"The crowd always goes with the upper dog," nodded Rector, as the mountaineers crowded about Tad to congratulate him on his plucky fight. But Tad was too much interested in rescuing the letter to his mother to give heed to the men who clamored to tell him what a brave boy he was.
There were a few among the mountaineers, however, whose faces were dark and threatening. These did not offer their congratulations. They were men who, for reasons best known to themselves, sympathized with Smoky Griffin, but who had not dared to go to his assistance with the ready revolvers of Ned Rector and Chunky Brown so plainly in evidence.
"Come in here and help yourself to anything in my store," shouted Jim Abs from the doorway. "Any galoot that can fit like that without turnin' a hair is welcome to anything that Jim Abs's got. Come right along in, all the rest of you strangers. Hi, men, if them ponies want to drink don't let 'em suffer."
"Thank you," smiled Butler. "There is nothing that I can think of that would make me any happier than a glass of water, if I might trouble you."
"Shore, little pardner. Want a bit of lemon in it?"
"If you will let me pay for the lemon."
"Nary! I reckon you've done me more'n five cents' worth of benefit in getting rid of Smoky Griffin. He won't be around these parts right smart, I don't reckon."
"Then I will take the water without the lemon," decided Tad.
"You'll do nothing of the sort." Jim hustled around, setting out five glasses which he filled from a pump at the rear of the store. Into each glass he squeezed some juice from a lemon, adding a spoonful of sugar that he dipped from a barrel. He shoved the concoction across the counter grinning good-naturedly.
"Drink hearty, lads."
"My goodness, I'm glad he gave me a glass of that lemonade," gasped Chunky between gulps. "I nearly got lockjaw watching him fix it."
"Say, but you-all can fit," declared Abs, addressing Tad, at whom he gazed in admiring wonder.
"Thank you, sir. That's the very best glass of lemonade I've ever drunk," answered Butler, smiling sweetly. The battle grin had given place to a smile that was almost girlish in its sweetness. It was a winning smile, too, but the person who thought an effeminate nature was hidden back of the smile was likely to be keenly disappointed.
The boys went back to the porch where they sat down to finish writing their letters. Tad's letter to his mother was so trodden with dirt that he was obliged to rewrite it.
"If any more of those bad men come along here looking for a fight, please tell them to wait till I finish my letter, then I'll attend to them," said Stacy pompously as he sat down. "Say, that fellow didn't take his revolver, did he?"
A mountaineer shook his head. Chunky went out and picked up the weapon, examining it critically. He carried the weapon in and handed it to Mr. Abs.
"I reckon you'd better keep this," he said. "Smoke may come along looking for it when he gets his eyes open so he can find the way."
"No, sir, not Griffin. He won't show his face around these parts in a right smart time."
"Then you may have it. I wouldn't tote such a cheap gun as that. Why, he couldn't hit the side of a house with it and do any damage," declared Stacy.
As Chunky emerged from the store he discovered the big eyes of Billy Veal peering around the corner of the building.
"You may come out now," grinned the fat boy. "Circus all over and the concert let out. Perfectly safe for you now. Here, have a banana," offered Stacy, helping himself to one from the bunch on the porch and tossing it to the colored man. "Everything belongs to me around here."
"Chunky, go in and pay for that banana," commanded Tad, glancing up with a disapproving frown.
"But didn't the man say we could have whatever we wanted?"
"You do as I tell you."
"Lend me a nickel, then," begged the fat boy.
"Regular cheap man, you are, Stacy Brown." growled Rector.
"Here's your nickel," said Tad, handing out a five-cent piece. "That makes seventy cents you owe me."
"Why do you want to remind me of it every time? Don't you think I have trouble enough without having to worry over my debts all the while?"
Muttering to himself, Chunky entered the store, laid the five cents on the counter, uttering a deep sigh as he did so, then returning to the porch threw himself down and began scribbling. After a few minutes of this Stacy's head began to nod. He recovered himself with a start, grinned sheepishly, and started writing again. Five minutes later he lay on his back on the porch, both legs hanging over, snoring loudly.
He was still asleep when the boys, having finished their writing, went in to post their letters. This done they started for their ponies, Chops having, in the meantime, packed the supplies. The Professor was about to awaken the sleeping boy when Tad whispered to him. The Professor grinned.
"Mr. Abs, when we are off yonder by that rise of ground you wake him up, will you?"
"Sure," chuckled the storekeeper. "You'll see some fun then."
"How far is it to the rise?" asked Tad.
"Nigh onto three miles."
"Good. That will give him a run for his money. Thank you for all your kindness. We may be back here for further supplies later on. We've got two good, healthy food-consumers in our outfit."
The storekeeper said he would be glad to see them at any time. They had spent nearly twenty dollars with him, so of course he would be glad to see them again. He didn't care if they came back for more supplies next day.
In the meantime the party quietly rode away, settling down to a gallop after they had ridden far enough from the store so that the hoofbeats should not awaken the sleeper. While all this was going on the loungers sat about watching the sleeping Chunky and grinning broadly. They were appreciating the joke, and they knew they were going to have some fun.
Smoky Griffin's friends had taken their departure some time since, so there was no apprehension felt as to their interfering with Stacy. The fat boy, in all probability, would not have awakened in hours had not someone carelessly stumbled over him when the party were drawing near the rise referred to by Butler.
Chunky sat up grumbling.
"Say, fellows, what do you want to wake me up for—"
Stacy rubbed his eyes and gazed around him somewhat bewildered. Thinking the boys must have gone into the store, he got up and hurried in. Mr. Abs was unusually busy and it was fully two minutes before he found time to lend an ear to Stacy's urgings.
"Where's my party?"
"What, you here yet?" demanded the storekeeper in well-feigned surprise.
"I reckon I am. Where's the rest of the crowd?"
"Don't you know?"
"If I knew I wouldn't be asking you, would I?"
This line of reasoning seemed to strike Jim Abs forcibly, for he nodded his head until Chunky feared the storekeeper would dislocate his neck.
"Where are they?"
"I reckon they're on their way to Smoky Bald."
"Smoky Bald? On their way to Smoky Bald?" shouted the fat boy.
"Sure. Didn't you know that?"
Chunky regarded the storekeeper keenly for a few seconds, then bolted out through the door. Shading his eyes he gazed off across the plateau. There in the far distance he could just make out a body of horsemen jogging along.
"Is—is that my crowd?" he demanded, turning to the grinning faces of the mountaineers.
"I reckon it is, boss," answered one.
"That's what I call a mean trick!" shouted the fat boy, making a dash for his pony. In the meantime the pony had been moved around to the other side of the store. Chunky howled when he failed to find the animal where he had left it, and it was some five minutes later when he discovered the horse. It did not take the boy many seconds to leap into the saddle, and urging his horse he went dashing off across the plain in pursuit of his party, shouting and occasionally shooting up into the air to attract their attention.
A chorus of yells from the mountaineers followed him, but Stacy Brown was too angry to listen. Already the pony's neck was flecked with foam, Stacy urging the animal on to renewed efforts by frequent applications of the pointless rowels which he rubbed vigorously against the little animal's sides.
"There he comes," shouted Tad as a report from Stacy's revolver reached their ears.
Glancing back the boys saw a cloud of dust rising between them and Jim Abs' store.
"Ride for it! We can get out of sight before he tops the ridge," shouted Tad.
Professor Zepplin, sharing in the youthful enthusiasm of the moment, touched spurs to his own horse and the party swept away.
In the meantime Stacy Brown, the sweat rolling from his face, was pounding across the plateau.
The country on the other side of the rise was rugged, dotted with huge rocks and well wooded with second growth. It made an ideal hiding ground for one who wished to conceal himself.
"Cut off to the right," shouted Tad.
"Watch out that he doesn't go by us and get lost," warned the Professor.
"You all keep quiet," directed Butler. "I'm going to have some fun with Stacy. Maybe it will teach him to be more watchful. Chunky would go to sleep even if he knew a band of Indians were creeping up on his camp."
The outfit swerved to the right as suggested by Butler, and soon was well screened by rocks and foliage. It was some little time after that before Chunky topped the rise.
"Hoo-oo-oo-oo!" he called in a long-drawn shout. "Hoo-oo-oo-oo!"
Not a sound greeted his call. Chunky fired his revolver into the air. Instead of stopping to look about more carefully, and evidently not suspecting another trick, Stacy dashed down the incline at a perilous pace, leaping small obstructions in order to take a shorter course to the point where he thought his party had entered the thicket.
Stacy had not penetrated into this very far before he pulled up and sat pondering deeply. Even yet he did not think far enough to realize that the boys would not desert him in this way.
Riding slowly into a thinly wooded space the boy fired the remaining chambers of his revolver, listening intently, then, with a grunt, recharged the weapon and got down from his pony.
"I'll stay here all the rest of the day. If they want me they can come back after me, that's all. If they don't, why I'll just go back to Hunt's Corners. I can get something to eat there. Yes, and the fellows will think something's happened to me and they'll be in an awful stew. I'll pay 'em back for this trick, I will. I guess they can't get so funny with me without getting the worst of it in the end."
Tad Butler, in the meantime, had left his pony and run towards the place where Chunky had entered the rugged, wooded stretch. Tad finally got near enough to be able to overhear the fat boy's angry mutterings. In fact, Butler was near enough to have roped Stacy. He thought of doing so, at one time, but decided that it would give Chunky too much of a fright. Then again, the fat boy might send a bullet Tad's way in case he were to make a miss with the rope. Tad, having stalked his prey as silently as a panther, had not even disturbed Stacy's pony. But now Butler observed that the animal was pricking up its ears, tossing its head as if it had scented something.
"Hang that pony. Has he discovered me?" thought Tad.
"Whoa there!" shouted Chunky. "Do you want to run away and leave me, too? Well, if you do, you just go on. I don't ask any odds of a horse, I don't. I can walk and I can get along without the rest of that crowd."
A faint noise to the left of Tad called his attention sharply in that direction. The sound was so faint that it might have been caused by a bird alighting on a treacherous small stone. At least something alive had caused it. The listening boy was sure of that.
Crouching lower, Tad listened, every faculty bent to the task of determining what had caused the slight sound. Chunky's continued talking made the task somewhat more difficult.
"I actually believe some other person is stalking him," muttered Tad. "I wonder if Ned has followed after me? No, he wouldn't come from that direction. He would not be likely to do so."
"Ho—ho—hum," yawned Chunky. "I suppose I might as well take a nap while I'm waiting for something to turn up. Guess I'll tie the critter, then stretch out on this rock. It feels nice and warm, but it's pretty hard."
The fat boy actually did what he had suggested. After securing the horse, he lay down on the rock, pillowing his head on his arms.
It was at about this time that Butler came to the conclusion that some person other than one of his own party really was creeping up on Stacy. From Tad's position he was unable to see what was happening on the other side of the rock behind which he was crouching, so, taking a long chance, he crept around it on all fours like an ape.
A stick snapped under a foot less than ten yards away. Tad put on a little more speed. Perhaps some harm was intended the fat boy. If so, Tad proposed to know about it and take a hand in the affair himself.
Suddenly the lad discovered what had caused the disturbance, and he nearly betrayed himself by an exclamation as he made the discovery. There, cautiously creeping up on the drowsy fat boy, was a man. The man's face was swollen and bloody, but the swollen eyes were fixed on the form of Chunky Brown in a malignant stare.
"Smoky Griffin!" gasped Tad under his breath.
The bully had discovered Stacy. Perhaps the fellow had been lying in wait for the party and had been a witness to their running away from Brown. If so he had shown more cleverness than Tad had given him credit for. The situation was certainly a critical one—for Stacy.
In his hand Smoky held a stone that must have weighed at least ten pounds. It was plainly his intention to smash the stone down on the sleeping fat boy. Tad Butler was thankful that he had thought to play a further trick on his companion. Perhaps that very prank had saved Stacy's life, or would save it, for Tad had already made up his mind what he was going to do.
"I'll give Smoky a surprise for the second time today," thought Butler, cautiously slipping his rope from his belt, straightening out the coils wholly by the sense of touch, never for a second removing his gaze from the face of Smoky Griffin.
Finally, having got the rope in shape for a throw, he took a light grip on the honda, or slip knot, then stood crouched as if for a spring.
Smoky straightened up. Tad was taking a great chance, but Chunky was taking even greater.
The bully drew back his hand. He was not more than six feet from where Stacy Brown lay asleep.
Suddenly the big loop of the Pony Rider Boy's lasso wriggled through the air. Smoky's keen ears caught a sound. He started to turn, then he uttered a yell and began clawing frantically at the nameless terror that had pinioned his arms to his side.
With a yell of fright Smoky toppled over on his side, then rolled to his back as Tad leaped away and began dragging and tugging at the rope.
Then another yell was heard. This time it was the fat boy's.
"Oh, wow! Wha—what is it?" he howled.
Just then his glances caught the livid face of Smoky writhing on the ground. Stacy did not see the rope, but he realized at once that Griffin was there to do him harm. With another yell Stacy let go three shots into the air.
"Yeow!" howled the fat boy.
Professor Zepplin and the other two boys heard both the shots and the yells. Tad's little joke was working out better than they had thought. Laughing and shouting they put spurs to their mounts and rode at a fast gallop towards the spot where they decided Chunky had met his surprise.
Ned was the first to reach the scene, with the Professor following close after him, Walter Perkins and the grinning Billy Veal following hard behind. Young Perkins brought his pony up sliding.
"What—what—" he gasped. "Professor!"
Ned was out of his saddle in a flash.
"Put up your gun!" he shouted, as Chunky began making threatening motions with the weapon.
"That's right, Ned. Hold him!" cried Tad, as Ned threw himself upon the fallen bully.
"What's this? What's this?" demanded the Professor, gazing perplexedly at the sight.
"Nothing, only there were two of us planning to give Stacy a surprise. This is our old friend, Smoky Griffin, otherwise the fallen bully. Get up!" Smoky got sullenly to his feet.
"What is the meaning of this?" demanded the incisive voice of Professor Zepplin.
Smoky made no reply.
"Stacy, what was this man trying to do to you?"
"I—I don't know. I—I was asleep."
"He was asleep," mocked Rector in a deep voice. "Of course he was. He always is. I'm going to organize a first aid to the sleepy corps."
"There won't be any corps, 'cause we'll all be patients," retorted Stacy quickly.
Tad answered the look of inquiry in the eyes of the Professor by explaining what had occurred.
"I believe the fellow intended to crush Stacy's head with the stone. It is fortunate that I got here ahead of him. What do you think we had better do with him?"
"We will talk that over, Tad. All being agreeable we will first seek a more favorable location for camping. Is there water down in the gully yonder, guide?"
"Nassir, yassir. Ah reckon."
"Go look for it. When you find water return here and lead us to it."
"I would a heap sight rather be led to a lemonade stream," declared Stacy.
"You will be wanting hot and cold water on tap next," laughed Ned.
"I have them already," answered Stacy.
"You have?"
"Of course I have. I'm in hot water all the time, and there's plenty of cold water in the stream. Say, I've got a bone to pick with you fellows, but—I've forgotten what it's about."
Billy Veal had ridden away in search of water while the two boys were talking. At the same time the Professor and Tad were observing the prisoner, who had been tied to a tree, and were conversing in low tones.
"I think we had better let him go in the morning, Professor. We shall have to take our chances of more trouble from him. If he were wanted by the authorities, I shouldn't be in favor of this move. As it is, we can't bother with him."
"Yes, I agree with you. But why wait until morning?" urged the Professor.
"Because he might hang around after dark and get into mischief. If we send him away in the morning we shall have an opportunity to get a good distance away from the fellow before night."
"That is good judgment," agreed Professor Zepplin. "It shall be as you suggest. Hasn't that lazy guide returned yet, boys?"
"He is coming now, Professor," answered Walter.
"It strikes me it is about time."
"Did you find water?" called Ned.
"Nassir, yassir."
"Tad, how do you translate it?"
"He has found water," answered Butler.
"I've got it," cried Chunky. "If he'd said 'yassir, nassir,' that would mean that he had not, wouldn't it?"
"You have solved the problem, Chunky," nodded Tad.
"Guide, lead the ponies to the place, and if the camping ground is suitable, prepare to pitch the camp. We will join you soon."
"Yassir."
"Hey, Chops, you forgot something," called Stacy.
"Yassir?"
"No, sir, 'nassir.'"
"I think we might as well be getting over to the camping ground, Professor," suggested Tad. "It is understood, then, that Smoky is to remain with us until morning?"
"Yes, if you think best."
The boy walked over and untied the bully. Griffin started to walk away. Butler laid a hand on his arm.
"Not so fast. We are not going to lose you yet awhile."
"What are you goin' t' do?"
"Going to keep you with us for a time," smiled the Pony Rider Boy.
"You ain't got no right t' hold me."
"I think you are right about that. Neither did you have any right to interfere with us at Hunt's Corners, nor to try to shoot me, which you surely would have done had I not taken your pistol away. If you think we ought to let you go, why I'll do so after I have turned you over to a sheriff. Which shall it be?" questioned Butler sweetly.
The prisoner grunted. His rage threatened to get the better of him, though he was making strenuous efforts to control himself. Tad motioned to the man to come along, which Smoky did, walking sullenly by the side of the Pony Rider Boy, though he was not bound. He was as free as ever save that he knew any attempt to run away would meet with a quick, stern check. He had had evidence of the Pony Rider Boy's prowess with his fists. Smoky looked enviously at the pistol in its holster at Tad's side. The boy observed the glance in the direction of the weapon, but made no comment.
"Keep your pistols where they won't be a temptation to Smoky," whispered Tad to the boys after they had reached the camping ground, which was on a gentle slope leading down to a mountain stream. They understood, and were on their guard from that time on.
Griffin sat sullenly watching the pitching of the camp. No one appeared to be giving the slightest attention to him, yet he knew he was being watched just the same.
Twenty minutes sufficed to pitch the tents, after which duffle-bags were stowed in the peak of the triangle formed by the rear of the tents, beds made, and all preparations completed for the night.
"How's that for record time, Smoky?" chuckled Tad, turning to the prisoner.
"All right," grumbled Griffin.
"Come, cheer up," urged Tad. "Don't be a grouch. We don't like to have grouches around this camp. The fat boy is our official grouch. We can't stand more than one at a time."
"I guess I'm no more a grouch than some other folks I know of," protested Stacy. "Say, I know now what that bone is I want to pick with you. Why did you fellows run away from me this afternoon?"
"Run away from you?" exclaimed Ned.
"Yes, run away from me. You needn't look so innocent. You know you did and you did it on purpose, and you nearly got me killed. That—that gentle soul over there was about to smash my head with a stone. He would have done so, too, if I hadn't woke up and scared him off with a shot or two."
"You have another guess coming."
"Do you mean to say you didn't run away from me?" demanded Stacy indignantly.
"I haven't said. We were ready to go and we went, that's all there is to it."
"No, that isn't all there is to it, Ned. There's some more to it, but the other part hasn't come to pass yet," declared Chunky significantly. "That means you, too," he added, turning to Griffin. "I'll have something to say to you also for wanting to smash me with a rock. I ought to take it out of you right here and now. I would if you weren't so bunged up already. I don't like to pitch into a helpless man."
Smoky growled long and deep. Tad signaled Stacy to keep away from the prisoner. About half an hour later an early supper was spread.
"Come, Griffin, join us," urged the Professor.
"Don't want no supper," grunted the prisoner.
"You must eat," insisted Tad, stepping up to him. "Because we are not good friends is no reason why you shouldn't eat. It will not impose any obligation on you. If you want to fight right after you have broken biscuit with us there's not the least objection in the world to your doing so."
With an unintelligible grunt the fellow got up and dragged himself over to the blanket on which the supper had been spread. Perhaps it was the savory odor of the bacon and the steaming coffee that so tantalized the prisoner as to cause him to be willing to sit down with his enemies and eat. At least Smoky's appetite had not suffered by his unfortunate experiences. Even Chops opened his eyes on seeing the mountaineer stow away food. Chunky watched the fellow almost admiringly.
After supper the prisoner was permitted to smoke by the campfire. Tad Butler was shrewd. He hoped by this friendliness to disarm the bully so that the fellow, when released, would go on about his own business and give them no further trouble. Butler did not know Griffin. His hope was vain. Revenge deep and deadly was smouldering in the heart of the mountaineer. At that very moment he was planning how he might get even with the boys who had so humiliated and punished him. They would hear from Smoky Griffin again and in no uncertain tone.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Smoke, that we shall have to tie you tonight, but we will make you as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. You shall be untied in the morning, though I warn you not to play tricks on us. We may appear easy, but you ought to know we aren't so easy when our good nature has been abused," warned Tad as he tied the hands and feet of the prisoner, placing the man under a blanket laid across four stakes driven into the ground. "There, I think you will be reasonably comfortable."
Griffin had offered no resistance to the tying. Perhaps he knew it would be useless to do so. There were too many hard-muscled young men about to make resistance profitable, so Smoky submitted and was tucked in his little bed for the night.
"Is the prisoner well secured?" asked the Professor.
"I think so," answered Butler. "I will keep an occasional eye on him during the night."
The camp was soon in slumber. Stacy Brown's breathing could be heard clear and distinct above all other sounds. Tad from his bunk commanded a view of the prisoner, and now and then the lad would awaken and glance out at the man lying there, apparently asleep. But Griffin was not asleep. He lay alternately staring at the fire and at Tad's rifle which stood against a tree some twenty feet from where Smoky lay bound. Leaving his rifle out there looked like carelessness on the part of the Pony Rider Boy.
After a time Smoky began to wriggle and grunt. He was trying to free himself of his bonds, believing that the camp was sound asleep. And so it was, with the exception of Butler, who now lay wide awake observing the efforts of the prisoner. Tad did not believe the fellow would be able to free himself and was therefore amazed when all at once Smoke threw up his hands clear of the rope that had bound them together. Next the prisoner began tugging at the rope around his ankles.
All this time Tad lay back with hands under his head, curiously watching the man. Then Smoky's feet came free, but the mountaineer did not get up at once. Instead, he lay panting and peering about him to see if his efforts had been observed. Apparently they had not.
Smoky began creeping toward the rifle standing there against the tree, though Butler did not appear to understand what the man was trying to do. About this time, however, Tad got up and yawned audibly. Griffin instantly flattened himself on the ground.
The Pony Rider Boy stepped out without even casting a look in the mountaineer's direction and sleepily made his way to the campfire, which he prodded listlessly, then piled on more wood until the fire began to crackle and snap, sending a shower of sparks up into the night air.
Smoky eyed Tad suspiciously for a moment, then began wriggling towards the rifle against the tree. Tad, apparently unconscious of his danger, still stood gazing dreamily into the crackling flames of the campfire.
Griffin half raised himself and stretching forth his hands he grasped the weapon and drew it towards him, almost hugging the gun in his delight. At last Smoky Griffin was himself again, and his swollen eyes narrowed as he gazed at the boy standing there before him.
A moment of hesitation followed. Suddenly the bully threw the weapon to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
No report came. Smoky pulled the trigger again, but with no better result. He uttered a growl of rage. Tad turned slowly towards the mountaineer, grinning broadly.
"After you have finished trying to shoot me, put my gun back where you found it, if you don't mind," suggested the Pony Rider Boy easily. "You may thank me for preventing your being a murderer. I've been watching you all the evening. I saw you when you first began trying to get clear of the ropes. I saw you when you started for the rifle. That didn't worry me, for I drew the cartridges before putting the gun there about supper time. Smoky, you've made a monkey of yourself and you've shown what an easy mark you are. Put down that gun!" The last words were uttered in a stern voice.
For a brief second the Bad Man hesitated, then with a growl he clubbed the rifle and sprang for Tad Butler. A few feet only separated them. Tad was now in greater peril than he had been when the desperate man was drawing a deliberate bead on him. Still the lad did not appear to be disturbed in the least.
"Don't come any nearer, Mister Man!" warned Butler in a calm voice.
Smoky Griffin found himself gazing into the muzzle of Tad Butler's revolver. This brought the mountaineer to a quick halt, his eyes blazing with passion. Slowly the rifle was lowered from its clubbed position, Smoky still grasping it by the barrel.
"Put the gun back where you found it," directed Tad.
The conversation had been carried on in a low tone, so as not to disturb the camp. Tad was still grinning. He had enjoyed the little scene immensely, besides which he had taught the former bully of Hunt's Corners another wholesome lesson.
"Now stand where you are, that's a good little boy. Don't try to run. You might be stopped so suddenly that you would take a tumble. Ned!"
One call was sufficient. Ned Rector came stumbling out, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Wha—what is it?"
"If you don't mind, I wish you would tie our friend here—"
"But, how did he get loose?"
"He managed it all by himself, then he tried to shoot me. I knew he would attempt to get away. We will tie him up this time so he won't get loose. Secure him to that tree, Ned, and tie him good and tight, but not so tightly that it will hurt. Smoky, you sit down with your back against that tree. You will be quite comfortable there and it is only a few hours till daybreak now," suggested Butler.
Smoky did not obey at once. Thereupon Ned pushed him backwards against a tree. In that instant the mountaineer's arms gripped Rector around the waist, pinioning Ned's arms to his sides, and though Ned struggled to free himself he might as well have tried to wriggle from the grip of an iron vise. The boy thought his ribs were being crushed in.
Ned did not utter a sound, but his face was red and he was struggling desperately, while Tad stood grinning. Butler had expected this very result. It was as excellent a lesson for Ned as had been the previous lesson for the desperado.
Tad strolled over to them.
"Now, Smoky, you have done about enough for one night. Let go and sit down there. You know what will be done if you don't obey orders."
Griffin was too full of ferocious rage to obey. He was determined to inflict all the damage that he could, on the boy in his grip. Tad stepped quickly behind the bully. Placing a hand around over Smoky's forehead, the other hand pressing on the mountaineer's Adam's apple, Butler gave the head a quick backward jerk.
The fellow's grip on Ned relaxed almost instantly. He staggered back choking and gasping, whereupon Tad thrust the ruffian from him and leaped back out of the way of those powerful arms.
"Sit down before I put you down!" commanded the Pony Rider Boy sternly.
"Let me at him, let me at him!" yelled Rector.
His cry aroused the others. All hands tumbled out shouting.
"What's going on here?" thundered Professor Zepplin, charging into the scene clad only in his pajamas.
"Just a little bout with our friend," answered Tad, laughing. "Ned, you keep your head. Get down there as I told you, Griffin!"
The fellow sank down, with a hopeless expression on his face, but his eyes were full of menace. Tad stood guard over him while Rector with set, angry face gave the rope several twists about Smoky's body, finally securing the rope to the other side of the tree.
"There, I'd like to see you get away from that hitch, my slippery friend," announced Ned.
"There's nothing to tell, Professor, except that Griffin managed to release himself. I don't think he will try it again. He has learned that we are not easily caught napping," said Tad.
"He is an ungrateful wretch," growled the Professor. "Griffin, I am amazed that you should act like that after we have treated you so kindly. We ought to turn you over to an officer. I am not sure that we shall not do so on the morrow."
"Turn in, you people. I will hang around until morning," directed Tad, who went to his tent and lay down. He did not wholly trust to the prisoner's bonds, so the lad kept up his vigil until morning when the others began to stir, after which he dozed off for a catnap.
The prisoner this time was not wholly released for his meal. His hands were freed, but that was all. Still he ate a hearty breakfast, after which he was brought over to the campfire while Chops was clearing away the stuff preparatory to packing and getting under way.
"We have very little to say to you this morning, Griffin," began the Professor, after clearing his throat, as he always did before making an important announcement. "Where do you live?"
"None of your business."
"It is immaterial. I was merely about to suggest that you return to that home, wherever it may be, and stay there. Be warned and keep away from this outfit. You will get into serious difficulties if you harass us further. We don't want to see you about our camp again while we are on the Ridge. Tad, will you liberate the prisoner?"
Butler did so.
"You may go," he said with a wave of the hand toward the fellow's pony, saddled and bridled ready for him close at hand, Smoky did not even glance at them. With lowered head he climbed into his saddle, put spurs to his mount and quickly disappeared from the scene.
"There, I hope we have seen the last of that ruffian," exclaimed the Professor as Smoky rode away.
"I am afraid we haven't, Professor," answered Tad, with a shake of the head.
"Why—why, what makes you think that?"
"He is a vengeful man. He is already plotting to get even with us. However, there's no use to worry about him. We will take care of him if he comes around our outfit."
"Yes, we'll take care of Smoke," jeered Chunky. "I wonder if there are any more like him in these parts?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," returned Tad. "You did very well in helping to hold the other mountaineers off yesterday, Chunky. But you spoiled it all twice."
"How?"
"By going to sleep on the job. Never go to sleep unless there is good reason for doing so."
"There was good reason. I should say there was," protested the fat boy.
"What was the reason?"
"I was sleepy."
"Surely, you could not ask a better reason, Tad," said the Professor with a grim smile.
"I've nothing more to say?" laughed Tad. "That argument is unanswerable."
Ned suggested that they get under way, so they mounted and rode away towards Smoky Bald, that huge towering mountain, rising up into the sky nearly seven thousand feet. The Pony Rider Boys were now approaching what was known as "The Land of the Sky," and their spirits were fully as high as the name. About them the country was becoming more rugged, making progress slower and slower, but they did not mind.
By this time it was unusual to see a human being, though at rare intervals they came upon a mountaineer's cabin. The occupants of such always were suspicious of the strangers, and the boys cut short their calls with merely passing words of greeting.
For two days following the departure of the bully they had pressed on and on. But now another disturbing factor had come up to irritate them. Their food was most mysteriously disappearing. No matter how many biscuit they baked, these were sure to disappear within a few hours.
A similar state of affairs, though not to the same extent, had existed on their way through Smoky Pass. Now it had sprung up again. At first Tad suspected Stacy Brown and his appetite; then the guide came in for a share of suspicion, but not a clue was the lad able to find. He thought he had checked the losses when he ordered all the reserve stores piled in the corner of his tent with his duffle-bag, but the mystery still remained unsolved.
"It's my opinion that there's something going on around these diggings," declared Chunky as they were sitting about the campfire one evening.
"There is no doubt about that," replied Tad. "If you can find out just what is going on you will be doing the Pony Rider Boys, as an association, a real service."
"I had a dream last night," began Chunky.
"Did you dream that you were living in marble halls?" chuckled Rector.
"No, I couldn't dream anything so pleasant when you were snoring in the next tent. I've had the same dream for three nights running. And, fellows, it was an awful dream. I know it means trouble for someone."
"Well, what was your dream?" asked Tad.
"I don't want to hear it if it is another of your old chestnuts," declared Ned.
"Go on, tell it, Chunky," urged Walter.
"It was a terrible dream," replied the fat boy in a deep, thrilling voice.
"Well, well, surely it couldn't have been any more terrible than this suspense," interrupted Butler.
"I dreamed—I dreamed—" Stacy paused to gaze feelingly at his companions.
"You dreamed? Yes?" reminded Rector.
"I dreamed—I dreamed I saw three blind men leading a one-eyed horse to water."
"Oh, pooh!" scoffed Ned Rector.
"Three nights," continued Stacy, "did I dream of this nerve-racking scene. Don't look at me like that, William Veal! That's just the way the blind men stared at me."
"Go on," laughed Tad. "What did the three blind men and the one-eyed horse do?"
"They went down to the creek and took a drink," crooned Stacy, gazing steadily at the wide-eyed Chops. Chops was actually pale about the lips. "Then—then I dreamed another—the most awful of all."
"Yes, yes?" pleaded Walter, now really worked up to a high pitch of excitement.
"For three nights running I dreamed that I saw a black cat chasing a three-legged rat through a field of red clover. Br-r-r-r!" The last word came out with explosive force.
Billy Veal leaped to his feet with a yell. The Pony Rider Boys burst into a roar of laughter, with the exception of Stacy, who sat as solemn as an owl. Chops was trembling, for, like most of his race, he was superstitious.
"If I might make so bold as to inquire," said Tad after quiet had once more been restored, "why was the black cat chasing the three-legged rat through the field of red clover?"
"The cat thought the rat had the biscuit that have been stolen from this camp, I reckon."
This was the signal for another outburst, in which Billy Veal took no part. The guide was too thoroughly frightened to be amused. His superstitious nature had been strongly appealed to.
"It means that there's trouble brewing in this outfit. I shouldn't be surprised if some one were going to die. I'm sure it will be the villain who has been stealing our biscuit."
"No, that isn't what it means," interrupted Rector.
"What does it mean, then?" demanded Stacy.
"It means that you have been overloading your stomach for the last three nights before turning in. I am beginning to think it was you who stole and ate the stuff."
"You must be a—an oracle. That's it. You're one of those dream books," retorted Chunky. "Now seeing you are an oracle, what would it have meant had the rat been running through the clover without any legs at all? Answer me that if you can, Mr. Dream Book!"
"Very simple. Almost childish. That would mean that instead of eating biscuit before going to bed, you had been eating mince pie."
"You are almost human, Ned," grinned Chunky. "But you don't know a gnome when you see one."
"A gnome?"
"Sure thing. Those were gnomes—the real spooky, spinky kind that give you the shivers up and down your back when they're out gnoming. Chops knows what a gnome is, don't you, Chops?"
"N-n-n-nassir, yassir," chattered the guide.
"Don't, for goodness' sake, Chunky. He'll run in a minute," begged Butler.
"And—and that wasn't all," continued Stacy. "I heard the cat utter a name, and the rat had a face just like—"
"What did the cat say, and—"
"The cat said, 'Meow!'" jeered Ned.
"No it didn't. The cat said 'Veal, Veal,' just as plainly as you could imagine," nodded the speaker.
Chops fairly gasped.
"Yes, but what did the rat look like?" urged Tad.
"Well, it looked to me like a rat," answered the fat boy solemnly.
"You will all have the nightmare tonight if you don't choose a more cheerful topic for discussion just before turning in," warned Professor Zepplin.
"Yes, change the subject," urged Rector. "I don't want to dream of four-legged rats and blind mice, and besides, Chops is on the verge of nervous prostration."
Chunky got up and stretched himself. He strolled over to where Billy stood leaning against a rock.
"The rat had your face," he whispered sharply in the ear of the guide.
Chops uttered a blood-curdling yell and with a leap cleared the campfire and started racing for the tall timber.