They gathered around him threateningly.
"If you want a mix-up, we're here," warned Chunky, pushing his pony up beside that of Ned Rector.
Ned, forgetting for the instant that he was in his bare feet, let drive a kick at the side of Stacy's pony.
"Ouch!" roared Ned.
Jerking the injured toe up to the saddle, he grabbed it with both hands, rocking back and forth, for his foot had struck the pony with such violence that it is a wonder every toe on the foot was not broken.
"Did 'oo hurt 'oo little tootsie-wootsies?" cooed Chunky, with a grimace.
Ned Rector, forgetting the pain for the instant, made a quick grab for his tormentor. He just barely reached the sleeve of Chunky's pajamas. But his sudden movement caused the fat boy's pony to leap suddenly to one side.
Ned landed on his head and shoulders in the desert sand, feet kicking the air, to the accompaniment of yells of derision from his companions.
With red face and angry eyes, the lad scrambled to his feet and started limping to his pony, which had sprung to one side, where it stood, evidently wondering what next was about to happen.
"I'll get even with you, Chunky Brown," Ned growled, as he climbed into his saddle.