CHAPTER XIV
A NARROW ESCAPE
The Pony Riders awoke full of enthusiasm for the work of the day. Thusfar, each day had held a new and wonderful experience for them, whilethose to come were destined to be even more full of stirringincidents.
Most of all, the boys looked forward to the hunting trips that hadbeen promised. Next to that came the exploration of mountain caves. Itwas enough to gladden the heart of any boy.
Immediately they had arisen, they descended upon the guide in a body,demanding to know if they were to hunt that day.
"Depends upon Ben Tackers," answered Lige. "You remember what I toldyou last night. He'll let us know when it's time for our littleexcursion. I think we had best have another hour of target practicethis morning."
This plan suited the boys so exactly that, after breakfast, they setto work cleaning their rifles. A dozen rounds of ammunition wereplaced in their cartridge belts, after which, the boys announced theirreadiness for practice.
"Get the ponies," directed the guide.
"Ponies? What for? We're not going to shoot the ponies, are we?" askedNed Rector.
"I wouldn't advise it," grinned the guide. "I'll show you what I wantafter we have reached the range. I suppose you know that hunting inthis country is quite generally done on horseback, so you will have toget used to that way of shooting. Also your ponies must becomeaccustomed to the firing from their backs. Snap shooting on horsebackis a trick you will have to learn. It may be the means of saving yourlives some time when you are after wild game."
The boys made a rush to the spot where the ponies were staked. Thelittle animals looked up in mild protest as their owners hastily threwon saddles, cinched the girths and slipped the bits into unwillingmouths.
Leading their ponies into camp, each boy, with gun slung over hisshoulder, stood at the left of his mount, awaiting the command of hisleader.
"Ready," announced Tad.
Four right hands grasped the saddle pommels, the left hands the manes.
"Mount!"
Four enthusiastic lads swung lightly into their saddles, gathering upthe reins, and on the alert for the next command.
"Forward!" ordered Tad.
The Pony Riders clucked to the little animals and in single columnfiled slowly up the mountain pass.
The place that Lige Thomas had chosen for the target work was not anideal one, being rough and uneven. Yet, as he explained to them, itrepresented general hunting conditions in the Rockies.
However, the boys did not care. Their ponies were sure-footed enoughnow, they thought, to warrant being trusted under ordinary conditions,while the boys themselves had no fear of their own ability to stick totheir saddles.
Lige picked out a stump for the first target, on which he pinned atorn piece of newspaper.
This the boys were to shoot at with their ponies at the gallop. Theywere first to ride to the upper end of the range, after which, theywere to gallop down the field, keeping to the right of the target,firing at will at any time before reaching a certain point designatedby a handkerchief tied to a bush.
It was a proud and happy band that thundered down the field on thefleet-footed ponies, one at a time, discharging their weapons as theycame bravely on.
At first the little animals objected, in no uncertain manner, to thecrashing of the heavy guns over their heads. Chunky's horse reared andplunged until the boy was forced to drop his rifle and hang ondesperately, while the pony tore about the field. The young manundoubtedly would have come to grief had not Tad Butler, observingthat his companion had lost control of the animal, put spurs to Texas,and reining alongside of Stacy, grasped the pony by the bit, subduingit only after a lively struggle. During this contest Chunky had let goof the reins entirely, and was clinging to the pommel of the saddlewith both hands.
"You take Texas and let me ride your pony for a couple of rounds,"suggested Tad. "I'll see if I can't trim him into shape."
Stacy willingly relinquished his horse, and Tad, mounting the stubbornlittle animal, treated the party to as entertaining a bit ofhorsemanship as they ever had witnessed. After Tad had finished withthe pony the animal, thoroughly subdued, made no further objections tothe discharge of weapons all about and over him.
"Now, go ahead, Chunky," advised Tad. "If he cuts up any more justtake a tight rein and give him the spur. But I think he'll be goodwithout it."
Stacy had no further trouble with the pony after that. In fact, allthe ponies soon accustomed themselves to the noise of the firing andthe attendant excitement.
At first none of the boys seemed able to hit even thestump. Presently, though, little black patches began to appear on thewhite paper as the marksmen dashed by, each successful shot beinggreeted by a cheer of approval from the spectators.
"Those boys have the right stuff in them," said the guide to ProfessorZepplin. "They shoot and ride like old hands already, though theydon't hit the mark every time they shoot."
"They are young Americans," smiled the Professor. "No other country inthe world produces such types. As a foreigner I can appreciate that."
While they were talking, Tad was taking his turn at the target.
"Just look at that boy ride. That proves it," said the Professor.
Tad had dropped the bridle rein over the saddle bow as he neared theshooting mark. Rising in his stirrups, riding there as if he were apart of the animal itself, he was holding the bobbing rifle easily,eyes fixed on the mark that hung gleaming in the sunlight.
Suddenly the butt of the rifle sprang to his right shoulder, a flashof smoke and flame leaped from the muzzle of the gun, and a tiny blackpatch appeared, like magic, fairly in the center of the target.
Dropping to his saddle, half-turning his body, Tad Butler sent back asecond shot hard on the report of the first one, once more planting aleaden pellet in the now well-riddled paper.
The boys sent up a whoop of approval.
"I guess that will do for to-day," decided the guide. "Got any chargesleft in your magazines?"
"I have," answered Chunky.
"Draw them, then."
"Yes," said Ned Rector. "Even though Chunky is beginning to get hiseyes open, I don't consider myself safe so long as he has a loaded gunin his hands. What we shall do with him when we get after real game,and can't watch him every second, I don't know."
"Don't you bother about me. You've got enough to do looking afteryourself," retorted Stacy sharply, much to the discomfiture of histormentor.
The boys now turned campward, well satisfied with the morning'spractice and with keen appetites for the noonday meal. Nothing hadbeen seen of Ben Tackers, so their hopes for going hunting that daywere shattered.
Yet they were given no opportunity to brood over theirdisappointment. Professor Zepplin and Lige Thomas still had a fewsurprises in store for them. Very cleverly, they had pieced thesesurprises along instead of giving them all to the lads at thebeginning. Thus each day held its new interest, different from anythat had preceded it.
"We will call this our shooting day, eh, Thomas?" smiled the Professorsignificantly.
"It has been."
"Then, perhaps you had best get out the other implements of warfarefor our young gentlemen. It will keep them busy until supper time,furnishing something new as well."
With a knowing grin, Lige went to the cook tent, soon returning withan armful. At first the boys glanced at the bundle curiously, thenwith more interest as it began to assume shape and form to their eyes.
"What---what----" stammered Tad.
Stacy, whose eyes were wide open, was the first to recognize thearticles, and as he did so, Lige dumped them on the ground.
"Bows and arrows," cried the boys, performing a grotesque war danceabout the weapons.
"We'll be real Indians now, won't we?" chortled Chunky.
"They are only playthings," sniffed Ned. "What good are they when wehave real rifles?"
"You'll find these bows and arrows re
al enough," answered theguide. "They were made by Indians, and some of them have been used byIndians, not only for hunting, but against men as well. A shot fromone of those arrows might put an end to any one of you fully asquickly as would a bullet from one of your thirty-eights."
"Shall we help ourselves?" asked Ned.
"Wait. I'll divide them according to your size and strength. These twoare war bows. I think I'll give them to Master Tad and Ned Rector. Ittakes a strong arm to pull them, and you'll want to be careful whichway you shoot."
"I'll show you fellows how to shoot," averredStacy. "I can beat any boy in the bunch with the bow and arrow. Ilearned the trick up in New England, where I come from. My ancestorslearned it from the Indians, who used to shoot them up, and the trickhas been handed down in my family. Somebody throw up his hat and seeme pink it," he directed, stringing his bow skilfully.
The boys could not repress a smile at Chunky's self-praise.
"Here you go," said Ned, sending his sombrero spinning high in theair, hoping thereby to take Stacy so much by surprise that he would beunable to draw a bead on it.
But Chunky demonstrated that, however slow he might be in some otherthings, he could twang a bow with remarkable skill.
Even before the hat had spent its upward flight, Stacy Brown'sbowstring sang, a slender dark streak sped through the air, its courselaid directly for the hat of which its owner was so proud.
"Hi there! Look out! You're going to hit it!" warned Ned.
That was exactly what Stacy had intended to do, though none had hadthe slightest idea that he could shoot well enough to accomplish thefeat.
To their astonishment, the keen-pointed arrow went fairly into thecenter of the hat, coming out at the crown, its feathered butt tearinga great rent in the peak of the sombrero as it passed through.
Ned groaned as he witnessed the disaster that had come upon his newhat. But he got no sympathy from the rest of the boys.
"I'll trade with you. You can wear mine," consoled Chunky, observinghis companion's rueful countenance as he picked up the sombrero,sorrowfully surveying the rent in its peak. "I'll do nothing of thesort," snapped Ned. "I told you to shoot at it. It serves me right andI'll take my medicine like a man. If it rains, I'll stuff the holefull of leaves," he added humorously. "Then my umbrella will be justas good as yours."
"That's the talk," approved the boys. "Anybody else want to offer hishat to the sacrifice!" grinned Chunky.
"I think hereafter you had better use the blunt arrows unless you areshooting at game," advised the guide. "Those flint arrow heads aredangerous things for work such as yours. I'll pack them away, so therewill be no danger of an accident."
After having practiced in camp for a time, the boys strayed off,hoping for a chance to try their skill on some live thing. To this theProfessor made no objection, for they were now becoming so used to themountains as to be quite well able to take care of themselves, unlessthey got too far from camp, which they were not likely to do.
Tad soon strolled away by himself, taking a course due south by hispocket compass. This led him directly over the range where they hadbeen shooting earlier in the day, and the boy smiled with pride as hepassed the target and counted up the bullet holes that his own riflehad made. He then pressed on, intending to enter the cedar forest thatcrowned a great ridge some distance beyoud him.
Before reaching there, however, Tad sat down in a rocky basin, toenjoy to the fullest the sense of being alone in the mountainfastness. His quiver was full of arrows, and the strong, business-likelooking bow lay across his knees.
"If I could see a bob-cat now, I'd have something real to interestme," Tad confided to himself.
But not a sign of animal life did he observe anywhere about him.
Tad's right hand was resting on a small jagged stone beside him. Itfelt cool under his touch, and, after a little, the boy carelesslypicked it up and looked at it. As he gazed, his eyes took on adifferent expression. The stone, in spots, sparkled brilliantly in thesunlight. He turned it over and over, examining it critically.
"I wonder if it is gold?" marveled the boy, his eyes growing largewith wonder. "I'll take it back to camp and ask Lige."
Tad scrambled to his feet, but ere he could carry out his purpose ofstarting for camp, an unexpected and startling thing happened.
There was a whir, as of some object being hurled through the air. Theboy experienced a stinging sensation on his right cheek, as themissile grazed it, and a stone the size of a man's hand clattered tothe rocks several feet ahead of him, rolling over and over, finallytoppling from a small cliff.
Some one had thrown the stone at him. Had it hit the boy's head fairlyit almost surely would have killed him. Tad Butler needed no otherevidence than that afforded by his own senses to tell him the missilewas intended for him.
He whirled sharply. But not a person was in sight. All at once,however, the keen-eyed boy discovered a slight movement in the sagebrush, a few rods to the rear of where he had been sitting.
Like a flash he whipped a blunt arrow from the quiver.
The bow twanged viciously, and the arrow sped straight into the sagebrush. A yell of rage and a floundering about in the bush as ifsomeone were running, told the boy that his shot had reached a humanmark.
Pacing the sage, Tad had become conscious of the fact that before himlay a large black hole in the rocks, and he dimly realized that he hadcome upon a cave. But he gave the matter no further attention at thatmoment, his first thought being that he must get back to camp asquickly as possible.
Stringing his bow, Tad hurled another arrow into the brush, thenbounded away, wondering vaguely who his mysterious enemy might be.