The Pony Rider Boys in New Mexico Part 30

"Hold up! Hold up! There's something doing," shouted the fat, boy.

Tad swerved a little, turning to his left. Rifles were banging, and the dust was spurting up under the feet of the savage's racing pony.

By this time, the second Indian had recovered from the blow that Stacy had landed on his jaw, and he too was in his saddle in a twinkling, tearing madly cross the plain.

Stacy Brown uttered a series of wild whoops and yells. He knew their a.s.sailants were running and that some one was shooting at the Indians, but who it was the fat boy could only guess.

Two ponies suddenly dashed out from the low-lying smoke cloud. One of their riders was swinging his sombrero and cheering; the other was firing his rifle after the fleeing savages.

"Hooray, it's Santa Claus," howled Stacy, fairly beside himself with excitement. Even Tad caught something of his companion's spirit of enthusiasm. He swung his hand and started galloping toward the two hors.e.m.e.n.

"Shoot 'em! Kill 'em!" howled Chunky.

But Santa Claus merely shook his head, and after refilling the magazine of his rifle slipped it into the holster.

"It would only make trouble and probably cause an uprising if I did.

They know I could have winged them both had I wanted to," he grinned.

"Well, you boys are a sight."

"I--I lost my s.h.i.+rt," interjected Stacy.

"And I suppose you fell in," chuckled Ned.

"No; I fell off."

"We're lucky to be alive," laughed Tad.

"You are that. I see now that Professor Zepplin was right when he said you could take care of yourself. Never saw anything quite so slick as the way you roped that redskin--"

"And--and I punched the other one," glowed Chunky.

"Did you see us?" questioned Tad.

"Yes, we saw the whole proceeding. But you were so mixed up that we couldn't fire without danger of hitting one of you boys. Wonder what those Apaches think struck them," laughed the guide. "How did you get through the fire?"

Tad explained briefly; at the same time accounting for the loss of Stacy's s.h.i.+rt.

"I bet that the fellow with the canary-wing face has a sore jaw,"

bubbled Stacy.

"No doubt of it, Master Stacy. I didn't suppose you had such a punch as that. You're a good Indian fighter."

"Always was," answered the fat boy, swelling with importance.

"Come, we'll have to hurry back It will be dark before we reach camp, as it is, and the Professor will be worrying about you."

They turned about, and, heading across the burned area, started for camp. Fitful blazes were springing up here and there, but all danger had, by this time, pa.s.sed, though the smoke still hung heavy and the odor of burned vegetation smote the nostrils unpleasantly.

Stacy sniffed the air suspiciously.

"Tastes like a drug store fire I smelled once in Chillicothe," he averred.

"I haven't made up my mind, yet, how that fire started, Mr. Kringle,"

wondered Tad.

"I have," replied the guide tersely.

"How?"

"It was set afire!"

"By whom?"

"By one of those savages, or by somebody who was with them. They must have been watching you all the time. Did you recognize either of them as the fellow you knocked down the other might?"

"No; I don't think I would know the Indian. The light was too uncertain at the fire dance, and then again, all Indians look alike to me."

"It was a narrow escape."

"Do you think they'll come back again?" questioned Ned.

"I doubt it. They won't if they recognized me. They know me. They've done business with me before."

Professor Zepplin and Walter were overjoyed when at last the party rode into camp and they learned that both boys were safe. The lads were obliged to go all over their experiences again for the benefit of the Professor and Walter.

"It's getting worse and worse," decided the Professor helplessly. "I don't know where all this is going to end. I thought when we got a new guide--but what's the use? Do you think we had better start to-night, Mr. Kringle?"

"No. There is no necessity."

"What am I going to do for a pony?" asked Chunky.

"You can ride one of mine. I always take two when on a long journey,"

replied the guide.

Chunky's first act after reaching camp, was to provide himself with a s.h.i.+rt. After donning it, he announced that he had an appet.i.te and wanted to know when they were going to have supper.

"Why, you had supper hours ago," scoffed Ned. "Want another one already?"

"That wasn't supper, that was four o'clock tea. Indian fighters must have real food."

"Stop teasing. We'll give the 'ittle baby his milk," returned Ned.

That night, Kris Kringle remained on guard himself. He would not trust the guardians.h.i.+p of the camp to any of the boys, for he fully expected that they would receive a visit from one or more of the Indians, though he did not tell the others so. But nothing occurred to disturb the camp, and the boys, despite their trying experiences, slept soundly, awakening in the morning fresh and active, ready and anxious for any further adventures.

The party set out shortly after sunrise, and traveled all day across the uneven plains, across short mountain ranges, through deep gorges and rugged foothills.

Crossing an open s.p.a.ce the guide espied a bottle glistening in the sunlight.