To this the guide made no reply. In the meantime, Tad Butler was having his troubles. The problem of how to get the antelope back to camp was not so easily solved. But Tad thought he knew a way. First he got a stick, which he sharpened at both ends. The stick, 147about six feet long, he thrust through slits he had made in the hocks of the animal, somewhat similar to what he would have done had he been going to string the carcass up.
First strapping his rifle over his shoulder, the Pony Rider Boy raised the stick to his shoulders also, and, stooping, lifted the animal. It was a heavy burden and he staggered. The head of the antelope was dragging on the ground, which made Butler’s labor still more trying.
The lad started away, keeping close to the stream in his search of a fording place, but he failed to find anything that looked easier than the portage he had used before, so he finally decided to go back to that. By the time he reached the former point he was obliged to drop his burden and sink down on the rocks to rest.
“Whew, but it’s hot. And the mosquitoes and the gnats! If it isn’t one pest in the wilds, it is sure to be another and a worse one,” he concluded somewhat illogically, measuring the width of the stream with his eyes. “I’ll try it.”
The weight of his burden was a help rather than otherwise in crossing the glacial stream, for the weight kept the boy on his feet, except on one occasion when stepping on a flat, slippery 148rock, they were whipped out from under him. Tad went in all over, with the antelope on top of him, and there he struggled and splashed, losing his foothold almost as fast as he gained it.
“Well, I am a muffer,” gasped Tad, finally getting to his feet. “I’m worse than Chunky. I deserve a worse wetting, but I guess that’s impossible.”
The journey to the other side was made without further mishap. Then began a hard, grilling tramp down through the pass, the ends of the pole on which the animal was suspended continually catching on limbs and brush, frequently throwing Butler down, tearing his clothes and scratching his face and neck. His dogged determination carried him through, however, but he was in the end considerably the worse for wear. The first his companions saw of him was when Tad fell out into the open in plain sight of the camp, flat on his face, with the carcass on top of him. At first glance they thought it was a live animal they had seen.
“Get a gun, quick!” bellowed Stacy.
“Him white boy,” answered the Indian. “Him git um.”
“What, Tad?” Ned uttered a yell and started on a trot for his companion who, by this time, was getting up slowly and with evident 149effort. Stacy and Walter followed. “What have you got there? We came near letting go at you.”