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Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali

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<h3> CHAPTER XII </h3> <h4> RUNNING DOWN THE TRAIL </h4> "Thank goodness, we're in the foothills," sighed Tad, when three days later they came to a halt at the base of the San Antonio Range far down on the Nevada Desert. "Yes, it is a relief to see some real rocks once more," agreed Walter. "Chunky, look out that you don't step into any more ice water. You'll miss the horse-hunt if you do." "No danger of that up here," laughed the guide. Behind them lay the desert maze, to the right and left, mountain ranges, high plateaux, mesas and buttes. Giant yucca trees, short, spreading piñon and spindling cedars clothed the higher peaks of the San Antonio Range. Trees, too, were scattered about in the foothills, and though they gave little shade it was a relief to every sense of the Pony Riders to feel the hills and trees about them. There, with what little shade they could get, the lads made camp. As yet they had found no water, though Parry said there would be springs in plenty further up in the mountains. The bags still held enough to last them until the following day, so no effort was made to locate fresh water that afternoon. Stacy had thrown himself down under one of the yucca trees, but the late afternoon sun filtered through the branches, making his face look red and heated. "You don't seem to be getting much shade from that tree," laughed the guide. "'Bout as much as I would from a barbed wire fence," frowned Stacy. "What do you know about barbed-wire fences?" demanded Ned. "Me? Know all 'bout them. One night I had a falling out with one, when I was taking a short cut across the fields to get home." "How about the apples? Did you get them?" asked Tad. "Apples? What do you know 'bout it? Were you there, too?" A laugh greeted the fat boy's reply. "Come, come, young men. Are you going to make camp?" urged the Professor. "Didn't know we were going to remain here to-night," replied Walter. "Of course we're going to make camp if that's the case. It'll be a good time to shake the alkali dust out of our belongings and from ourselves." "I haven't got any dust," piped Stacy. "I—I had a bath—a hot bath." "Are we anywhere near the horse-hunters, Mr. Parry?" inquired Tad, as the boys began unpacking the burros, some devoting their attention to the kitchen outfit, the rest spreading the canvas on the ground preparatory to erecting the tents. "They are supposed to be further up the range. They will be down this way to-morrow, probably, to pick us up. They were not certain where they would make their permanent camp, Stevens said. All depends upon where the wild horses are grazing." "I don't see any wild horses, nor any other wild anything," objected Ned. The guide dropped the ridge pole that he was about to carry to the place where the cook tent had been laid out ready to be raised. "Come with me," he said, taking Ned by the arm and leading him to the left of their camping place. "Do you see that?" "What?" "Use your eyes. If you're going to be a plainsman you'll have to depend on your sense of sight. Take the desert for instance. It's a desert maze if you are unable to read its signs; no maze at all if you do." "What is it you were going to show Ned?" asked the rest of the boys, who had followed them out. "See if you can tell, Master Tad." But Master Tad had already been using his eyes. He nodded as he caught the guide's eye. "There has been a bunch of unshod ponies along here, if that is what you mean," he said. "How do you know?" demanded Stacy. "I see their tracks there. Saw them the minute I got over here." "Maybe that's the crowd that called at our camp the other day," suggested Walter. The guide shook his head. "There was no one on these horses," said Tad. "Right," emphasized the guide. "That's observation, young men. You will notice, by examining these hoofprints carefully, that the weight of the animal is thrown more on the toe——" "How do you know that?" cut in Stacy. "Because the toe sinks into the soil more than it would if the animals were loaded. In the latter event, the heels would dig deeper. Now if you will follow along a little further I may be able to show you the hoofprints of the leader of the band of wild horses, for that is what they are——" "Wild horses?" marveled the boys. "Wish we could see them," said Tad. "I'll wager they have seen us already, for they surely are in this neighborhood," replied Parry. "But a wild horse is as sharp as an old fox. The herd have been down in the foothills and, by the hoofprints, you will observe that they have returned to the mountain fastness." "Perhaps they saw us coming," suggested Tad. "More than likely," agreed the guide. "They were in a hurry and moving rapidly—there! There's the leader's trail. Look carefully and you will see where he leaped up to this little butte here. Reaching it, he turned about and took a quick, comprehensive look at the desert." "And at us," added Stacy. "Yes, I think so. Come up here. You see this little ridge gave him a very good view of the desert maze. See if you can tell how many wild horses there were in the bunch," suggested Tom Parry. Instantly the boys went down on all fours, crawling along the trail seeking to read the story that it told. "Well, how many?" queried the guide, after they had finished their inspection. "Fifty!" shouted Stacy. "Forty-five!" answered Ned and Walter at the same time. "What do you say, Master Tad?" "I am afraid I must have missed some, then. I only make out twenty-one old ones and a colt. I take it the old mare was with the colt, for the prints show that the little animal was hugging the other closely," was Tad's decision. "Very good. Very good," nodded Parry. "There were twenty-two. You didn't get the trailer, probably an old mare. She traveled along off to the right yonder a little. But I should like to know how you made fifty, Master Stacy!" twinkled the guide. "Counted 'em," answered the fat boy. "Show me?" Stacy did so, going over the hoofprints carefully, pointing to them with his index finger as he did so, the guide making mental calculations at the same time. "And that makes fifty—fifty—fifty-four this time. There's more of them than I thought." Parry laughed softly. "I'm afraid you'd make a poor Indian, young man. You not only have counted the hoof-prints, but you have counted the foot marks of yourself and your companions as well. Master Tad, let me see if you can run the trail up the mountain side a little way. It will be good practice. I want you boys to be able to follow a trail as keenly as the best of them before you have finished this trip. You never know when it's going to be useful—when it's going to get you out of serious difficulties, even to the extent of saving your lives." Tad was off on a trot, stooping well over, with eyes fixed on the foot marks. "Tad could hunt jack rabbits without a dog, couldn't he?" questioned Stacy innocently. His companions laughed. "Is that a joke?" asked Ned. "If it is, I'll cry. Your jokes would make a Texas steer weep." Tad was picking his way up the rough mountain side, now losing the trail, then picking it up again. The marks left by the wild horses were almost indistinguishable after the animals had reached the rocks, but here and there a broken twig told the lad they had passed that way. Once he appeared to leave the trail, moving sharply to the right, where on a shelving ridge, he straightened up and looked down into the valley. Tom Parry nodded encouragingly. "Know what you've found?" "Yes, this is where the leader came to make another observation," answered Tad. "That's right. He's a plainsman already, boys. Go on. Run the trail up to the top of this first ridge. It will not be a bad idea for us to know which way they've gone. If the hunters don't show up by to-morrow we can take a little run after the herd on our own hook." Tad obeyed gladly. Every sense was on the alert. The rest of the boys were all impatience to take part in the hunt. But the guide said no. He feared that, if all were to start up the mountain side, their enthusiasm might lead them too far from camp, resulting in their losing their way. He knew how tricky the trail of a band of wild horses was, the clever animals leaving no ruse untried that would tend to mix up and lose their pursuers. Tad's figure was growing smaller as he ascended higher and higher. "You don't mean to say that horses climbed up the way he is going!" questioned Walter incredulously. "That's the way they went, my boy. They 're regular goats when it comes to mountain climbing. They'll go where a man could not, oftentimes." Tad crept, cautiously on, now finding little to guide him, save his own instinct. He finally disappeared behind the rocks and trees of the low-lying range. The lad was moving almost noiselessly now. A sound a short distance beyond him caused him to prick up his ears sharply. "I believe I am near them," he breathed, as he glanced about him. "Why did I not think to bring my rope?" It was just as well for his own well-being, that he had not brought along that part of his saddle equipment. He was following the trail with the skill of a trained mountaineer. An Indian himself could have done it no better. Perhaps the guide understood, better than did Tad himself, why he had started the lad on the trail, for a quiet smile hung about the lips of Tom Parry. All at once his twinkling eyes lit up with a new expression. "Look! Look!" gasped Walter. "Where? Where?" demanded Ned. Walter pointed to a pyramid-shaped rock far above their heads. At first they could scarcely believe their senses. There poised in the air, feet doubled into a bunch, stood a splendid specimen of horse-flesh, resting, it seemed, fairly on the sharp point of the rock, gazing down into and across the valley. "The white stallion," breathed the lads all in the same breath. The magnificent animal was a creamy white. Its head was held high, nostrils distended as if to catch the scent of those for whom it was looking. Beneath the rays of the low lying sun, its coat glistened and shone with a luster that no brush or comb could bring to it. The lads gazed upon the beautiful statue almost in awe. They were standing quite close up under the shadow of the mountain at that moment. "Why doesn't he run?" whispered Walter. "Do you think he sees us?" asked Ned. "No. Stand perfectly still." "Why doesn't he? All he would have to do would be to look down?" questioned Stacy. "He scents us. He knows we are somewhere near. But, if you will observe him closely, you will notice that he is looking at the camp. He sees the Professor moving about," explained Parry. "Do—do you think we could catch him?" asked Ned eagerly. "The most skillful men in this part of the country have been trying to do that very thing for the last five years, my boy," answered the guide in a low tone. "No, you couldn't catch him. He's the finest animal to be found in the entire Nevada Desert district. Wouldn't mind owning him myself." In the meantime Tad had been creeping nearer and nearer. He soon discovered that the leader of the band had swerved to the left. He concluded to follow, to see where the solitary animal had gone to. But so quietly did the lad move that the stallion neither heard nor scented him. All at once the wonderful sight unfolded before the eyes of Tad Butler. He flattened himself on the ground, within thirty yards of the splendid animal. Suddenly the stallion whirled. Tad rose to his feet, The two stood facing each other, Tad with head thrust forward, the stallion with nostrils held high in the air. "Oh, my rope, my rope!" breathed the boy. "If I had my rope!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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