CHAPTER I
THE DESERT'S MYSTIC SPELL
"If this is the desert, then I think I prefer mountains," decided Stacy Brown.
"It is not the desert. We have not reached it yet. This is the Diamond Range," replied Tom Parry, who was to guide the Pony Rider Boys across the great Nevada Desert. "We shall soon be there, however."
"You'll know the place when you see it, Chunky," said Ned Rector.
"And feel it, too, I guess," added Tad Butler under his breath.
"We have the desert on each side of us now," continued the guide. "Were you to fire a rifle to the right or left, your bullet would fall on the baking alkali of the desert."
"Then, if we're so near, why not get out in the open, instead of floundering through these hills?" questioned Stacy.
"I'm thinking you'll wish you were back in the hills before many days," laughed the guide.
"Mr. Parry has his own reasons for following this trail, Master Stacy," interposed Professor Zepplin. "We are entirely in his hands and it is not for us to question the wisdom of his decision."
The guide nodded.
Parry was a splendid type of the plainsman of the great West. Tall, straight, clear-eyed, his bronzed cheeks fairly glistening in the sunlight, he would have attracted attention anywhere. At present, he sat on his pony motionless, the broad sombrero tilted upward above his forehead as he peered into the amber haze that hung over the western horizon.
"Yes, we shall reach the desert soon enough. We are heading for the Newark Valley now, and should be there in time to make camp this afternoon, providing the weather is satisfactory," announced Parry, more to himself than to the others.
"Weather—weather?" stammered Professor Zepplin. "What's the matter with the weather?"
"One hundred in the shade. Isn't that matter enough?" grunted Stacy.
"How do you know, Chunky? You haven't seen any shade to-day," demanded Ned Rector. "There isn't a patch of shade as large as a man's hand in this whole country, so far as I have been able to observe."
"And still less in the country we are about to enter," added the guide.
Tad Butler, however, had been observing the guide keenly. Though the lad had asked no questions, he had caught a note of anxiety in the tone, as well as in the apprehensive glances that Parry kept continually casting to the westward. The guide, catching Tad's inquiring look, smiled and nodded.
"You should always keep your eyes on the weather in this country, especially when on the alkali," he told the boy after the party had started on again.
"Why more there than elsewhere, Mr. Parry?"
"Because storms here are frequently attended with no little peril. You'll see some of them, no doubt, before we reach the end of our journey, and you will wish you hadn't."
"But there's no sign of storm now," protested Tad.
"Perhaps not to you, young man. Do you see that haze settling down like a fog on the western horizon?"
"Yes, I've been looking at it—a golden fog."
The guide smiled grimly.
"I wouldn't call it exactly golden. I should call it fiery," said the guide.
"Has it any particular meaning?"
"May mean most anything. Means storm of some kind—perhaps rain, and maybe wind. If it passes, we'll drop out of here and make camp on the desert to-night."
"That will be fine," said Tad. "We are all crazy for the desert. Since we started out on our trips, last spring, we have experienced almost everything that could happen to us on mountain and plain——"
"But not including the desert?"
"No."
"You'll find it different; very different."
"I suppose you know every foot of it—in fact its every mood, do you not?" questioned Tad.
The guide, for the moment lost in thought, finally turned to the lad again.
"Moods, did you say? Well, that describes it. The desert is as moody as an old hen with a brood of chickens. Know the Nevada Desert? Sometimes I think I do; then again, I know I don't."
"But you could not get lost——"
"I have," smiled the guide. "I've been wandering about the alkali for days without being able to find my way back. If you are able to read trails and the droop of the scattering sage brush you will have made a long stride toward knowing your way about the desert."
"I don't understand," wondered the lad.
"No; of course not. It's a long story, but when we have time I will initiate you into the mysteries of reading the desert signs. The west is clearing up. That's good," the guide exclaimed in a relieved tone.
"Which means that we go on?"
"Yes."
"Are we turning off into the desert, did you say?" asked Walter Perkins, with sparkling eyes.
"Well, not just yet, Master Walter. We shall have to refill our water-bags before leaving the range. I take it, you boys would not care to be without water?"
"No, I guess not. But where are you going to get it?" asked Ned.
"About a mile further on there should be a mountain stream. There will not be much water in it just now, but we shall be able to fill our bags and water the stock, I guess."
"Hooray!" shouted the boys.
"The call of the desert is stronger than ever," averred Tad.
"You are not the first ones who have felt that way, young man. 'The call of the desert,' as you put it, has lured many a poor victim to his death. Water is the all important thing when on a journey of this kind, and we shall have to be vigilant that we do not allow ourselves to be without it."
As the guide had said, the stream, when they finally came up with it more than two hours later, was a mere rivulet.
"Call that a stream?" sniffed Stacy.
"No, it's a freshet," replied Ned Rector. "You might take a swim in it were it not for the danger of drowning."
"How are we going to get any water unless we dip it up with a spoon?" asked Tad.
"I'll show you," smiled the guide, dismounting.
Already the stock had sniffed the presence of water, even though there was so little of it. The ponies chafed at their bits and snorted, while the burros of the pack train tossed their heads in their impatience.
"I used to have a plaything that worked just like the heads of those lazy burros," Stacy informed his companions wisely.
"That's about your gait," growled Ned.
"You didn't think so when he saved our lives in the Ruby Mountain," reminded Tad.
"That's right, Ned," confirmed Walter. "Don't be ungrateful for small favors."
"I apologize, Master Chunky," announced Ned, removing his sombrero and unbending in a ceremonious bow to the fat boy.
"We will now make a water hole. Come along if you wish to know how it is done," called the guide.
Leading the ponies and pack animals down along the slender water course until they had reached a natural pocket, the guide halted. With a rubber blanket he formed a basin in the depression in the rocks through which the water had been trickling and losing itself far down in the earth. Two of the Pony Rider Boys held the blanket in place while it was slowly filling with water.
"Now, Master Stacy, if you will be good enough to fetch one of your pails we will water the stock first."
Stacy did so. To save time, Walter brought another pail, so that this could be filled while his companion was giving the water to one of their animals.
It was a slow process; and, by the time the six ponies and four burros had drunk their fill, something more than an hour had passed. By this time the rubber blanket had been thoroughly cleaned by constant rubbing.
"Bring on the canteens and water-bags," directed Tom Parry. "We'll have water enough to carry us through a few days of desert life, at any rate. Load the burros down."
The animals now having satisfied their thirst were nibbling gingerly at the scant growth of sage brush. It was not a tender morsel at any time, but from that time on they would be obliged to subsist almost entirely on the bitter stuff.
"Have you boys filled up?" asked Tom, looking about. "Better drink enough to last you for the rest of the day. We shall have to use our water sparingly for a time now. Take on a supply while you have the chance."
"How about you, Chunky?" laughed Ned Rector.
"Think I'm a camel?" demanded Stacy, with an air of indignation.
"Now, will you be good, Ned Rector?" laughed Tad.
Even the stolid face of the guide relaxed in a broad smile of amusement.
"Then, if you are all supplied, we had better be on our way. If we are going to camp on the alkali to-night we shall have to make time between this and sundown. It's about three hours high."
With a whoop and a hurrah, the boys swung into their saddles, heading joyously for the Newark Valley and the silent, mysterious desert that in the dim, misty past had been a great inland sea.
Readers of the preceding volumes of this series will recall how the Pony Rider Boys came to spend their summer vacation on horseback, under the guardianship of Walter Perkins' tutor, Professor Zepplin. With a capable mountain guide, their first journey was through the wildest part of the Rocky Mountains, where they met with a series of rousing adventures and hair-breadth escapes—experiences calculated to try the stoutest hearts. It was here that the young explorers hunted big game—here that they discovered a valuable mine that had been the goal of prospectors for many years past.
All this was outlined in the first volume of the series, "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ROCKIES." In the second volume, "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN TEXAS," was narrated how the four lads joined in a cattle drive across the plains of Texas, becoming real cowboys. Being by this time well hardened physically, they were able to do men's work in rounding up the stampeding cattle, which led them into many thrilling adventures. It will be recalled, too, how, during a visit to the mysterious church of San Miguel, the Pony Rider Boys solved the veiled riddle of the plains, which marked the end of the most eventful journey of their lives. In the third volume, "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN MONTANA," we find the plucky lads following the old Custer trail over mountain and plain. It will be remembered how Tad Butler, while chasing a bear that had disturbed their camp, overheard a plot to stampede and slaughter the herd of sheep belonging to a rancher whom they knew; how the lad managed to escape from the men who sought his life; his eventual capture by the Blackfeet Indians, his escape, and the final solving of the mystery of the old Custer trail, during which the boys were in the thick of a battle between cowboys and sheep herders. In the volume preceding the present one the Pony Rider Boys were once more in the saddle in search of further adventure. In "THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE OZARKS," they met with a series of disasters and exciting experiences which tested their courage almost to the breaking point. They were beset by a band of robbers, who stole their ponies. Nearly all the party, one by one, was lost in the fastnesses of the Ozark wilderness. It will be recalled how the boys, during a visit to the Red Star Mine, were caught in a wreck far underground; how a car of dynamite exploded, making them prisoners in a rocky tomb, and how, after being rescued by a mountain girl, they discovered the real secret of the Ruby Mountain, narrowly escaping with their lives in doing so. No sooner had they brought this eventful trip to a close than they set out to face the perils of the great, silent desert of Nevada.
They were almost upon it now. Its spell was upon them and the lads fell silent as they waited anxiously for the first sight of the land which they had journeyed so far to gaze upon.
They had not long to wait after leaving the water hole where they had replenished their supply.
The guide at last rode out upon a rocky promontory, where he halted, waiting for the others of the party to come up with him.
"Where's the desert—is that it?" demanded Ned, riding up beside him.
The guide raised his hand in a sweeping gesture.
"The desert lies before you," he answered, his eyes traveling meditatively over the miles of waste and mottled landscape.
A brazen glare lay over the scene, while up from the white alkali flats rose a wave of heat that was suffocating. Old, dried-up water sinks lay white and glistening here and there, framed by vast areas of sage brush, while on beyond in the blue distance lay miles and miles of monotonous, billowing hills and mountains.
"Whew!" gasped Chunky, mopping the perspiration from his brow. "This is somewhat hotter than Chillicothe, Missouri. I wish I had a cake of ice to put under my hat."
"Beautiful! Grand!" murmured Professor Zepplin.
"Reminds me of a Turkish bath I was in once in St. Louis," added Ned.
Tad Butler was silent. He was too profoundly impressed even to speak; and even the guide, familiar as he was with the scene, was silent and thoughtful, too. He understood full well the perils, the pitfalls for the unwary, that lay along the pathway of those who sought to traverse that barren waste.
At last he turned to Professor Zepplin.
"Shall we move?" he asked.
The Professor nodded.
"One of you boys get behind the burros and start them along, please," requested the guide.
Stacy Brown complied gleefully. No more pleasant task could have been assigned to him than that of prodding the lazy pack-bearers.
"Forward!" commanded Tom Parry.
The boys clucked to their ponies.
Not an animal moved.
Surprised, the lads brought their spurs against the flanks that they could feel were trembling a little.
A strange, unlooked for thing occurred.
With whinnies of terror the little animals reared and plunged. Before their puzzled riders could control them every pony in the outfit had whirled suddenly and began plunging along on the back trail.
A chorus of "whoa's" rose from the Pony Rider Boys. Quirt and spur were used freely, and firm hands on the bridle reins quickly checked the sudden rush. By dint of force and persuasion the boys finally succeeded in forcing their mounts back. That is, all had done so save Stacy Brown. His pony was spinning like a top, while Stacy red-faced and perspiring was uttering loud, angry shouts, driving in spur and raining quick, short blows on the animal's rump.
The burros had moved just far enough away to be out of reach of Stacy's plunging animal.
At last it threw itself violently to the ground. Stacy, by a remarkably lively jump, cleared his falling mount, but not a second too soon to save himself from being pinned beneath it.
He sat down on the animal's head, puffing from his exertions. After a minute, during which the other boys laughed so heartily that their own ponies nearly got the better of them again, Stacy rose and began prodding his mount with the end of the quirt, urging it to get up again.
But the pony refused to budge.
"He's 'hog-tied,'" nodded the guide, riding up. "Let him stay there till he gets ready to move. No use trying to hurry the beast. He's too much scared."
"Scared at what?" questioned Stacy, looking up apprehensively.
"Yes; that's what I'd like to know?" agreed Ned. "I don't see anything that looks like a scare."
The guide was looking down at the animal pityingly, Tad thought.
"What are they so frightened at, Mr. Parry?" asked the lad.
"My boy, they are afraid of the desert," replied the guide solemnly.