"We shouldn't were it not for Stacy Brown," declared Rector.
"That's right. Lay everything to me. I'm tough. I can stand it. But I'm the prophet of this outfit; I'm a necessary encumbrance."
"Mount!" commanded Tad. "Billy, did you bring that bundle of dry sticks for kindling the fire?"
"Nassir, yassir."
"Then, forward march!"
"Giddap, you old bundle of bones," jeered Chunky, giving his pony a smart unexpected slap.
The pony kicked and squealed, giving Stacy a lively tussle for a few moments.
"Why do you stir him up so?" rebuked Tad. "That isn't horsemanship. You act like a beginner."
"He always is that way in the morning. It's his way of showing his pleasure at having me on his back. Whoa, there, you cayuse!" shouted the fat boy.
Stacy lost part of his pack, necessitating a halt while he got down to repack and take a fresh hitch. Finally having arranged it to his satisfaction the fat boy mounted. His companions had waited with long-suffering patience, and there were sighs of relief when Stacy was once more ready. The party moved off at a leisurely walk, for the ground was rough and the trail not easy to follow.