CHAPTER II
THE FIRST NIGHT IN CAMP
"The desert?" the Pony Riders gasped in chorus.
"Yes. It is not an uncommon thing. They seem to realize instinctively that there is danger off there. Even in animals that never have been near the desert you will find the same inborn dread of the alkali flats. And I don't know that I blame them any."
"But is my broncho going to lie here all day?" queried Chunky. "If that's his idea I might as well give him another argument that will make him change his mind."
"Let him alone. He'll be better off if you do not force him. When he gets up be gentle but firm with him."
"That's the strangest thing I ever saw," said Tad quietly.
"Most remarkable," agreed the Professor.
The faces of the boys were serious. They too began to perceive the feeling that had stirred the ponies to resist when turned toward the silent plains that lay spread for mile upon mile before them.
After a few minutes Stacy's pony scrambled to its feet. The lad was in the saddle in a twinkling.
"Now, I guess you'll go where I want you to. Whoa! Quit that b-b-b-b-bucking."
The animal had gone into a series of jolting bucks, with back arched and head well down. The fat boy held his seat well. His face was red and streaked with perspiration which ran down it in tiny rivulets under the violent exercise to which he had just been subjected.
The boys forgot the serious side of the incident in their enjoyment of their companion's discomfiture.
Tom Parry gazed upon the scene with more than ordinary curiosity. It was the first opportunity he had had of observing a Pony Rider Boy in action. At that moment Stacy Brown was most distinctly in action. Most of the time there was a broad patch of daylight under him, and when he hit the saddle it was with a jolt that seemed as if it must jar his head from his body.
"Put some salt on his tail," suggested Ned Rector.
"Y-y-y-you do it," gasped Chunky, which brought a roar of laughter from the whole party.
"Yes, why don't you?" teased Tad. "It's the only way you can make good."
"Salting down horse is not my business," laughed Ned.
All at once the pony whirled, heading down the mountain side with a disconcerting rush that nearly brought disaster upon its rider.
With a shout the rest of the boys urged their mounts into a jog-trot and followed on down the trail as fast as they dared, for the descent was steep and dangerous.
"He'll break his neck!" cried the Professor.
"After that bucking I'm sure Chunky's neck is too well fastened to come off," laughed Tad.
Stacy was out of sight. They could hear him yelling at his broncho, so they knew he was still in the saddle and right side up. The other ponies, apparently having forgotten their fear, were following the leader willingly now.
All at once they saw lad and mount burst into view on the plain below.
"He's on the desert!" shouted Tad.
Laughing and shouting words of encouragement to the fat boy, the Pony Riders hastened to the base of the hill. Stacy Brown was still busily engaged trying to subdue his pony, though some of the lads shrewdly suspected that their companion was urging the animal on in order to show off his horsemanship.
In a moment more they, too, were in difficulties. No sooner had their bronchos set foot on the desert than a sudden panic once more possessed them. Professor Zepplin's pony whirled on its haunches, then began climbing the rocks, with the agility of a squirrel.
The others, however, had troubles of their own, which saved the Professor from being laughed at. The animals seemed determined not to be forced to go on, and it required severe measures to induce them to take up the desert trail. Tom Parry's mount did not exhibit the same fear as did the others. Still, it gave him more or less trouble, appearing to be excited, in spite of itself, by the actions of its companions.
At last they succeeded in lining the animals up in an orderly formation. Their next move was to get the burros moving along ahead of them. The way being open and level there was no necessity for leading the pack animals now. These could take care of themselves without danger to the outfit.
"And this is the desert!" marveled the Professor.
"It is," smiled the guide.
"Looks to me more like a landscape of German measles," averred Stacy, as they moved along through scattering sage brush and open sandy stretches.
Now that they had reached the plain itself, they discovered that it was not one level stretch of land. Instead, the country was rolling; here and there were wide reaches of whitish desert sands and alkali sinks. The atmosphere was like an oven. Not a breath of air was stirring. Already the lads were mopping their brows and fanning their faces with their sombreros, while spots of dark shining moisture on the ponies' sides bore evidence that they, too, felt the baking heat.
"I say, fellows, let's find some shade," called Stacy.
"All right, go ahead and we'll follow," laughed Tad.
"I'll ride up to the top of that knoll and make an observation."
Tom Parry smiled appreciatively as the lad galloped up the sharp rise of ground, where Chunky sat on his pony, shading his eyes as he gazed off over the cheerless desert.
"Well, how about that shade?" shouted Ned.
Stacy turned disconsolately and rode back to his companions.
"There isn't any," he said.
"Of course not," laughed Ned.
"But I know how to make some," added the fat boy.
Slipping from his pony he cut some sage brush, which he fashioned about his head in the shape of a hood, so that it gave his perspiring face some protection from the intense glare of the sun.
"Now, all you need is a strip of mosquito netting," suggested Walter.
"And a little red rocking chair," added Ned.
"With a dish of ice cream," laughed Tad.
"I guess you will have to be satisfied with a cup of alkali water," interjected the Professor, dryly.
"You will find the air much cooler, shortly," the guide advised them. "The sun is going down now and I think we had better make camp, if the Professor has no objections."
"Not in the least. In fact, I am quite ready to call it a day's work."
"Where do we camp, Mr. Parry?" asked Tad.
"Right here. It is as good a place as any that we shall find. There is little choice out here."
They were now in a broad valley, the rolling hills covered with a sparse growth of sage brush rising gradually on each side.
The boys threw themselves from their ponies gladly, stripping the saddles from the animals' backs.
"Better stake the animals down, for the first two or three nights, so they won't take French leave," advised the guide.
"How about the burros?" asked Tad.
"Let them roam. They'll stay as long as the ponies are here. The pack animals will fill up on sage, after which they will come back to camp to sleep."
All hands began to unpack. The tents were pitched in record time, cots unfolded and preparations for the night made with a skill that comes from long practice in the open.
"What are we to do for a camp-fire?" asked Walter. "There is not a single stick of wood about here."
"Burn the sage," answered the guide.
"That stuff won't burn," retorted Ned.
"Try it."
They did. In an incredibly short time a hot fire was blazing up, on which they piled armfuls of the stunted desert growth.
"Now, get your food ready and I will cook it," said Parry, as the flames began to die down.
When the fire had settled to a bed of hot ashes Tom thrust the bacon directly into the ashes, placing the coffee pot near the center, around and on top of which he heaped the ashes. It was a new method of preparing a meal, and the lads watched the process with keen interest.
"I shouldn't think that bacon would be fit to eat. However, I presume you know what you are doing," said the Professor.
"It's the only way, sir," replied Parry. "We have to work with the implements that nature has provided."
"Nature must have been in a stingy mood when she made this country," laughed Ned.
"I don't agree with you," said Tad. "It is the most beautiful and interesting scene that I have ever looked upon."
Parry nodded approvingly.
"And as fickle as it is beautiful," added the guide. "The supper will be ready by the time you have the table set, boys."
In spite of the heat the lads realized all at once that their appetites had not suffered. Bacon, jelly and biscuits, which had been warmed over the ashes, seemed to them to have reached the proportions of a banquet.
Stacy helped himself to a large slice of bacon which he proceeded to munch. No sooner had he begun, however, than he made a wry face.
"What's the matter. Isn't the bacon all right?" asked the guide.
"Awful! Somebody's trying to poison me," Chunky shouted, red in the face.
"Must have a brown taste in your mouth,' laughed Ned.
"What's the trouble——" began the Professor. "Good gracious, there is something the matter with the stuff. Ugh! Never tasted such bitter stuff. Did you purchase this meat in a reliable place, Mr. Parry!"
The guide smiled good-naturedly.
"The bacon is all right, sir. It's the sage brush taint that you get."
"The what?"
"Sage brush. The same taste will be in everything you eat out in this country—that and the alkali."
"Then I starve," announced Stacy, firmly, laying down his fork and folding his arms.
"Any time you starve it'll be because there is nothing to eat," retorted Ned.
"You'll all get used to the taste after you have been out a few days," comforted the guide.
"Never!" shouted Stacy.
"I rather like the peculiar taste," smiled Tad Butler.
"Good as a tonic," spoke up Walter.
Thus encouraged Stacy tried it again, at first nibbling gingerly at the bacon, then attacking it boldly. Even the Professor, after a time, appeared to forget the bitterness of the food, passing his plate for more.
Tom Parry smiled indulgently.
"You'll all like it after a while," he nodded.
"I'm sure I'll have to take back some sage brush with me to flavor my food after we leave the desert," scoffed Ned.
Supper finished the dishes were cleared away, after which the party threw themselves down beside the camp-fire in keen enjoyment of the hour. The evening was delightfully cool, with not a trace of the baking heat of the day.
"Doesn't seem possible that there could be such a change in the temperature in so short a time," marveled the Professor.
"It is the mood of the desert," answered the guide.
"What time do we start in the morning?" interrupted Tad, approaching them at that moment.
"I was just about to suggest that we break camp at daylight, traveling until the sun gets hot. We can then pitch a tent or two during the middle of the day, and rest for a few hours."
"Why not keep on all day?" asked the lad.
"It would prove too great a strain—both on man and beast. At noon we will eat a cold lunch, as too much food in this heat is not good for us. You will find the temperature rising as you get further south, and the hardships increasing in proportion."
"We shall not fall by the wayside," laughed the boy.
"No; I am convinced of that. You lads are as tough as pine knots, but you will need all the endurance you have for this trip."
"If we are going to turn out so early, I think you boys had better go to bed pretty soon," advised the Professor.
"That's why I asked you, sir. I rather thought Mr. Parry would wish to make an early start in the morning. I'll see to the ponies; then I'll go to bed."
"Never mind the ponies. I'll look after them," answered Parry.
"That boy is a splendid type," he continued to the Professor, after Tad had walked away from them to notify his companions of the plans for the morrow.
"They all are," answered the Professor.
"Yes, I have been observing them all day. To tell the truth I was rather doubtful about the wisdom of taking a number of boys across the desert. It's bad enough for men well hardened to the work."
"I trust your apprehension no longer exists," smiled the Professor.
"Not a trace of it left," replied Parry, with a hearty laugh. "Young Brown handled that bucking pony splendidly this afternoon. He's a good horseman for a boy."
"Master Tad is a better one. You'll agree with me if you get an opportunity to see him in any work that's worth while."
"Well, good night, boys," called the Professor, as he saw the lads moving toward their tents.
"Good night, Professor, sleep tight," they shouted merrily altogether. "Good night, Mr. Parry. We'll be up with the birds."
"Birds," sniffed Stacy. "A tough old hen couldn't live out on this desert."
In a short time the camp settled down to sleep. The guide, with a last look about and a long, comprehensive study of the sky, sought his own tent, where in a few moments he, too, was sound asleep.
After a time the moon came up, in the light of which the weather-beaten tents of the Pony Rider Boys were mere specks on the vast expanse of desert.
Not a sound disturbed the quiet scene. However, had any of the occupants of the little tents been awake, they might have observed a thin, fog-like film drifting across the sky from the southwest. On and on it came until finally it had blanketed the moon, casting a veil over the landscape.
Other sheets of film arose from out the southwest, placing layer after layer over the fast fading moon, until finally it was obliterated altogether.
The desert was working out another of its mysterious phases, but none in the camp of the Pony Riders were awake to observe it.
A dense pall of blackness now hovered over the southwest.
All at once a squirming streak of lightning wriggled along the horizon, like a golden serpent, losing itself by a downward plunge into the black abyss beyond the desert.
The air grew suddenly hot and depressing, while a gentle breeze stirred the sage brush on the higher places. The ponies moved restlessly in their sleep, kicking out a foot now and then, as if in protest at some disturbing presence.
Tad Butler, ever on the alert, roused himself, and stepping out in his pajamas took a survey of the heavens.
"I guess we're going to have a storm," he muttered. "I wonder if I ought to wake Mr. Parry? He thought, this afternoon, that there was a storm brewing. Still, there's nothing he can do. The tents are staked down as securely as is possible. No, I guess I'll go back to bed."
The lad did so, and after a few moments of wakefulness, dropped off into a sound sleep.
A few moments later the breeze increased, picking up little patches of sand, which it hurled into the air, scattering the particles over a wide area. Far down to the southwest a low roar might have been heard, and from the blackness there a funnel-shaped cloud detached itself, starting slantingly over the desert. It appeared to be following a northerly course, more or less irregularly, and from its direction, should pass some miles to the westward of the sleeping camp.
Whirling, diving, swooping here and there, lifting great patches of sand and hurling them far up into the clouds, the funnel swept on.
Suddenly, when about three miles to the southwest of the camp, it seemed to pause hesitatingly; and then, as if all at once having descried the little group of tents, started swaying, tottering toward them. As it moved the disturbing roar continued to increase in volume.
Tad Butler heard it now.
He slipped from his tent and stood listening apprehensively.
"I think that means trouble," he said to himself. The hot, oppressive air felt like a blast from an open furnace door. "It's coming this way," he continued.
The lad bounded to the tent of the guide. Slipping inside he laid a hand on Parry's shoulder.
The guide was up like a flash.
"What is it?" he demanded sharply.
"It's I, Tad Butler. I think there is a bad storm coming——"
"I hear it," snapped Parry, springing from his blankets. He was out in the open in a twinkling, with Tad Butler close upon his heels.
For a moment the guide stood with head inclined, listening intently.
"Bad one, isn't it?" questioned the lad.
"Yes."
"Do you think it is coming this way?"
"I can't be sure. Wait; don't wake them yet," he whispered, raising a restraining hand. "Yes, here it comes! It's a cyclone. Quick, get them out of their tents!"
Almost before the words were out of his mouth the funnel swooped down into the broad sage-sprinkled draw, setting its deadly coils over the camp of the Pony Rider Boys.