Author of "Toby Tyler," "Tim and Tip," etc.
Chapter IV.
THE PONY.
It certainly seemed, when they arrived at the pasture again, as if everything was conspiring in favor of their circus, for Chandler Merrill had willingly consented to let them use his pony; but he had done so with the kindly prophecy that the little animal would "kick their brains out" if they were not careful with him.
In order to make sure that the consent would not be withdrawn, and at the same time to prove that he told the truth, Bob had brought the pony with him, and, judging from his general appearance as he stood gazing suspiciously at the Douglass horse, he deserved all that was said of him regarding his vicious qualities. He was about half the size of an ordinary horse, and his coat was ragged-looking, owing to its having been rubbed off in spots, thus giving him the air of just such a pony as one would suppose willing to join a party of boys in starting a circus.
"Now there's a hoss that ain't either lame or blind," said Bob, proudly, as he led the pony once around the ring to show his partners how he stepped. If he was intending to say anything more, he concluded to defer it while he made some very rapid movements in order to escape the blow the "hoss" aimed at him with his hind-feet.
"Kicks, don't he?" said Toby, in a tone which plainly told he did not think him very well suited to their purpose.
"Well, he did then;" and Bob fastened the halter more securely by putting one end of the rope through the pony's mouth; "but you see that's because he ain't been used much, an' he's tickled 'cause he's goin' to belong to a circus."
"How long before he'll get over bein' tickled?" asked Joe. "I'm willin' to train Jack Douglass's hoss; but I don't know 'bout this one till he gets sorry enough not to kick."
"Oh, he'll be all right jest as soon as Toby rides him 'round the ring a little while."
"Do you think I'm goin' to ride him?" asked Toby, beginning to believe his partners expected more of him than ever Mr. Castle did.
"Of course; a feller what's been with a circus ought to know how to ride any hoss that ever lived," replied Bob, with considerable emphasis, owing to the fact that the pony kicked and plunged so that his words were jerked out of him, rather than spoken.
"I s'pose some fellers can; but I wasn't with the circus long enough to find out how to ride such hosses as them;" and Toby retired to the shade of the alder bushes, where Abner was sitting, to wait until Bob and the pony had come to terms.
It was quite as much as Bob could do to hold his prize, without trying to make any arrangements for having him ridden, and he called Reddy to help him.
Now, as the ring-master of the contemplated circus, Reddy ought to have known all about horses, and he thought he did until the pony made one plunge, just as he came up smiling with whip in hand. Then he said, as he ran toward Toby,
"I don't believe I want to be ring-master if we're goin' to have that hoss."
"Here, Joe, you help me," cried Bob, in desperation, growing each moment more afraid of the steed. "I want to get him up by the fence, where we can hitch him, till we find out what to do with him."
Joe was perfectly willing to assist the unfortunate clown in his troubles; but as he started toward him, the pony wheeled and flung his heels out with a force that showed he would do some damage if he could, and Joe also joined the party among the bushes.
Bob was thus left alone with his prize, and a most uncomfortable time he appeared to be having of it, standing there in the hot sun, clinging desperately to the halter, and jumping from one side to the other when the pony attempted to bite or strike him with his fore-feet.
"Let him go; he hain't any good," shouted Reddy, from his secure retreat.
"If I let go the halter, he'll jump right at me;" and there was a certain ring in Bob's voice that told he was afraid.
"Hitch him to the fence, an' then climb over," suggested Joe.
"But I can't get him over there, for he won't go a step;" and Bob continued to hold fast to the halter, afraid to do so, but still more afraid to let go.
He had borrowed the pony, but it certainly seemed as if the animal had borrowed him, for his fear caused him to cling desperately to the halter as the only possible means of saving his life.
The boys under the alder bushes were fully alive to the fact that something should be done, although they were undecided as to what that something should be.
Joe proposed that they all rush out, and scare the pony away, but Bob insisted that he would be the sufferer by such a course. Reddy thought if Bob should show more spirit, and let the vicious little animal see that he was not afraid of him, everything would be all right; but when it was proposed that he should try the plan himself, he concluded there might be serious objections to such a course.
Ben thought that if they all took hold of the halter, they could pull the pony to the fence, and this plan was looked upon with such favor that it was adopted at once.
Every one except Abner took hold of the halter, after some little delay in getting there, owing to the readiness of the pony to use his heels at the slightest provocation. But just when they were about to put forth all their strength in pulling, the pony jumped toward them suddenly, rendering their efforts useless, and starting all save Bob back to the alder bushes in ignominious flight.
Bob still remained at his post, or, more correctly speaking, the halter, and it was very much against his will that he did so.
"I wish Chandler Merrill would come up here, an' get his old hoss, for I don't want him any longer," he said, angrily. "He ought to be prosecuted for lettin' us have such a tiger."
Bob did not seem to remember that if he had been refused the loan of the pony he would have considered Chandler Merrill very selfish; in fact, he hardly remembered anything save his own desire to get rid of the animal as quickly as possible.
"What shall I do?" he cried, in desperation. "I can't stand here all day, an' the hoss don't mean to let me get away."
"We've got to help Bob," said Toby, decidedly, as he arose to his feet again, and went toward the unfortunate clown. "If you fellers will try to hold him, I'll get on his back, an' then Bob can get away."
"But he'll throw you off, an' hurt you," objected Abner, trying to protect his newly made friend.
"I can stop him from doing that, an' it's the only way I know of to help Bob."
"You get on, Toby, an' then I'll scoot jest as soon as you get hold of the halter," said Bob, happy at this prospect of being relieved. "Then, when you get a chance, you jump off, an' we'll let somebody else take him home."
It was a hard task, and they all ran considerable risk of getting kicked; but at last it was accomplished, so far as mounting was concerned. Toby was on the pony's back, with a firm grasp of the rope that was made to serve as bridle.
"Now be all ready to run," he said; and there was no disposition to linger shown by any of his friends. "Let go!" he shouted, and at the sound of his voice the boys went one way and the pony another at full speed.
It was not until the would-be circus managers were within the shelter of the clump of bushes that they stopped to look for their partner, and then they saw him at the further end of the pasture, the pony running and leaping as if doing his best to dislodge his rider.
Even the Douglass horse seemed to be excited by the display of spirit, for he capered around in a manner very unbecoming one as old and blind as he.
Only for a few moments could they watch the contest, and then the distant trees hid Toby Tyler and Chandler Merrill's pony from view.
Some time the boys watched for Toby's return; and just as they were beginning to think they ought to go in search of him, and fearing lest he had been hurt by the vicious pony, they saw him coming from among the trees, alone and on foot.
"Well," said Bob, with a sigh of relief, "he's got rid of the hoss, an' that was all we wanted."
Toby's story, when at last, hot and tired, he reached the alder bushes, was not nearly so exciting as his partners anticipated. He had clung to the pony until they entered the woods, where he was brushed off by the branches of the trees as easily as if he had been a fly, and with as little damage.
How they should get the pony back into its owner's keeping was a question difficult to answer, and they were all so completely worn out by their exertions to get rid of him that they did not attempt to come to any conclusion regarding it.
While they were resting from their labors, and before they had ceased to congratulate each other that they had succeeded in separating themselves from the pony, Leander Leighton, his accordion under his arm and his clappers in his hands, made his appearance.
His struggle with the baby had evidently come to an end sooner than he had dared hope, and the managers were happy at this speedy prospect of hearing what their band could do in the way of music.
"Boys!" shouted Leander, excitedly, while he was some distance away, "there's a real circus comin' here next week—the same one Toby Tyler run away with—an' the men are pastin' up the bills now down to the village!"
The boys looked at each other in surprise; it had never entered into their calculations that they might have a real circus as a rival, and certainly Toby had never thought he would again see those whom he had first run away with, and then run away from. He was rather disturbed by the prospect at first, for it seemed certain that Job Lord and Mr. Castle would try to compel him to go with them; but a moment's thought convinced him that Uncle Daniel would not allow them to carry him away, and he grew as eager for more news as any of the others.
Leander knew no more than he had already told; after having been relieved from his care of the baby, he had started for the pasture, and had seen the show-bills as he came along. He was certain it was the same circus Toby had gone with, for the names on the bills were the same, and he had heard some of the townspeople say so as he came along.
"An' I shall see the skeleton an' the fat woman again," said Toby, very much delighted at the idea of meeting those kind friends from whom he had thought himself parted forever.
"Don't you s'pose you could get 'em to leave that show an' come with ours?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps some kind fortune had thrown this opportunity in their way that they might the better succeed in their project.
Toby was not sure such a plan could be made to work, for the reason that they were only intending to give two or three performances, and Mr. and Mrs. Treat might not think it worth their while to leave the circus they were with on the strength of such uncertain prospects.
"And you shall go to the show, Abner," said Toby, pleased at the opportunity he would have of making the crippled boy happy for one day at least; "an' I'll take all of you fellers down, an' get the skeleton to talk to you, so's you can see how nice he is. You shall see his wife, an' old Ben, an' Ella, an'—"
"But won't you be afraid of Job Lord?" interrupted Leander, fearful lest Toby's dread of meeting his old employer might prevent them from having all this promised enjoyment.
"Uncle Dan'l wouldn't let him take me away; an' now I'm home here, I don't believe old Ben would let him touch me."
There was evidently no probability that they would transact any more business relative to their own circus that day, so intent were they on talking about the one that was to come, and it was not until nearly time to drive the cows home that they remembered the presence of their band.
Ben proposed that Leander should show them what he could do in the way of music, so that he need not be at the trouble of bringing his accordion up to the pasture again, and the boys ceased all conversation for the purpose of listening to the so-called melody.
[to be continued.]
[CATCHING QUAIL IN INDIA.]
India is a land of wonders; but among the strange sights few are more utterly ridiculous than that of a party of natives driving quail.
The quail-hunter throws a large white cloth over his head, which is extended in front by means of two sticks held in the hands. Arrayed in this manner, the quail-hunter performs various antics and movements which would lead a looker-on to suppose him insane.
There is a method in his madness, however. This remarkable adjustment of the white cloth is supposed to transform the man into a bull or other horned animal. He pretends to paw the earth, tosses his make-believe horns, turns round and round, pretending to scratch himself in true bovine fashion. It is irresistibly comic to watch him, and a little attention generally pleases him to such an extent that he will redouble his efforts and multiply his ridiculous pranks until the spectator is thrown into convulsions of laughter.
There are several distinct varieties of quail in India; they frequent open places near rivers, keeping near the ground when flying, and running rapidly among the grasses. The hunters spread fine nets around two sides of the field, and at the end they place a large cage with one or more decoy birds inside.
The idiotic-looking cow has all his wits about him. He proceeds warily; his keen eye detects the coveys of quail, and sees which way they are running. He is no more like a cow than that respectable animal is like a cucumber, but his ruse succeeds wonderfully. He moves about, tosses his head, switches his ingeniously contrived tail, and so manœuvres that he keeps the running quail away from the unprotected edges of the field.
When they get to the verge protected by the net they begin to take alarm. They are probably a little uncertain about the peculiar-looking "old cow" behind them, and running along the net, they see the decoy quail apparently feeding in great security and comfort. The V-shaped mouth of the large basket cage looks invitingly open. The puzzling nets are barring the way, and the cow is gradually closing up behind.
As the hunter moves along, he rubs two pieces of dry stick gently up and down his thigh with one hand, thus producing a crackling sound. It is not enough to startle the birds into flight, but alarms them sufficiently to make them get out of the way. One bird, perhaps a little bolder than the others, irritated by the queer crackling sound, now enters the basket, when the others follow like a flock of sheep, and once in, the puzzling shape of the entrance prevents their exit.
Hunters will not unfrequently bag twenty or thirty brace of quail in one field by this absurdly appearing but ingenious method.
