CHAPTER XX
VISITED BY A HALO
The Pony Rider Boys turned again to the Desert Maze. A week had elapsed since Bud Stevens and his party had left them. One evening, after a hard day in the saddle, the guide was sitting thoughtfully in his tent, when Professor Zepplin entered.
"Sit down?" asked the guide.
"For a moment only," answered the Professor.
"Weather's fine to-night."
"Yes, even though we have no water to speak of. Do you consider our situation at all serious, Mr. Parry?"
"Same old story, Professor. Sage brush and alkali. Tanks full one day, dry the next. There's no accounting for the desert. Every time I get out of the Desert Maze, as somebody has called it, I chalk down a mark on the wall."
"I am beginning to understand that it does hold perils of its own," answered Professor Zepplin, thoughtfully.
"Traveling over the desert is no picnic—that's a fact. Got to take it as it comes, though. If we go dry one day, most likely we fill up the next, or the day after that. Don't pay to get down in the mouth and fret."
"Yes, I understand all that. But I don't wish to take any great chances on account of the boys."
"The boys?" Tom Parry laughed. "Don't you worry about them. Those boys would thrive where a coyote would die at sight of his own eternal starvation shadow."
The Professor shook his head doubtfully.
"Turn 'em loose on the desert and they'd swim ashore somehow. Especially young Butler. He's quiet—he doesn't say much, but when he gets busy there's something doing. For sheer pluck he's got it over anything I ever saw—like a circus tent. Well, don't lose any sleep worrying about water. We'll catch a drop or two of dew out of a cactus plant some of these nights. See you in the morning. Good night," concluded the guide, rising and knocking the ashes from his pipe on his boot heel.
They had been working slowly toward the Death Valley region, and water was becoming more and more scarce as they proceeded. Indeed, the problem of where to find sufficient water for their needs had become a serious one. For the last three days all the water holes that the guide had depended upon to replenish their supply had failed them. What lay before them none knew.
When the camp awakened, late the next morning, the guide was nowhere to be seen. His pony likewise had disappeared. But they did not trouble themselves over Parry's absence, knowing that he had not left them without good reason and with many a sharp joke at each other's expense proceeded to get the breakfast ready. They had just sat down to the table when Tom Parry came riding in, covered with dust.
"Morning, boys. Fine day," he greeted, with his usual inscrutable smile, which might indicate either good or bad tidings.
"Prospecting?" questioned Tad.
"Taking my morning constitutional. Going to be hot enough to singe the pin feathers off a bald-headed sage hen to-day," he informed them, slipping from his saddle. After beating a cloud of alkali dust from his clothes he joined the party at the breakfast table.
"Find any?" asked Tad, eyeing him inquiringly, for Tad had an idea as to the object of the guide's early morning ride.
"Nary," was the comprehensive reply. "Have to take a dry shampoo to-day, I reckon."
"I suppose there is no water in sight yet?" asked the Professor, he not having caught the meaning of the brief dialogue between Tad and Tom Parry.
"No, sir. Not yet. We'll be moving as soon as possible after breakfast. Better use sparingly what little water you have left in your canteens. You may need it before we strike another water hole," he advised.
As usual, however, the spirits of the Pony Rider Boys were in no way affected by the shortage of water. Time enough to worry when their canteens were dry. These days, Tad and Stacy were occupying all their spare time in working with the two stallions they had captured. The Angel, under Tad's kind but determined training, was advancing rapidly and already had been taught to do a few simple tricks. Stacy, on his part, was not doing quite so well with Satan. The latter, like his namesake, was inclined to be vicious, biting and kicking whenever the evil spirit moved.
Ahead, on all sides of them as the sun rose that morning, lay wide stretches of gray, dusty soil, blotches of alkali alternating with huge patches of scattering sage brush, with no living thing in sight.
Overhead burned the blue of a cloudless sky; about them the suffocating atmosphere of the alkali desert.
It was not a cheerful vista that spread out before the lads. The ponies, suffering for want of water, took up the day's journey with evident reluctance. With heads hanging low they dragged themselves along wearily, half in protest, now and then evincing a sudden desire to turn about and head for the mountains.
"What ails these bronchos?" grumbled Ned Rector.
"Guess they're afraid of heat prostration," replied Chunky. "Don't blame them. I'm half baked myself."
"Glad you know what ails you," laughed Ned. "You ought not to feel bad about that, seeing it's your natural condition."
As they plodded on the guide's eyes were roaming over the plain in search of telltale marks that would reveal the presence of that of which they were in most urgent need—water. The landscape, by this time, had become a white glare, and the blue flannel shirts of the Pony Riders had changed to a dirty gray as if they had been sprinkled with a cloud of fine powder.
Their hair, too, was tinged, below the rims of their sombreros, with the same grayish substance, while their faces were streaked where the perspiration had trickled down, giving them a most grotesque appearance.
"How do you like it, Chunky?" grinned Ned.
"Oh, I've seen worse in Chillicothe," answered the fat boy airily. "The dust in Main Street is worse because it's dirtier."
"Judging from the appearance of your face at this minute, I'm obliged to differ with you," interjected the Professor, his own grim, dust-stained countenance wrinkling into a half smile. "Do we take a rest at midday, guide?"
Parry shook his head.
"Think we'd better keep going. Only be worse off if we stop now. Hungry, any of you?"
Stacy made a wry face and felt of his stomach, which action brought a laugh from the others.
Just then Stacy stiffened, then uttered a loud sneeze that shook him to his very foundations, causing Satan to jump so suddenly that he nearly unseated his rider.
"Whew! Thought my head had blown off. Guess we're all getting the grippe," he grinned, as the others began sneezing.
"Alkali," answered Parry. "You'll like that and the sage brush taste in your mouth more and more as you get to know them better."
"Excuse me," objected Ned. "I prefer talcum powder for mine, if I've got to sneeze myself to death on something. What time is it?"
"Dinner time," answered Stacy promptly. "I'll take ice cream."
"Dry toast will be more in your line, I'm thinking," suggested Ned.
"Or a sandwich," added Walter humorously.
"Hurrah, fellows! Walt Perkins has cracked a joke at last!" shouted Ned.
"Yes, it was cracked all right," muttered Chunky maliciously.
"Put him out! Put 'em both out!" cried Ned and Tad, while Tom Parry's stolid face relaxed into a broad smile.
"It appears to me that you young gentlemen are very humorous to-day," laughed the Professor.
"It's dry humor, Professor," retorted Ned.
Tad unslung his lariat.
"I'll rope the next boy who dares say anything like that again," he threatened. "See, even the burros are ashamed. They're hanging their heads, they're so humiliated."
"I don't blame them. Mine's swimming from the heat," rejoined the guide.
"Say, what's that?" demanded Chunky, pointing ahead of him, with a half-scared expression on his face.
"I don't see anything," answered the other lads.
"Chunky's 'seeing things,'" suggested Ned.
The fat boy was pointing to a bright circle of light that hung over the desert some five feet from the ground, directly ahead of him. The peculiar thing about it appeared to be that the circle of light kept continually moving ahead of him, and at times he caught the colors of the rainbow in it.
Stacy looked intently, but the bright light hurt his eyes and he was forced to lower his eyelids a little. This made the circle seem brighter than before.
Now Professor Zepplin had discovered the peculiar thing.
"What is that—what does it mean, guide?" asked the scientist.
"That—that ring of light?" asked Parry.
"Yes."
"That is a halo, sir."
"A halo?" chorused the boys.
"Must be Chunky's then," suggested Walter.
"I agree with you," added Ned. "But I don't see what right he has to a halo."
"That particular halo is a very common thing in the Desert Maze," Tom Parry informed them. "It is caused by heat refraction, or something of the sort——"
"Yes, yes. Oh, yes, I understand," nodded the Professor. "I recall having heard of something of the kind in hot countries, and——"
"Is this a hot country?" asked Stacy innocently.
"No, you ninny; this is a section of Greenland that's been dropped down here by an earthquake or something," laughed Walter.
"You're mistaken. It was washed down by the flood," corrected Ned.
All this helped to pass away the hours as well as to make the boys forget their troubles for the time being. Perhaps the lads did not fully realize the extent of their predicament. Not so the guide, however. He knew that they must find water soon. Not many hours would pass before the stock, unable to stand the strain longer, would give out, leaving the party in a serious plight. They would then be without water, and without horses to take them to water. The wild stallions, however, were accustomed to going without drink for long periods at a time, so that they were doing much better than the rest of the stock.
Tom Parry reasoned that they would be able to go through that day and part of the next without fresh supply, and that no serious consequences would result from it. Beyond that, he did not attempt to forecast what the result would be.
Late that afternoon, without having informed his charges, Parry varied his course, turning more to the west of south, eventually picking up a copper colored butte that rose out of the desert. Reaching it at last, Parry dismounted, and, bidding the others wait for him, he climbed up the rocky sides of the miniature mountain, quirt in hand.
They watched him until he had disappeared around the opposite side of the butte. When they caught sight of him again Tom had descended to the desert, and was approaching them along the base of the mountain.
"Anything encouraging?" called the Professor.
Parry shook his head.
"Why can't we all go up there and get a breath of fresh air? There must be some breeze on the top of the mountain," suggested Ned.
"No, I couldn't think of it," replied the guide firmly.
"Why not, please?" asked Walter.
"Because you might not come back," replied the guide, with a grim compression of the lips.
Later, upon being pressed by Tad for his reasons, he confided to the lad that there were snakes on the butte. He said he did not care to tell that to the boys, adding that "what they don't know won't hurt them."
Camp was made at dusk, some five miles further on, much to the relief of man and beast, for it had been the most trying day they had experienced.
The boys threw off their sombreros, shaking the dust from their heads. They then removed their clothes, giving them a thorough beating. After a brisk rub down with dry bath towels, the lads announced themselves as ready for supper.
"Our dry spread," Ned Rector called it, for not a drop of anything did they have to drink. They had drained their canteens of what little remained in them.
"It isn't good for one to drink with meals anyway," comforted Stacy. "That's what my uncle's doctor says," he explained, munching his bacon, forcing it down his parched throat.
Chunky was a philosopher, but he was unaware of the fact.
"That is right. Not until an hour and a half after meals," agreed the Professor. "I imagine we shall have to wait longer than that this time."
"Never mind; we'll pull through somehow. We always have," encouraged Tad cheerfully. "We've gotten out of some pretty tight places, and I am sure we'll manage to weather this gale in one way or another."
"Gale? Huh! I wish we had a gale to weather," murmured Walter.
"Providing it was a wet one," added Stacy.
"That's so. Now wouldn't it be fine to have a rainstorm?" agreed Ned, with enthusiasm.
"We could cuddle in our tents and listen to the raindrops patter on the roof," suggested Stacy.
"No; we'd lie down on our backs outside, open our mouths wide——"
"Like a nest of young robins," laughed Tad.
"Yes. Only we'd fill our mouths with water instead of——"
"Boys, boys!" warned the Professor. "I fear you are drifting into questionable dinner topics again."
"Why, we're talking about water, Professor," replied Ned in a tone of innocent surprise. "Surely you do not object to that?"
"Not so long as you confine your remarks to the subject of water. That seems to be our principal need at the present time."
"Speaking of water——" began Chunky.
"Hold on; is this a story or a joke?" interrupted Ned.
"I heard of a case like ours once," continued the fat boy, without heeding the interruption. "A party of travelers on the desert found themselves without water. In the party was a bookkeeper. He was from the East. Well, they were thinking about dying from thirst. But they didn't. The bookkeeper saved them."
There was silence in the group for a moment.
"I'll be the goat. How did he save them?" asked Ned.
"He had a fountain pen," replied the fat boy sagely.
"Y-e-o-w!" howled the Pony Rider Boys. "Put him out! Put him out!"