The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico Part 17

"Think so? Try to wake your pony up," advised Tad.

Stacy had already hurried to his own broncho, and now began tugging at the bridle rein, with sundry pokes in the animal's ribs.

"I can't. He's in a trance," wailed Stacy, considerably startled.

That expression came nearer to describing the condition of the stock than any other words could have done.

"Guide, what do you know about this?" questioned the Professor. "Has some one been tampering with our animals?"

Juan shrugged his shoulders with an air of indifference.

"No bother bronchs."

"Then will you please tell us what is the matter with them?"

"Sleepy gra.s.s!"

"Sleepy gra.s.s?" chorused the lads.

"Of course they're asleep all right," added Ned. "But whoever heard of sleepy gra.s.s?"

"He means they're sleeping on the gra.s.s," Stacy informed them.

"Ah! I begin to understand," nodded the Professor. "I think I know what the trouble is now. The guide is no doubt right."

The boys gathered around him, all curiosity.

"Tell us about it, Professor. We are very much mystified?" said the Pony Riders.

"A long time ago I remember to have read, somewhere, of a certain gra.s.s in this region that possessed peculiar narcotic properties--"

"What's narcotic?" interrupted Stacy.

"Something that makes you go to sleep when you can't," explained Tad Butler, rather ambiguously.

"When eaten by horses or cattle it is said to put them into deep sleep. The Rockefeller Inst.i.tute, I believe, is already making an a.n.a.lytical test of the gra.s.s."

"Please talk so I can understand it," begged Stacy.

"Yes; those words make my head ache," scowled Ned. "Even the guide is making up faces in his effort to understand."

"He does understand. He understands only too well. For many years this gra.s.s has been known. Cows turned out for the day would fail to return at night--"

"To be milked," interjected Stacy.

"And an investigation would disclose them sleeping in some region, where the sleepy gra.s.s grew

And the fat boy hummed:

"Down where the sleepy gra.s.s is growing."

"Travelers who have tied out their horses in patches of the gra.s.s for the night have been unable to continue their journey until the animals recovered from their strange sleep. Thus the properties of the gra.s.s became known."

"Indians use 'em to tame bad bronchos," the guide informed them.

"Just so."

"But, when will they wake up?" questioned Tad.

"Mebby sun-up to-morrow," answered Juan, glancing up at the sky.

"What, sleep twenty-four hours?" demanded Ned.

"Si."

"Preposterous."

"Then, then, we've got to remain here all the rest of the afternoon and night--is that it?" demanded Tad.

"It looks that way."

"And you knew about this stuff, Juan?" questioned Tad.

"Si."

"Well, you're a nice sort of a guide, I must say."

"You ought to be put off the reservation," threatened Stacy, shaking a menacing fist in front of the white teeth.

In the meantime, Tad had gone over to the animals again, and, taking them in turn, sought to stir them up. He found he could not do so. The ponies' heads would drop to the ground after he had lifted and let go of them, just as if the animals were dead.

"Gives you a creepy feeling, doesn't it?" s.h.i.+vered Walter.

"I should say it does," answered Ned.

"Well, what is it, Chunky?" asked Tad, who observed that Stacy had something on his mind that he was trying to formulate into words.

"I've got an idea, fellows," he exploded.

"Hold on to it, then. You may never get another," jeered Ned.

"What is it, Master Stacy?" asked the Professor.

"Then--then--then--that's what Juan and his burro have been eating all the time. I knew there was something the matter with them."

A loud laugh greeted the fat boy's suggestion.

"Guess he's about right, at that," grinned Tad.