"Everything worth while seems to happen when I am not around," protested Ned.
"Good thing you weren't along," replied Stacy. "You'd been scared stiff. It was no place for tenderfeet."
"You—you call me a tenderfoot?" snapped Ned, starting for him.
"Stop quarreling, you two!" commanded Tad. "We've had all the fighting we want for one night. Get busy and help strike this camp. Guess none of this outfit could truthfully be called a tenderfoot. We've all had our share of hard knocks, and we'll have enough to look back to and think about when we get home and have time to go over our experiences together this winter."
The thought, that at any minute the half-crazed savages might sweep down on them hastened the preparations for departure. The Pony Rider Boys never struck camp more quickly than they did in the soft southern moonlight that night.
All at once Juan set up a wail.
"What is it—what's the trouble now?" demanded Tad.
"My burro. I go for him."
"You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll walk, or ride a pack animal," answered Stacy. "You don't deserve to have a burro."
"Here's his old burro now," called Walter, as a shambling object, much the worse for wear, came stumbling sleepily into camp.