The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali Part 22

"Sure thing."

"If we go on a hunt with you, remember there's to be no funny business.

These boys, while they're no tenderfeet, are fine fellows and they must be treated well. I'm responsible for them. What I say goes.

Understand?"

"We'll look out for the kids, don't you get in a hot stew 'bout that."

With a final whoop and a cheer for the members of Tom Parry's party, the turbulent cowboys put spurs to their ponies. Once more a cloud of dust rose from the desert, across which it slowly rolled. The boys watched it for half an hour, until the cloud had dwindled to a mere speck in the distance.

"Not such a bad lot, after all," was the Professor's conclusion.

"Rough diamonds," smiled the guide.

"Are we going on now, Mr. Parry?" asked Tad.

"No; I think we may as well unpack and make camp here until to-morrow morning. Then the stock will be fresh, and so shall we."

"The stock looks to be in pretty good shape already," answered Tad.

"Yes; but they will be much better to-morrow. A day's water and feed will do wonders for them. I guess the bunch of horse-hunters made quite a hole in our fodder, didn't they?"

"There was nothing the matter with their appet.i.tes that I observed,"

laughed Tad. "But we've got enough to last us for some time. How long before we shall strike the range where we are to join them?"

Parry glanced off over the desert meditatively.

"If we have no bad luck we ought to make it in three days. The cowboys will get there some time to-morrow."

"One of them won't," answered Tad, confidently.

"Why not?"

"His pony is wind-broken. Didn't you hear him breathe when they rode in?"

"What, with the bunch howling like a pack of coyotes? No, I didn't hear a horse breathe."

"I did," chimed in Stacy.

"Did what?" queried Ned, turning on him sharply. Rector had not heard the fat boy approach them.

"Heard the big cowboy breathe. He wheezed like a leaky steam engine."

Tad and the guide burst out laughing.

"Why, boy, we weren't talking about the cowboy. We were speaking of one of the bronchos. Tad says he is wind-broken."

"Huh!" grunted Stacy, strolling off with hands thrust in his pockets, chin on his breast. "When I'm not right I'm always wrong," he muttered. "Mostly wrong."

They did not see the lad again for more than an hour. The rest of the party gathered under the tent they had first erected, where they now fell to discussing their late visitors, next turning to their plans for the morrow.

"Do we follow the same course when we next start?" asked the Professor.

"Not quite. We veer a little more to the west, until we string the San Antonio Range. When we leave there, if you conclude to go on, we shall head southward toward Death Valley. I understand you are willing to penetrate it a little way."

"Yes, if you think it is safe to do so."

Parry shrugged his shoulders.

"Death Valley is no better than its name. If you wish merely to see it, I think I can gratify your desire."

"Yes, yes, we want to see Death Valley," chorused the boys. "Don't be afraid for us."

"I'll try to get some water bags from the horse-hunters when we join them; for the further south one goes on the desert the more scarce the water becomes."

The sun was lying low by this time and the advance guard of the evening coolness began crowding back the heat of the day.

"I wonder what has become of Chunky?" questioned Tad suddenly, rising from the ground where he had thrown himself in the shade of the tent.

The others glanced quickly about them.

"Probably find him asleep behind a bunch of sage somewhere," answered Ned lightly. "Don't trouble yourself about him."

"Perhaps over by the water hole," suggested the guide. "I'll stroll over that way."

Just then a figure topped the ridge beyond them.

It was yelling l.u.s.tily, leaping into the air, rolling and groveling on the ground alternately.

"There he is! Something's happened to him," shouted Walter.

All hands started on a run. They could not imagine what had gone wrong with the fat boy.

As they drew nearer to him they discovered that he had taken off all his clothes. His body was as red as if it had been painted.

The Professor's long legs were covering the alkali at a pace that left the others behind, until Tad spurted and headed him.

"Chunky, Chunky! What's the matter?" he shouted.

Stacy yelled more l.u.s.tily than ever.

"What is it? What is it?" shouted the others in chorus.

"I'm burned alive? I'm cremated! Oh, w-o-w!"

"Should think you would he. What on earth have you got your clothes off for?"

They discovered that something was the matter then, for an expression of real pain had taken the place of the complacent look they were wont to see on the face of Stacy Brown.