“Stacy! Sit on her head! Fetch me a rope, someone,” urged Lieutenant Wingate.
Passing the rope about the animal, they threw it around a tree above the trail, then began removing the pack, which Tom had loosened by pulling on the pack-rope. Relieved of the weight on her back, Idler, aided by a pull on the rope, struggled to her feet, and, after no little effort, she was gotten back on the narrow trail. About a hundred feet above them, perched on a pinnacle of rock, sat the Honorable Woo Smith, hands lost in his flowing sleeves.
“Hi-lee, hi-lo! hi-lee, hi-lo!” sang the guide.
Stacy shied a pebble at him.
“Will you stop that ‘hi-lee’ business?” he demanded. “It is lucky for you that you are above instead of below me, or I’d roll a rock down on you.”
“Let the cook alone!” ordered Tom Gray. “I don’t understand what caused that beast to lose her footing so suddenly.”
Hippy Wingate, however, understood only too well, but he did not think best to enlighten his companions, who might have found unpleasant remarks to make. A full hour was lost in getting the brown mare and her pack in condition to proceed, then the journey was resumed.
Later in the day, Lieutenant Wingate found occasion to use his pea-shooter again. The first effort in that direction had proved so successful that he could not resist the second shining opportunity that presented itself. This time Stacy was the victim.
Stacy was asleep in his saddle at the time, his pony moping along with head close to the ground, when Hippy sent a pea straight at the tender flank of the animal.
The pony woke up suddenly, and then another pea hit it. The fat boy’s mount bucked beautifully, and Chunky took a long flight, landing head-first in a wild rose bush, howling and struggling, not rightly knowing what had occurred.