They saw the red, perspiring face of the fat boy above a clump of grass, his yells for help continuing, unabated.
"What is it?" shouted the guide.
"I've got it, Santa Claus! I've got it!"
"Got what?" roared the Professor.
"The stick!—I mean it's got me. Help! Help!"
Stacy was wrestling about as if engaged in combat with some enemy. They could not imagine what had gone wrong—what had caused his sudden cries of alarm.
"It's the divining rod!" called the guide.
"He's found water!" shouted the boys.
"I've got it! I've got it! Come help me hold it. The thing's jerking my arms off."
To the amazement of the Pony Rider Boys, the forked stick in the hands of the fat boy was performing some strange antics. Breathing hard, he would force it up until it was nearly upright, when all at once the point of the triangle would suddenly swerve downward, bending the rod almost to the breaking point.