods at a time, so that they were doing much better than the rest of the stock.
Tom Parry reasoned that they would be able to go through that day and part of the next without fresh supply, and that no serious consequences would result from it. Beyond that, he did not attempt to forecast what the result would be.
Late that afternoon, without having informed his charges, Parry varied his course, turning more to the west of south, eventually picking up a copper colored butte that rose out of the desert. Reaching it at last, Parry dismounted, and, bidding the others wait for him, he climbed up the rocky sides of the miniature mountain, quirt in hand.
They watched him until he had disappeared around the opposite side of the butte. When they caught sight of him again Tom had descended to the desert, and was approaching them along the base of the mountain.
"Anything encouraging?" called the Professor.
Parry shook his head.
"Why can't we all go up there and get a breath of fresh air? There must be some breeze on the top of the mountain," suggested Ned.
"No, I couldn't think of it," replied the guide firmly.
"Why not, please?" asked Walter.
"Because you might not come back," replied the guide, with a grim compression of the lips.
Later, upon being pressed by Tad for his reasons, he confided to the lad that there were snakes on the butte. He said he did not care to tell that to the boys, adding that "what they don't know won't hurt them."
Camp was made at dusk, some five miles further on, much to the relief of man and beast, for it had been the most trying day they had experienced.
The boys threw off their sombreros, shaking the dust from their heads. They then removed their clothes, giving them a thorough beating. After a brisk rub down with dry bath towels, the lads announced themselves as ready for supper.
"Our dry spread," Ned Rector called it, for not a drop of anything did they have to drink. They had drained their canteens of what little remained in them.
"It isn't good for one to drink with meals anyway," comforted Stacy. "That's what my uncle's doctor says," he explained, munching his bacon, forcing it down his parched throat.
Chunky was a philosopher, but he was unaware of the fact.
"That is right. Not until an hour and a half after meals," agreed the Professor. "I imagine we shall have to wait longer than that this time."
"Never mind; we'll pull through somehow. We always have," encouraged Tad cheerfully. "We've gotten out of some pretty tight places, and I am sure we'll manage to weather this gale in one way or another."
"Gale? Huh! I wish we had a gale to weather," murmured Walter.
"Providing it was a wet one," added Stacy.
"That's so. Now wouldn't it be fine to have a rainstorm?" agreed Ned, with enthusiasm.
"We could cuddle in our tents and listen to the raindrops patter on the roof," suggested Stacy.
"No; we'd lie down on our backs outside, open our mouths wide——"
"Like a nest of young robins," laughed Tad.
"Yes. Only we'd fill our mouths with water instead of——"
"Boys, boys!" warned the Professor. "I fear you are drifting into questionable dinner topics again."
"Why, we're talking about water, Professor," replied Ned in a tone of innocent surprise. "Surely you do not object to that?"
"Not so long as you confine your remarks to the subject of water. That seems to be our principal need at the present time."
"Speaking of water——" began Chunky.
"Hold on; is this a story or a joke?" interrupted Ned.
"I heard of a case like ours once," continued the fat boy, without heeding the interruption. "A party of travelers on the desert found themselves without water. In the party was a bookkeeper. He was from the East. Well, they were thinking about dying from thirst. But they didn't. The bookkeeper saved them."
There was silence in the group for a moment.
"I'll be the goat. How did he save them?" asked Ned.
"He had a fountain pen," replied the fat boy sagely.
"Y-e-o-w!" howled the Pony Rider Boys. "Put him out! Put him out!"
"We shall have to divide up our forces to-day, Professor. We'll make a desperate effort to find a water hole," announced Tom Parry.
"What do you propose doing? You mean you're going to let us help you?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad."
"We'll make a big pull to-day. Should we fail to find water there is only one thing left for us to do."
"And that?"
"Leave the burros to shift for themselves. We'll head hack toward the San Antonio Range as fast as the bronchos will carry us. I don't know whether they'll be equal to the strain or not. If they give out we'll have to walk, that's all."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the Professor aghast.
"Nothing's impossible when you're up against it. We'll go through with this, see if we don't. Just keep your nerve, and——"
"But the boys," protested the Professor.
"Look at them," said Parry. "They're somewhat the worse for wear, it's true, but they're all right, every single one of them. Boys, come over here!"
The lads hastened to obey his summons.
"What is it, Mr. Parry?" questioned Tad.
"We've got to do some real work to-day, boys, and I want you to take a hand."
"We are ready for anything, sir," spoke up Ned.
"Yes, I know that," replied Parry; then went on: "This is the situation. We are without a drop of water. All the water holes that I have been depending upon are dry and there is no certainty that we shall find any that are not in the same condition if we continue on our journey. We can go along for another day, perhaps, so far as we are concerned."
"But the stock won't," interposed Tad.
"No."
"I noticed this morning that some of the ponies were pretty gaunt in the flanks."
"Regular scarecrows. We've got to make an organized search for a tank, and the sooner we begin the better off we'll be—or the worse," added the guide under his breath. "If we fail, we'll ride all night, taking the back trail. We ought to hold out long enough to reach the last water hole we left. Though even that may be dried up by the time we get to it."
"Then you want us to spread out, as it were, and cover all the territory about here?" questioned Tad.
"That's it. You've caught the idea."
Professor Zepplin shook his head.
"I don't like the idea. The boys will be lost."
"They mustn't, that's all," replied the guide, with a firm setting of the lips. "I think we can arrange so they will find their way back to camp all right. Listen! This is my plan. Master Tad will ride west, due west. Master Ned, on the other hand, will proceed east, and I'll go south. Each of us will ride as far as he can until noon. If by then none of us has found any trace of water, we'll all turn about and hurry hack to camp."
"Yes, but how do you expect the boys to find their way hack?" demanded Professor Zepplin.
"I'm coming to that. To begin with, I'm going to splice the ridge poles of the tents together, making a flagpole of them. On this we'll tie a shirt or something, planting the pole on the top of that ridge there. While the boys will be too far away to see it from where they should be by twelve o'clock, they can get near enough, by using their watches as compasses, so they can pick it up. Each one will take a rifle with him, and in the event of finding water he is to remain there, firing off the gun at frequent intervals."
"What'll we be doing here all the time?" interrupted Walter.
"Starting at twelve o'clock, you will begin firing a rifle to help guide the boys in. Fire a shot every five minutes. No chance to get lost at all. Do you think so, Professor?"
"It would seem not. Did I not know from past experiences how easy it is for the boys to get into trouble, I should not hesitate an instant."
"Anyway, we've got to do it. We are at a point where we shall have to take chances. We are taking some as it is. Now, hurry your breakfast. I'll fix up the signal pole while you are doing so, then we'll be off as soon as you have finished."
Both Tad and Ned were enthusiastic and anxious to show themselves capable of taking a man's part in the proposed operations.
"If Chunky only had a fountain pen now all this trouble would be unnecessary," teased Ned as they were hurrying through their breakfast.
The fat boy's soulful eyes held an expression of mild protest, but he made no reply.
The meal finished, Tad and Ned brought out their rifles, which they loaded, taking with them a box of cartridges each. The guide did the same. The flagpole had been planted and from its top fluttered a pair of pink pajamas belonging to the Professor.
"That ought to scare all the coyotes off the desert," commented Ned as the party surveyed the result of the guide's work.
"It will serve still another purpose," grinned the guide. "Some traveler may see it. In that event he'll head for it, thinking it's some one in distress. If he does, you may be able to get a few drops of water from his canteen, providing it's not as empty as our own."
"Oh, how dry I am," whistled Ned softly.
"There doesn't seem to be much probability of our meeting strangers in this desolate place," commented the Professor. "What time do you think we shall see you back? Have you any idea?"
"Somewhere about sunset, in all probability."
"I'd like to go along with Tad," said Stacy.
"Why—no, I think you'd better not," said the Professor.
"Please. I know I shall be able to help him. You do not need two boys in camp with you, Professor."
"Yes; he might as well go along, if he wants to," decided the guide.
"Very well, then. But Walter must remain here."
"Use your old ponies. Do not take the stallions," advised Parry. "If the stallions were to get away from you while you are off on the desert alone it would leave you, and perhaps us as well, in pretty bad shape. And, by the way, Professor, when you begin firing your signals, go to the top of the hill yonder and shoot straight up into the air. The sound will carry further than were you to shoot from here. You've no idea how perplexing this Desert Maze is to those not familiar with it and its tricks."
"I'm learning fast," smiled the Professor. "Furthermore, I am convinced that I shall know all about it if I live long——"
"Never," answered Parry promptly. "No man ever lived who knew all about the desert. I——"
"If we rough riders don't get started pretty soon we'll be back before we get started," warned Stacy humorously.
"You're right. We are wasting time. Now, Masters Tad and Ned, you understand what you are to do?"
"We do," answered the boys.
"Follow my directions to the letter. If you do you will keep out of trouble. If you do not, there's no telling what may happen."
"We are to find water. That's what we are going out for," added Tad.
"Exactly. But the instant you hear a gun fired, turn about and ride home. That will mean either that the time's up, or that one or the other of us has found what you are looking for. Keep your eyes clear for signs and for crusts of alkali that may have a water tank under them."
"We'll do our duty, Mr. Parry," answered Tad.
"I know it. Good-bye and good luck!"
The three lads swung their hands in parting salute, as they left the camp at an easy gallop, Tad and Stacy riding side by side, Ned Rector moving off alone. Ascending the rise of ground where the pajamas were drooping listlessly from the top of the signal pole, Tad and Stacy slipped down the opposite side of the hill and disappeared from view.
The two lads were destined to pass through some exciting experiences before they rejoined their companions.
"I hope we don't get lost," said Stacy, apprehensively, as they glided across the desert.
"We mustn't!"
"Yes; but what if we do?" insisted the fat boy.
"It will be because you disobeyed orders, Chunky. You and I have a task to perform, and we're going to do it like men. The lives of our companions may depend upon our own efforts—yours and mine."
"I can't see the Professor's pajamas," insisted Chunky. "I believe we are lost already, Tad."
"Then we'll stay lost," answered Tad shortly.
The conviction that they did not know where they were grew upon Stacy as they proceeded. Not that Stacy cared particularly whether they were lost or not, but it gave him something to talk about.
"Don't talk so much, Chunky," begged Tad, after they had gone on some distance. "You should keep your eyes out for signs."
"What kind of signs?"
"Water signs. Come, be serious for a little while. You can have all the sport you want when we get back. I think, Chunky, that we can both work to better advantage if we separate——"
"What, you want to get rid of me so soon?"
"No, no! Listen! You ride off there to the right, say half a mile. Keep within sight of me all the time, and watch carefully for what we are in search of. We shall be able to do twice as effective work in that way."
"I see. I guess that would be a good idea. Got anything to eat in your pocket?"
"Some dry bread. I'll divide with you. You should have brought something."
The fat boy, well satisfied now, rode away to the north, munching the dry food that Tad had given him. So long as Chunky had plenty to eat, nothing else mattered.
Tad soon espied what appeared to him to be a cloud on the horizon ahead. After a time he discovered that it was a range of irregular buttes. On some of them he eventually made out what looked like scattering trees. Tad increased the speed of his pony as much as he thought the animal would stand. If there were trees, there surely should be water as well, he reasoned. After a time he succeeded in attracting the attention of Stacy, whom he motioned to him.
The fat boy put spurs to his mount, racing along one side of the triangle, heading for the range, for which he observed that Tad was riding. It was now a test of speed to see which one should get there first. Tad having the shorter distance to travel, made the mark ahead of his companion, though with little to spare.
"You started before I knew what you were up to," laughed Stacy. "I can beat you on an even start."
"Haven't any doubt of it, Chunky. But let's see what's to be found here. It looks promising. You hold the horses while I climb up among the rocks."
"There's a man up there!" exclaimed Stacy. "What's he doing? I wonder if he's a hermit? Looks as if he might be."
"I'll find out. If some one is living here, there's water," cried Tad triumphantly, leaping from his saddle and tossing the bridle reins to his companion.
The lad ran lightly up the rocks toward the point where he saw the stranger standing, observing them suspiciously. As he drew nearer to the figure, Tad felt some apprehension. The man was thin and gaunt, a heavy growth of beard covering his face so completely as to hide everything except the nose and eyes.
"I believe he's crazy," muttered the lad, when he got near enough to note the strange expression in the fellow's eyes. As yet, the man had not spoken a word.
"How do you do, sir!" greeted the boy.
The hermit, for such he proved to be, grunted an unintelligible reply.
"We are looking for water. My friends are camped off yonder, a dozen miles or more, and our water is all gone. Please tell me where I can find some?"
"Got money?"
"Yes, yes, I've got money. I will pay you for your trouble if that is what you want. Let me have a drink first and take some to my companion; then I will do whatever you wish in the way of paying," begged the lad.
The hermit eyed him with a steady, disconcerting gaze that gave Tad a creepy feeling up and down his spine.
"You want water?"
"Yes, yes."
A moment's hesitation, then the hermit grasped Tad by the arm and strode rapidly back among the rocks. Pushing aside a growth of tangled vines he stooped to enable him to enter the opening that was revealed, dragging Tad in after him.
The Hermit Grasped Tad by the Arm.The Hermit Grasped Tad by the Arm.
The Hermit Grasped Tad by the Arm.The Hermit Grasped Tad by the Arm.
"See here, where are you taking me?" demanded the lad, pulling back instinctively from the dark opening.
The hermit made no reply, but tightening his grip, which was of vise-like firmness, jerked the boy into the center of the chamber. Tad observed by the single ray of light that penetrated the place through the mat of vines at the entrance that they were in a cave.
"You want water?" snapped the hermit.
"Yes, I do want water more than anything else in the world at this minute, but there is no necessity for dragging me to it. I can walk."
"Water in there," answered the hermit, thrusting Tad into a dark recess. No sooner had he done so than the lad heard a heavy wooden door slammed shut and a bar thrown across it from the outside.
Tad, instantly realizing that he was being shut in, threw himself against the barrier with all his strength. But he might as well have tried to break through the rocks which walled him in on the other three sides. He shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that Chunky might, perchance, hear him and come to his rescue. Chunky could use the rifle that hung in the holster on Tad's saddle and intimidate the hermit if he understood Tad's predicament.
At that instant the lad's ears caught the faint trickle of water. The sound stirred him to sudden action. "Where was it?" he asked himself, his hands groping over the rocks about him.
"Here it is!" he cried exultingly.
What he had found was a tiny stream that was creeping down the side of the rocks. Tad pressed his lips against the cool stones, enabling him to lick a few drops of the precious fluid into his parched mouth. Never had anything tasted so refreshing to him.
"A-h-h-h-h!" gasped the boy, taking a fresh breath preparatory to another draught. "It's almost worth being made a prisoner for this. I'll bet Chunky would wish to be in here if he knew. And I almost wish he were."
As if in answer to his expressed wish, the door was suddenly pushed inward, a heavy body was hurled in, landing in a heap on the rocky floor.
The door slammed shut and the bar once more fell into place.
For the moment Tad could not determine what had happened.
"I—I fell in," moaned a voice from the heap.
"Chunky!" cried Tad. "How did you get in here?"
"I—just dropped in," wailed the fat boy.
"Get up! Don't be a baby! Come here and have a drink of water——"
"Water? Water?" fairly shouted Stacy, leaping to his feet, bumping against a rock in his haste. "Where? Where?"
"Here. Put your lips against the rock right here. There, you have it. Does it taste good?"
"U-m-m-m."
"Now, you've had enough for the moment. Tell me how you got here? How did you happen to come up?" questioned Tad.
"The—the wild man—say, Tad, he looks like a monkey, doesn't he?"
"I hadn't thought of it in that light. I guess you're right, though, Chunky."
"Well, he went out on the rocks and motioned to me. I told him I couldn't leave the ponies. He said you wanted me right away, and he came down to help me stake the ponies. He was awful kind," mused Stacy, as if talking to himself.
"Go on," urged Tad. "We've got to think about what's going to become of us."
"That's all. He just led me up here. Said you were inside getting water. Then—then he threw me in. Think I hurt the floor when I hit it, Tad?"
"I guess not quite so bad as that," laughed the lad. "I want you to strike a match while I look around the place."
Stacy did so, taking his time about it. By the dim light thus made, they discovered a little pool of water in a far corner of the chamber, where the trickling stream had found it's way. With their drinking cups, which, with their canteens, the boys always carried, they dipped the pool almost dry, filling their canteens with the cool, refreshing water, after having first fully satisfied their thirst.
"Got anything to eat?" questioned Stacy, his thoughts turning to food.
"Yes, and I'm going to keep it," answered Tad promptly.
"That's mean."
"See here, Chunky. We are prisoners. We don't know when or how we are going to get out. I have a few crusts of bread left and I propose to keep them, because we may find ourselves starving later on. You'll be glad then that I saved the bread. What do you think the hermit intends to do? Did he say anything that gave you any clue?"
"Nope."
"We'll wait a while and if he does not let us out, we'll have to find a way for ourselves."
For a time they made the best of their situation, Stacy grumbling now and then, Tad bright and cheery, though in his heart he felt far from cheerful.
"I'm going to try to break the door down," announced Tad finally, after listening intently. "I can't hear anything. I believe the hermit has gone away and left us. Get up here beside me. Take hold of my hand and we'll rush it together."
They did so, throwing their combined weight against the door.
"Ouch!" yelled Stacy.
"Never mind, try it again," encouraged Tad, laughing in spite of himself.
Once more they hurled themselves on the obstruction. It resisted all their efforts. Tad lighted a match, examining the door carefully. The light revealed a heap of blankets in a corner of the chamber, where the old hermit slept.
"Must be his bedroom," decided Chunky.
"We've got to try something else," announced Tad. "Got your knife!"
"Yes."
"Out with it. We're going to whittle. Lucky for us that our knives are big and sharp. Hold a match while I mark out the spot we're going to try to cut out."
Tad had sounded the door with his fist until he found the place where the bar on the other side held it. He also discovered sockets for an inner bar, by which the hermit probably locked himself in at night. Then he began cutting.
"You start in here and keep to your side so you don't cut my hands," the lad directed.
The crunching sound of their knives began immediately, the work going on more slowly in the darkness than would have been the case had they had light. Now and then the lads would pause to listen. Not a sound penetrated to their prison. Tad thought this very strange, unless perhaps the hermit might be lying in wait to fall upon them in case they did succeed in freeing themselves.
"Say, Tad."
"Well?"
"I've got an idea." Chunky's knife had been silent for a few moments.
"What is it?"
"Let's burn down the old door."
"How!"
"I'll show you."
Stacy scraped industriously for a time, then lighting a match applied it to the spot on which he had been working. The splinters caught fire burned up briskly then went out. Stacy repeated the process with a similar result.
"I guess that will help a little," decided Tad, running his fingers over the spot.
"Just like singeing the pin feathers off an old hen—the feathers burn, but the hen doesn't," grumbled Stacy.
"Whew! the smoke's getting thick in here. We've got to stop the burning or we'll suffocate," warned Tad. "Wish I had an ax. I'd make short work of the old door."
They then began working with a grim determination, Stacy ceasing his joking. At last a tiny ray of light showed through the heavy door.
"Hurrah!" shouted Tad. "I see daylight."
"Then give me some bread. I'm hungry."
"Not yet. We're not out of our prison," laughed Tad. "Keep cutting. It will take all of an hour to make an opening large enough for me to get my hand through——"
"I got my finger through," cried Stacy triumphantly. "Ouch!" he yelled as a club of some sort was brought against the door on the outside with terrific force, bruising the end of the lad's finger.
"The hermit is out there waiting for us!" gasped Tad, with sinking heart.