Tally had purchased the tents and camp equipment in Trinidad, and had the ponies saddled and waiting just outside the town proper; the three little burros, well-laden, looked more like ants carrying elephants than anything able to crawl up peaks and down perpendicular ravines. As before, when visiting the Rockies, the girls felt sorry for the little pack animals that appeared too slender and weak to stand any strain or fatigue. And, as before, Tally laughed at their misplaced sympathies.
Having had a hearty breakfast with which to start the day, the scouts were eager for the adventures before them. The horses had the regulation western saddles and the girls, wearing sensible clothing for riding—loose flannel shirts, knickerbockers, and high boots—rode cross-saddle.
Tally led off along the road that followed the railroad to Raton Mountain; Julie and Joan riding at each side of him while plying him with questions.
“Tally, do you know the names of our ponies and the burros?” asked Julie.
“Um-m-m, sure, Mees Jule,” was the guide’s reply, after a short hesitation.
“Tally! what does that ‘um-m-m’ mean?” demanded Julie, suspiciously.
“Oh, heem! dat mean me try rememmer alla dem names. Nine, ten, ’lefen, twelf names alla hard,” returned the Indian, innocent of face, but ready to burst out laughing.
“Tell me the name of mine, and of the three burros, and I won’t bother you about the others,” said Julie.
“Lem’me see!” began Tally, meditatively. Then he said:
“Oh, yess! me rememmer now. Dat pony you ride have white spot on face, so my fren’ name him White Star. Dat firs’ burro what carry tents, he call Slow Poke. Anudder what have cook-stove an’ deeshes he call Spark. Dat las’ burro is call Nuttin—short fer Good-fer-nuttin’, you see?”