With considerable skill the lad arranged the heap, placing the dead leaves and the driest of the sticks at the bottom. On top he placed a mass of half green stuff, packing the whole down by throwing himself on the pile, after which he rounded it up in a mound shape, with a circle of stones in the middle.
The fire blazed up encouragingly, and Ned, getting water from the rapids for the coffee, put the pot quickly into the ring of stones.
"Something's going to happen in about a minute," announced Chunky, with an air of great wisdom. He had been watching the preparations with hands thrust deeply into his pockets.
"What's going to happen?" demanded Ned, turning on him sharply.
Chunky, instead of replying, leaned back against the rocks and began to whistle. In a moment the disaster that he had foreseen was upon them.
The flimsy pile of brush and vines, after the fire had burned away its foundations, gave way beneath the weight of the stones. Coffee pot, coffee and stones went down with a crash and a clatter.
"Save the coffee pot!" shouted Ned, giving Chunky a push.
"Save it yourself. I'm not the cook," answered the fat boy, who chanced to be nearest to the fire. "I told you something was going to happen."
In the meantime Tad Butler had sprung to the rescue. With one well-directed kick he had scattered the brush and rescued the coffee pot before serious damage had been done to it.
Rushing to the river, he scooped up a fresh supply of water, planting the pot in the center of the fire and heaping the burning stuff about it.
"We'll have some coffee after all," he glowed. "I don't think Ned is much of a cook, do you, Chunky?"
"'Bout as good as you are at making fires to cook by, I guess," mumbled Chunky.
Tad laughed with them at his own expense.
The water was soon boiling, however, and with the canned stuff laid on the canvas which had been spread out close to the water, the jolly party shortly after that were able to sit down to breakfast.
"Two lumps of sugar I believe you take, Professor?" questioned Ned politely, poising a handful of lumps over the Professor's cup.
"Give me four," interjected Chunky.
"You take yours clear this morning," retorted Ned.
"I got the condensed milk, anyway," jeered Chunky. "No sugar for me, no condensed milk for you," and he planted the can firmly between his feet, which were curled up half under him.
"Oh, give him the sugar. I have to take my coffee half milk," beggedWalter.
"All right, hand over the condensed milk then. I'll give you two lumps," said Ned.
"Three," replied Chunky, firmly, making no move to hand over the milk.
Ned let the lumps drop into his companion's cup, but from such a height that Chunky had to dodge as the coffee flew up.
He wiped a few drops of the coffee from his face, deliberately filled his cup to overflowing with milk, then handed the can to Walter.
"I guess Chunky doesn't need any of our help. He is pretty well able to take care of himself," laughed Tad.
"Delicious," breathed the Professor, sampling his cup of steaming liquid.
"Who, Chunky?" asked Ned quizzically.
"Certainly not the coffee," replied the Professor in a tone of reproof.
The meal was finished with many a jest and the pack divided up into bundles so that each should have his share to carry, after which the lads took up their return tramp.
They arrived at the mountain trail shortly before noon.
"Where's the guide?" asked Tad, glancing about.
"Probably asleep somewhere," replied Ned. "He's almost as big a sleepy head as Chunky."
"He is not here, Ned."
"Most unreliable guide we've had. I shall dismiss him immediately upon our arrival at the Red Star Mine," decided the Professor. "You are sure he is nowhere about, Tad?"
"You can see. He's not here. I hope he has left the rope. I'll climb up there and find out. No, he has taken it with him, evidently."
"Here's the rope," called Stacy, hauling it from a clump of bushes where it had evidently been dropped.
"Coil it and cast it up here," directed Tad.
This done, he began hauling up the bundles that they made fast to it below. Finally, this was completed without accident. All hands took up their packages from that point and started along the winding trail that led up the mountain side.
"Most peculiar, most peculiar," muttered the Professor.
"Maybe some of those spirits that the Indian was talking about came up and got him," suggested Stacy, with serious face.
"Maybe," agreed Ned. "But I'd sooner think they would take you if they were the real bad spirits."
"It is my opinion," declared Professor Zepplin gravely, "that the spirits that trouble Eagle-eye most are not the supernatural kind. We certainly drew a prize when we picked him."
"We did," agreed Tad, laughing.
"Next time we'll choose a white man, if we can get one—"
"Hello, he isn't here, either," called Ned, who was the first to reach the end of the trail at the top.
Tad, close behind him, cast a searching glance about.
"That's not all that is missing, either," he said sharply.
"What!" exclaimed the Professor.
"Two more ponies, that's all," replied Tad Butler. "We are a smart lot to let him steal our stock right under our very eyes."
The boys uttered a cry of dismay.
"You don't mean—you can't mean they have been here again?"
"It looks that way," replied Tad. "Both Walter's and Ned's ponies are gone. See, the ropes have been untied, not cut. The ponies surely did not do that."
The Professor was much too excited to speak for the moment.
"I am glad they did not take your mount, Professor. That is one thing to be thankful for, anyway," said Tad. "I don't understand this business at all."
"Why, they must have been hanging about our camp all the time. They followed us here," exploded Ned. "We are a lot of tenderfeet."
"Some of us," suggested Chunky.
"This is no joke," snapped Ned, turning on him almost savagely. "We are in a fix."
"Yes, but we've got two mules left, haven't we," queried the boy whimsically.
"It's an outrage!" shouted the Professor. "I'll have the law on them whoever they are. They shall suffer for this!"
"Yes, but first we shall have to catch them, Professor," returned Tad. "It seems we were not misinformed when they warned us to be on the lookout for horse thieves."
"In Springfield, yes. I had no idea it was as bad as this. They certainly can't get away without being caught."
"I don't know about that. But I do know that we have been easy game for the thieves."
"Do you think they took anything else?" demanded the Professor.
"I don't see that anything else is missing, do you, Ned?"
"No."
"See, they took off the saddles. Didn't want them for some reason. I'm glad of that. By the way, did they get my saddle when they stole my pony last night?" asked Tad.
"No, I had your saddle in my tent," Walter informed him.
"The question is—" began Tad.
"The first question is, what has become of Eagle-eye," interrupted theProfessor.
"That's so. I had forgotten about him," said Tad.
The lads looked at each other questioningly. The same thought was in the mind of each.
"You—you don't suppose—" muttered Walter.
"Of course! That's it! It's Eagle-eye!" exclaimed Ned.
"Don't be too quick to accuse anyone, young gentlemen. It is very irritating, I know. But let us be slow about placing the charge at any man's door, be he copper colored or white."
"But, Professor," expostulated Ned Rector, "he goes away, and while absent from camp two ponies are stolen. To-day we leave him halfway down the rocks and upon our return, two more ponies are missing, as well as the Indian himself. What can we think, but that he has had something to do with our loss?"
"If I remember correctly, it was Eagle-eye who called our attention to the fact that the animals had been stolen last night. You thought they had broken away," recalled Professor Zepplin.
"That's so," agreed Ned.
"It certainly does look bad. If Eagle-eye had no hand in the theft, why should he run away as he seems to have done?" asked Tad.
"This is what is known as circumstantial evidence," the Professor informed them. "I do not say that the Indian is guiltless. I am simply counseling caution. Wait. We shall soon be at the mines, and from there, we can set the officers of the law on the track, which we shall do as soon as we are able to communicate with Mr. Munson."
"Yes, but how are we going to get there?" asked Ned.
"Guess we'll have to ride the mules," grinned Stacy.
"You may be a mule driver if you wish—I'll walk," retorted Ned.
"That's what we all shall have to do," laughed Tad. "Glad the thieves didn't take our guns."
"And the food," reminded Stacy.
"Yes. Probably they knew you had your appetite with you," laughedNed.
In the meantime Tad had begun a search about the place for clues. He discovered where the animals had been taken from camp, but, as in the case with the loss of the other animals, the trail suddenly disappeared a short distance from camp.
"They seem to have headed for the west. We are sure of that much," decided Ned.
"Which means nothing at all," answered Tad. "They may have turned and gone back or else are traveling along ahead of us. In either case we can't follow them. Do you not think we had better be starting, Professor? We cannot afford to lose a minute now. I want my pony."
"And so do I—and I—and I," added the lads, one after the other.
"I think so. Yet how are we going to find our way? We shall be lost."
"No, we can't get lost, Professor," interrupted Stacy.
"Not lost—cannot get lost?"
"No."
"Why not?" glared the Professor.
"We can't get lost," announced Stacy impressively, "because we don't know where we are, anyway."
A roar of laughter greeted this assertion. It did more than anything else to put the boys in a better frame of mind—unless perhaps it might have been the return of the lost ponies.
"I am forced to admit the correctness of Master Stacy's logic," replied the scientist, after their laughter had subsided.
"It seems fairly simple to me," spoke up Tad. "The mountains run in a southeasterly direction. If we follow that direction we are bound to come out somewhere—"
"In Arkansas or the Indian Territory or some other place," cut in NedRector.
"As I understand it," went on Tad, not heeding the interruption, "these gorges or canyons in the Ozark range follow the same general direction. We have one right here by us, and we have the sun above us. Between the two we should be able to find our way."
"That sounds promising, Master Tad. You are a level-headed young man, even if you do take long chances and do foolish things now and again. I shall adopt your suggestion and we'll be off at once."
They were forced to pack some of their belongings on the back of Professor Zepplin's mount, while each of the two mules was subjected to an additional load.
When the packing had been finished there was little room for anyone to ride, so Tad took one of the mules, Ned Rector the other, leading them by short ropes, and started off followed by Walter and Stacy on foot, with the Professor riding his own pony.
The boys moved away with broad grins on their faces as they thought of the spectacle they were creating. Yet there was none to watch their undignified progress. However, leading a mule and riding a pony were two distinctly different operations. The boys were in a hurry and the mules were not and over this difference of inclination they had many disagreements.
Once Ned lost his temper with the beast of burden that he had in tow, and used his crop rather too freely to suit the long-eared animal. The latter kicked until he kicked the pack from his back.
Amid the shouts of laughter of his companions, his face red and perspiring, Ned was obliged to gather up the pack in sections and strap it in place again, which he did after much endeavor. Thereafter he kept his temper.
"I've heard it said that a mule wouldn't kick after twelve o'clock," said Chunky. "Guess it wasn't true."
"Perhaps it is after twelve o'clock at night that was meant," suggested Tad.
"Mules are asleep then, aren't they?"
"Supposed to be, I guess."
"Then that's it," answered the fat boy somewhat enigmatically.
They failed to make any great distance that day. How far they had advanced they did not know. Shortly before sundown they called a halt at Professor Zepplin's suggestion.
The mules went to sleep while the boys were unloading them. Ned confessed that he was nearly fagged. Tad, on the other hand, declared that he had never felt better in his life.
"Hope they won't steal anymore live stock," said Ned. "If they do we'll have to pack the outfit on our own backs, which, after all, probably wouldn't be any harder than trying to lead a stubborn mule. I think I'll tie a string around the necks of the stock and hitch the string to my big-toe to-night. Then I'll know if anybody tries to run off with them."
"Run off with your big-toes?" queried Chunky.
"No, run off with the ponies, I said—I mean the pony and the mules."
Stacy's eyes lighted up appreciatively.
"I've got a string that you can use," he said. "I'll fix it up for you. Shall I?"
"You would like to see me lose my big-toes, wouldn't you? No, thank you, I'll furnish my own string if I decide to adopt the plan."
After supper had been cooked and eaten, and the dishes washed, all hands gathered around the camp-fire, where they remained until bedtime, which on that particular night was earlier than usual, because all were more or less tired after their active day.
It was decided that some one should be left on guard lest they lose their remaining stock. The Professor took the first half of the night, Tad going on at half past twelve and remaining through the rest of the night.
Nothing occurred to disturb the camp, for which all hands were thankful. Tents were quickly struck after breakfast and once more the outfit started out on the trail after having discussed the advisability of bearing to the west a little. Their final conclusion, however, was to keep within sight of the gorge.
Two days passed as the little outfit crawled along over the rough mountain passes, down through broad deep washes and narrow draws. It was trying work, but the lads kept up their spirits. So inured were they to hardships, by this time, that the unusual strain gave them little or no inconvenience.
On the morning of the third day they had about decided to change the course and try to find their way out of the mountains as the quickest method of getting out of their predicament.
They were gathering their equipment together preparatory to making a start in the new direction, when Tad startled the camp by a sudden exclamation of surprise.
"What is it this time?" cried the Professor, prepared for almost any surprise.
"I see smoke!"
"Oh, is that all," answered Ned disgustedly, not at first realizing the importance of the announcement to them. "I thought maybe you had discovered the missing ponies."
"Perhaps I have. Who knows? At any rate, don't you see it means we are going to meet some human beings at last? We haven't seen one, outside of our own party, in several days, though we have good reason for thinking that one or more has been near us."
"Smoke, smoke?" queried the Professor. "Where?"
"There, to the southwest."
"That's so, it is smoke. It surely is."
"Must be somebody's camp-fire," decided Tad, studying the wisps of vapor that were curling lazily up on the clear, warm morning air.
"Indeed, it must be," declared the Professor. "We must get in touch with them at once, for they no doubt will soon be on their way. We have not a minute to lose."
The Professor began bustling about excitedly.
"It will be an hour or more before we can hope to get there with our old local freight train," objected Ned. "They probably will be gone long before that."
"Yes. I have it," cried the Professor. "I will hurry over there on my pony. You boys come along at your leisure. Even if they do not wish to wait for the rest of our party, I shall be able to get directions at least, and perhaps to hire some one to pilot us on to the Red Star."
This seemed to be good judgment, so the boys hastened to saddle the Professor's mount, and in a few moments he was jogging away as rapidly as the uneven ground would permit, his eyes fixed on the distant spiral of smoke curling lazily upward.
"Guess we had better follow as fast as we can," suggested Tad.
"Chunky, get busy. What are you standing around with your hands in your pockets for while Rome is burning?" shouted Ned Rector. "Hurry up! Take down those tents, pack all the stuff over to the mules and—"
"And what are you going to do while I'm doing that?" drawled Stacy.
"Me? I'm going to boss the job. What did you suppose I was going to do?"
"Oh, that's about what I thought you would be doing. I'll pack my own stuff. You can leave yours here for all I care," laughed the fat boy, sauntering to his tent without the least attempt to hurry.
"Don't tease him so," advised Tad in a low voice.
"What, tease Chunky Brown? You couldn't tease Chunky with a club. I just say those things to get him started. He says such funny things."
Nevertheless, the camp was struck in record time that morning, and the pack mules loaded so rapidly that they turned back their soulful eyes in mild protest.
"Got a new job for you to-day, Chunky," announced Ned Rector while cinching the pack girths.
"What is it?"
"We've decided to let you follow along behind with a sharp stick and prod the mules so they will make better time."
"Think I'll wait till after twelve o'clock to-night," answered the fat boy.
They were off soon after that, but the mules had never seemed to move as slowly as they did that morning. Instead of an hour, more than two hours had passed before they finally came within hailing distance of the camp-fire. For some time, they had been finding difficulty in keeping it in sight, as the fire appeared to be dying down.
Tad shouted to attract the attention of the campers or the Professor to let them know the Pony Riders were coming. There was no reply, which caused the lads to wonder.
So they pushed the mules all they could, a vague apprehension that all was not as it should be, growing in their minds. They soon came upon the object of their search. What they found was a smouldering camp-fire.
"The camp is deserted," groaned Tad.
Not a person save themselves was within sight or sound. ProfessorZepplin, too, had disappeared.
"Well, doesn't that beat all!" marveled Tad.
"Certainly does," agreed Ned.
"Yes, but I don't understand—what does this mean?" exclaimed Walter.
"I'm a poor guesser," answered Ned.
"It means that we are all alone," replied Tad. "Beyond that I could not guess."
Chunky had been viewing the scene with solemn complacency.
"We've got the mules, anyway," he nodded.
"Precious lot of good they'll do us," returned Walter.
"And we've got the food and—and I don't have to build a fire, either," added the fat boy.
"Yes, we have some things to be thankful for, that's a fact," laughed Tad. "My idea is that the Professor, finding the men had just left here, has hurried on to overtake them. I don't think we have any reason to worry."
"Then we had better stay right here," answered Ned.
"Yes. That is all we can do for the present."
"Think we had better unpack?"
Tad considered the matter briefly.
"I think we had better wait a little while," he decided.
"I think you are right. I hope we don't have to. We have enough food in our pockets to keep us going until night and—"
"Don't we get anything to eat until night?" wailed Chunky.
"Not unless you can browse," retorted Ned. "There's plenty of green stuff hereabouts."
"You can eat with the mules if you wish to. I don't."
"Might as well keep the fire up," decided Tad, gathering up a fresh supply of green stuff which he dumped on the graying ashes. "The smoke will help the Professor to find us quickly when he comes back."
"What if he shouldn't come back?" asked Walter, with sudden apprehension.
"Oh, he will. Don't worry about that. You can't lose the Professor."
The boys laughed, then settled down to make the best of their situation, whiling away the time with jest and stories.
After a time, Tad left the party and strolled from the camp in an effort to determine which way the late occupants of the camp had gone. He was beginning to feel worried, but as yet had confided nothing of this to his companions.
Examining the ground closely he found four distinct trails leading from the abandoned camp. These trails were fresh, showing that ponies had only recently been ridden over them. They all looked alike, however, and he was unable to determine which of them had been made by Professor Zepplin's pony.
"Evidently the party, whoever they were, split up after leaving here," thought the lad aloud. "I'd like to follow out the trails, but I don't dare do so. The Professor would be liable to return while I was away. Then again I might lose the trail and my own way at the same time. I've caused this outfit enough trouble as it is."
With this, Tad slowly turned back toward the camp.
He found a growing sense of uneasiness among his companions there.
"What did you discover?" asked Ned rather more solemnly than was his usual wont.
Tad told him.
"Then, there's no use trying to follow?"
"No."
"What time is it?"
"Half-past three," announced Tad after consulting his watch.
"Huh!" grunted Ned. "I guess the Professor has gone and done it himself this time."
"We'll wait," answered Tad easily.
After piling fresh fuel on the fire Tad went over and sat on the bluff overlooking the eastern slope of the range of mountains which they were traversing. Chunky lay stretched out sound asleep, untroubled by the series of disasters that had overtaken them.
Tad after running over in his mind many plans, none of which seemed practicable, also lay down for a nap, and in a few moments the tired boys were all sound asleep, including the pack mules.
When they awakened the sun had been down all of half an hour. Tad was the first to awake. He started up guiltily, and looking around found that he was not the only one who had napped.
"Hallo, the camp!" he shouted.
The other boys sat up suddenly, rubbing their eyes.
"Time to go to bed. Get up!" laughed Tad.
"Nice way to put it," growled Ned. "Tell a fellow to get up because it's time to go to bed."
"Wat'cher wake me up for?" demanded Chunky. "I was sleeping."
"So were all of us. First time I ever heard you object to being called to eat."
"Eat? Eat? Who said eat?" cried the fat boy, struggling to his feet with difficulty, his head whirling from the effort of pulling himself awake so suddenly.
"I did. It's night."
"You don't say," wondered Ned, looking around in surprise. "I—I thought I was back home in Chillicothe."
"Dreams, dreams," muttered Stacy. "No Professor yet, eh?"
"No. I believe he is lost. He surely would have been back long before this."
"Maybe he's gone the same place the Indian went," ventured Walter.
"Where's that?" queried Stacy, at once interested.
"That's a conundrum. You dream over it to-night," jeered Ned.
"We had better unpack and make camp," advised Tad. "Chunky, Walt andI will do that if you will get the supper."
"All right. Somebody get me some water."
"I will," said Walter quickly. "Anybody know where I can find it?"
"There must be some near by. Those other fellows would not have made camp here and remained all night unless there was water near—"
"Unless they know no more about these confounded mountains than we do, you mean?" laughed Ned.
After some searching about, Walter found a spring. It was full of water that had a whitish tinge to it. The lad tasted it gingerly, then smiled knowingly. Filling his pail he returned to camp with it.
By this time Tad and Stacy had unloaded the mules. The three boys got to work at once putting up the tents. In the absence of Professor Zepplin, they concluded to erect only two, and by the time this had been accomplished, Ned was ready for them.
"Come and get it!" he bellowed.
There was no table cloth, no table, just the bare ground, and the boys sat down to eat in the fresh, bracing air.
"No one who has not been camping for a long time can appreciate smoke," announced Ned oracularly. "If I had to go without my supper I believe if I could breathe smoke for a few minutes, I could almost imagine I had a full stomach."
"Well, I couldn't. I've heard of smoke-eaters, whatever or whoever they are, but I want something a little more lasting," announced Walter Perkins. "No smoked smoke diet for me."
"Nor for me," agreed Tad.
"What's a smoke eater?" asked Stacy.
"I should say that a Pony Rider Boy named Ned Rector was one, according to his own admission," laughed Walter.
"Pass the water, please."
Walter filled Stacy's cup. The fat boy drank it down without taking a breath. No sooner had he swallowed the liquid than he hurled the cup from him and leaped to his feet coughing and making wry faces.
They could not imagine what had happened.
"Slap him on the back, he's choking," shouted Ned.
Walter Perkins, by this time, was laughing immoderately, while his companions were jolting Stacy between the shoulders and shaking him violently.
"Stop pounding me, d'ye hear? Stop it, I tell you," cried Stacy, wriggling from their grasp, red of face, an expression of great indignation in his eyes.
"Did you swallow a bone?" queried Ned.
"Bone nothing."
"Then, please tell us the cause of all this unseemly disturbance.Your table manners are about the worst I ever saw, Stacy Brown."
"Water," gasped Stacy.
"Here," twinkled Walter, passing the pail.
"What's the matter with the water?" demanded Ned.
"Somebody's been putting old eggs in it. I believe you did that, NedRector, just to tease me."
Ned did not understand what the fat boy meant.
"Here, pass that pail. Is there anything the matter with that water,Walt? You got it."
"I think it is thoroughly good, wholesome water," replied Walter, holding his head low over his plate that they might not observe his amusement.
"Ugh!" exclaimed Ned, after tasting the liquid. He hurled the remaining contents of the cup full into the camp-fire.
"I told you so," nodded Stacy solemnly. "It's eggs and they weren't laid yesterday, either."
"You're right. Walt, where did you get that awful stuff?"
Tad and Walter were both drinking deeply of the liquid and apparently enjoying it.
"From the spring," gasped Walter, placing his cup on the ground.
"Don't drink that stuff. It'll make you all sick," commanded Ned.
"Don't be silly. That water is all right," laughed Tad.
"All right? Call that all right?" demanded Ned.
"Call that all right?" echoed Chunky.
"Of course it is. It is mineral water—sulphur water," spilling over his clothes the contents of the cup that he was carrying to his lips. Walter was laughing so that he finally let go of the cup itself and rolled over on his side, shouting with merriment.
"You can have it," announced Ned firmly.
"Yes, all of it," added Chunky. "I'll take my eggs hard boiled after this."
"Drink it. It will do you good, Chunky," urged Tad.
"No, thank you. I wouldn't offer it to a mule."
"So I see," flung back Ned, with a malicious little grin appearing in the corners of his mouth. "But speaking of mules, I wonder if it has occurred to anyone that our mules might be wanting a drink, too."
"Haven't they had any water to-day?" asked Tad.
"Haven't seen them drink since we left Springfield."
"Why, of course they have had water every day. They could not live without it."
"If they're like me they could—if they had to drink egg water," grumbled Stacy amid a loud laugh from his companions.
"I'll attend to them right after supper," decided Tad. "But just now we had better talk over our own situation. It is plain that something has happened to the Professor. How much longer will our provisions last, Ned?"
"Well, on a rough guess, I should say not beyond to-morrow."
"Then I should say in the first place that it would be wise to put the outfit on half rations beginning to-morrow morning—"
"No, no, no," protested Chunky, springing up and waving his plate excitedly.
"You won't have anything before you know it, young man," warned Ned.
"Yes, but we may have to stay here a week, if the Professor does not return. I do not see what good it will be to begin starving us until it is necessary," objected Walter.
"It will be necessary to-morrow," replied Tad.
"And after to-morrow what?"
"I shall hope to have some provisions here by that time, Ned."
Ned Rector laughed.
"Yes, I can almost see it now. How do you propose to get them, may I ask?"
"Go after them."
"Where?" queried Walter.
"Red Star mining camp. It cannot be so very far from here."
"Going to drag the mules after you?" asked Ned in a half sarcastic tone.
"No, I'm going on foot."
"What!" exclaimed the boys in one voice.
"You heard me. If Professor Zepplin has not returned by to-morrow morning I'm off for assistance and a fresh supply of food."
"And leave us here alone?" cried Chunky.
"Don't you see, fellows," continued Tad, "the Professor undoubtedly is in a worse fix than we are. He may wander about the mountains until he starves. I've simply got to stir somebody up to start out hunting for him. By remaining here we are only getting deeper into trouble. Don't you understand that?"
"Yes," admitted Ned. "But, then, why not let us all go with you?"
"Yes, that's the idea," interjected Walter.
"No, that is not good judgment."
"Why not?"
"In the first place some one must remain here to watch our outfit. We don't want to lose anything more than we have."
The boys nodded.
"Secondly, the Professor might possibly find his way back here, and the chances are he would lose himself again trying to find us."
"That's so," chorused the boys.
"And thirdly, as the Professor says, I can get along a lot faster alone than if you are all with me."
"Fellows, I understand why our friend Tad Butler wears a hat a size and a half larger than any of us—his head's bigger. Yes, you're right, Tad."
"Yes, yes," shouted Walter and Stacy, "that's the reason."
"And don't I get all I want to eat until he-he—until Tad gets back?"
"That depends upon how much you want. Judging from past experience, I should say you wouldn't," replied Ned.
"But what will happen to us if you get lost, Tad?"
"Yes, yes, that's what I want to know?" questioned Ned.
"I'll see that I don't."
"How?"
"This time I am going to blaze every tree I pass, with my hunting knife. It will enable me to get back if I fail to find the way, and it also will serve to guide the men here, if I find any to return with me."
"I take off my hat to you," exclaimed Ned.
"How many eggs have we left, Ned?"
"A dozen hard boiled ones, I think."
"Then I'll take three. I'll eat one for breakfast and carry the other two with me. That will leave three apiece for the rest of you."
"Oh, take a drink of water from that—that spring and save your egg till you need it," suggested Chunky.
"I'm going to start early in the morning, so I guess I'll turn in now. Remember, you are not to leave this place till I get back—that is, unless the Professor should return in the meantime."
"We promise," answered the lads together.
After putting the camp in shape for the night and attending to the mules the boys turned in and slept the night through without further incident.
Next morning when they turned out, Tad Butler had gone. On a piece of paper pinned to a tree they found a note reading: "I'm off, fellows. Bye."
"Well," grunted Ned Rector, as he served the meager breakfast, "at this rate there soon will be nothing left of the Pony Rider Boys except the skeletons of two mules."
Chunky, solemn-visaged, was munching his hard boiled egg slowly, in an effort to make it last as long as possible.
"This all I get to eat to-day?"
"Eat? No, certainly not. I'm going to cook all the rest of the day for you. Let's see, you shall have a porterhouse steak, fried potatoes, some nice fresh salad and a soup plate of ice cream and—"
"And a finger bowl," finished Chunky, without the suspicion of a smile.
"Yes, with egg water in it," added Ned.
It was the longest day they had ever put in. There was no difference of opinion on that point when the day was ended. They had hoped to hear from Tad before nightfall. He did not return, however, and they had little hopes of his doing so now that the darkness was coming on.
There was no merriment in the camp that night. By dint of careful management they had saved enough out of their supplies to give them a light breakfast on the following morning, After that they had no idea how they should manage, providing no assistance came to them.
The mules were the only indifferent ones in the party. They munched the green leaves contentedly, sleeping when they were not eating. Near the middle of the night one of the animals set up a loud braying which brought the boys from their cots in quick alarm. At first they could not imagine what it was. They tumbled out, shouting to each other.
"What is it, Indians?" cried Stacy, dancing about in his pajamas.
"No, it's nothing but a mule with an overloaded stomach," answered Ned turning back to his tent growling his disgust.
"Wish it wouldn't dream quite so loudly," grumbled Chunky.
When morning came, and still no tidings from either the Professor orTad, the boys began to realize the seriousness of their position.
"Something's got to be done, fellows," announced Ned Rector.
"I wonder if we could not shoot some game," suggested Walter.
"That's a good idea. But, is there any game here?"
"I heard an owl last night," said Stacy.
"We haven't got down to owls yet. We may when we get hungry enough," returned Ned. "I think I'll take my rifle and go out gunning."
"Do you think the Professor would like you to do that?" questionedWalter.
"I am sure he would not wish us to starve. There must be some kind of game in these mountains that's fit to eat. I'll shoot almost anything that comes along."
"Don't you get lost, now," cautioned Walter.
"No danger. And I'll bring back something to eat, you take my word for that."
Ned, with rifle thrown over his left arm, stepped boldly from the camp, heading west, reasoning that this direction would take him into the heart of the mountains where he would be more likely to find game.
An hour passed; then they heard a gun.
"He's shot something," exulted Walter.
"At something, you mean," corrected Chunky.
A second shot followed quickly on the first, then a third one.
"Guess you're right, Chunky," smiled Walter.
Later on they heard three more shots.
"That sounded a long way off," mused Walter. "I'm afraid he is getting too far from camp."
Chunky nodded thoughtfully.
"He thinks he can shoot, but he can't. I wish I had a fish line. I'd go down to the river in the gorge there and see if I couldn't catch a fish. Maybe I can fix up something that will—"
"No, you don't, Stacy Brown. You stay right here. You would get lost before you got out of sight of the camp. I don't want to be left alone here, with nothing but a pair of long-eared mules for company."
Stacy shrugged his shoulders and began idly cutting his name in the bark of a tree with his knife.
"Funny we haven't heard Ned shoot in some time," said Walter after a long interval of silence. "He must be working his way back. Think so?"
"Nope," answered Stacy, still engaged with the knife.
"You don't? Why not."
"Hasn't got any more shells, that's why."
"I don't understand."
"He shot six times, didn't he?"
"Let's see—yes, I believe he did."
"Well, that's all the bullets he had in the gun. He'll have to throw stones if he sees anything else to shoot at."
A startled expression appeared on Walter Perkins's face.
"You're right, Chunky. But why don't he come back, then?"
"Lost, I guess," replied Stacy, not appearing to be in the least disturbed by his own announcement.
Walter started up in alarm.
"You don't—you don't think—"
"No, I'm just guessing."
"If—if Ned should get lost, too, it would be awful."
Stacy nodded indifferently, Walter meanwhile pacing restlessly back and forth.
The lad's face wore a troubled look. With the Professor and all his companions save Stacy, gone; with no food left in camp, Walter Perkins had reason to feel alarmed.
Chunky, however, whittled on undisturbed.
"Are you hungry, Chunky?" asked Walter, pausing in his walk, later on.
Stacy nodded.
The day had worn along well into the afternoon and neither of the boys had had anything to eat since early morning. Their appetites were beginning to assert themselves.
"I'm going to get some mineral water. It surely will help some. Come on, it won't hurt you."
Stacy turned a pair of resentful eyes on his companion.
"No egg water for me. I'll starve first," he answered, with more spirit than usual.
While Walter went to the spring to help himself to the sulphur water,Stacy stood off to view his artistic work on the bark of the tree.
"Guess—guess they'll know I've been here, anyway," he mumbled.
"That's real good stuff," announced Walter, as he returned. "I do not feel nearly so hungry as I did before. Better try some."
Stacy made no reply to the suggestion.
When twilight came on, Walter Perkins was more alarmed than ever. There could be no doubt now that Ned Rector had missed his way. Stacy remained unmoved. He bedded down the mules. When he returned from this duty he carried something bright in one hand. Walter's eyes caught it at once.
"What have you there?" he demanded.
"Can of orange marmalade," replied Chunky, with a twinkle. "Guess it must have been dropped out when we unloaded the pack. Good thing there's only two of us to eat it."
Tad Butler had left the camp at daybreak. He started off at a slow trot which he kept up over the rough, uneven ground until some time after sunrise, all the time keeping the mountain gorge in sight so that he might not lose his way.
He had eaten no breakfast, having simply taken a cup of sulphur water, believing that he could make better time on an empty stomach. However, he now sat down and munched on one of the three hard boiled eggs he had taken with him.
"Guess it will be a good thing to rest for half an hour," he said to himself. This he did, by stretching flat on his back, after having finished his scanty breakfast.
Sharp on the half hour by his watch, Tad sprang up, greatly refreshed. Leaning well forward he dropped into a long, easy lope, which carried him over the ground rapidly. Hard as nails and spurred on by the need of his companions, the lad pushed on and on, blazing his trail as he went, not feeling any fatigue to speak of. Now and then he would pause for a few moments to make sure that he was not straying from the river gorge, which occasional rocks and foliage hid from his view.
At noon Tad sat down and ate another egg.
"I must be getting near the place," he mused.
Still there was no trace of human habitation. There remained nothing for him to do save to push on, which he did stubbornly.
When the sun went down he seemed no nearer to the object of his search than when he had set out at daybreak. The lad, after looking about, came upon a tree which he climbed in order to get an unobstructed view of the country. He argued that camp-fires would be lighted for the evening meal. Not a sign of smoke could he discover anywhere.
Tad's heart sank.
"I've got to stay out all night," he muttered. "If I were sure of finding some one in the morning I wouldn't mind."
There remaining about two hours before dark, he decided to push on as long as he could see. So he trotted on resolutely until the shadows fell so densely about his path that he could no longer find his way.
Tad reluctantly halted and after selecting a suitable place, gathered wood for a camp-fire. Water there was none, so he had to do without it while he ate his last egg.
Then he lay down to sleep, refusing to allow himself to think very long at a time of his lonely position.
Late that night, the boy awakened, finding the moon shining brightly.
He got up and looked about him. The camp-fire had died out. The light of the moon was so strong that he could make out the surroundings almost as well as in daylight.
"I may as well go on," he decided. "Perhaps I'll get somewhere in time for breakfast. If I don't I surely will have no breakfast, for I haven't a scrap of food left."
So he trudged on. He did not run this time, for a little more care than he had been exercising was now necessary to avoid pitfalls in the shadows cast by rock and tree.
Daylight came, but still the weary boy kept on his way. Hungry? Yes, Tad was actually faint for want of food. He tried the experiment of chewing some leaves that he knew were harmless. At first this gave him some relief. After a little it made him sick, so he did not try the experiment again. He feared he was going to give out.
Toward eleven o'clock the boy came out upon a rise of ground overlooking a long slope. He rubbed his eyes almost unbelievingly.
Halfway down the slope was a shack and off beyond it stood a man with his back turned toward him.
Tad uttered a shout of joy and began leaping down the incline. The man down there, startled by the cry, wheeled suddenly and descrying the figure of Tad Butler racing toward him, ran to his cabin, appearing a moment later with a rifle in his hands.
A moment more a second man dashed out, he too carrying a gun. Both men stood facing the lad, until, when he got near enough, they discovered that it was a boy; then they laughed and lowered their weapons.
Tad fairly staggered up to them.
"Act as if ye'd seen a ghost, young feller. What's the excitement about?" demanded the first of the two men.
Tad explained as best he could between breaths, at which the men laughed more heartily than ever.
"I want something to eat first of all. I'm half starved," he told them.
"Sorry, younker, but we ain't got more'n enough for ourselves. It's a long ways to where we kin git more."
"But I am willing to pay you for it. I must have food right now," protested Tad.
"So must we."
"Who are you?" demanded Tad indignantly. "I didn't suppose there was a man mean enough to refuse a boy at least a piece of bread when that boy was starving."
"We're prospecting. I reckon we know our business best. Ye can't get any chuck out of this outfit."
"Then tell me where the Red Star Mine is. I've got to get there at once."
"She's nigh onto fifteen miles off thar—"
"Why, that's the direction I came from," exclaimed the lad.
"Sure. Ye must have dodged it. Did ye pass the Ruby Mounting?"
"I don't know. Where is it?" asked Tad Butler.
"You'd know if ye saw it once. It's a peak that looks red when the sun shines on it."
"No, I didn't pass the place. Tell me how I can get to the mining camp, even if you won't let me have anything to eat," begged the boy. "My companions will starve before I can get back unless I get help to them soon."
"Got a compass?"
"Yes."
"Then lay yer course north by northwest three p'ints and ye'll hit the Red Star plumb in the eye—if ye don't miss it," and the miner laughed coarsely. "Know anybody there?"
"Mr. Munson, Richard Munson."
"Dick Munson, eh?" returned the man, with increasing interest.
"I'll be going now. Much obliged for directing me, at least," saidTad, turning away and starting with compass in hand.
The men said something to each other in a low tone, but Tad paid no attention to them, hurrying away as fast as his weary limbs would carry him.
"Hey, young feller, come back here."
Tad did so reluctantly.
"Sorry we can't give ye anything to eat. My pardner and I reckon though that ye can milk the goat if ye want to."
"The goat?"
"Yep. The goat's our milk wagon—she gives milk for the outfit."
At first he thought they were joking, but Tad suddenly realized that the men were in earnest.
"I—I never milked a goat," he replied hesitatingly.
"Well, if yer hungry enough ye'll try."
"Where is the goat?"
"Oh, I dunno. Browsing hereabouts, I reckon. Look her up if ye want to. We ain't got time."
"Thank you. I'll try."
"Mebby you'll find her over in that little draw there to the left," suggested the miner.
Tad sought the draw and after some search came upon the goat rather unexpectedly. The animal gazed at him suspiciously and moved off when he spoke to her.
Tad coaxed without avail, until finally with a handful of green leaves, that he had pulled from a branch above his head, he managed to excite the animal's interest. While she was nibbling at his offering, Tad patted her and after a time managed to quiet her sufficiently to enable him to get around to one side.
He had milked cows, but this was his first experience at milking a goat. As a result the lad went about his task rather awkwardly. Holding his cup with the left hand and using the right, he soon filled the cup, gulping down the contents greedily.
"Gracious, that tastes good!" gasped the boy. "I never knew goat's milk was anything like that. I suppose I can take all I want."
He helped himself to another and still another cupful, until he felt that he could hold no more.
"Thank you, Mrs. Goat," he soothed, patting the animal, while she in turn rubbed her nose against his sleeve as much as to say, "You're welcome. Help yourself if you wish any more."
"No, thank you, I think I have plenty, but you shall have some more green leaves."
Tad pulled down branch after branch which he piled up in front of the goat, and which she attacked with vigorous nibbles and tugs.
Very much refreshed, the boy ran back to the miners' shack.
"How much do I owe you?" he asked.
"Don't owe us nuthin'."
"Well, here is twenty-five cents. I thank you very much," replied the lad, laying the money down in front of the door of the shack, because the miner refused to reach out his hand for it.
"You're welcome, kid. Mebby we might squeeze out a chunk of bread after all."
"I think I have had plenty. I do not feel hungry now," he smiled."How far is it to the Red Star the way you have directed me?"
"As the eagle flies, 'bout twelve miles. You'll make it in fifteen, cause you'll have to go around a draw that you can't get through. When you get round the draw just come back till ye git on yer course again," directed the miner.
"Thank you. Good-bye. Hope I have a chance to return the favor some time," smiled Tad, swinging his hand in parting salute, as he started with renewed courage.
The fifteen miles of rough traveling did not discourage him in the least. He reasoned that he ought to reach the mining camp by four or five o'clock that afternoon. That would be in time for him to start back with food for the other boys, whom he had left in camp.
"My, but I'll bet Chunky is a walking skeleton by this time," smiled Tad, as the thought of his companion's appetite came humorously into his mind.
Talking to himself to keep up his courage, consulting his compass frequently, that he might not stray from the course in the least, the lad hurried on. Reaching the draw that the miners had described, he recognized it at once, worked his way around it and came back. He might have shortened the journey had he but known how to work out his course by the compass. Tad realized this. He told himself that he could not afford to try any experiment, however.
His judgment was verified, when, shortly after four o'clock he was gratified by sighting several pillars of black smoke.
"That's the place. I've hit it!" exulted the lad, breaking into a sharp trot, which he increased until he was running at top speed.
With clothes in a sad state of disorder, eyes red and sunken, Tad Butler burst into the Red Star mining camp. His sudden entrance caused the few people about to pause and gaze at him in astonishment.
"Where's Mr. Munson—Mr. Richard Munson? I must see him at once," he asked of one of these.
"He ain't here."
"What! Not here?"
"No."
"Then where is he? I must find him," expostulated the lad.
"Reckon you'll have a long run, then. He's gone over to the Mears mines. That's a good twenty miles from here, I reckon."
Tad groaned in his disappointment, and sitting down on a rock, buried his head in his hands.