The Pony Rider Boys in Montana | Page 5

was set determinedly, a vacant expression having taken full possession
of his eyes.
"He is going to yawn," announced Walter solemnly. "Stake down the
camp."
In spite of his determination not to yield to the impulse of the moment,
Ned's mouth slowly opened to its extreme capacity, accompanied by a
deep intake of breath.
"Y-a-h-h-h-hum!" he exploded.
"Got you that time. He--he----" Walter's words died away in a
long-drawn, gaping yawn.
Ned waited to hear no more. With a yell he projected himself at the fat
boy. Stacy, however, observing the move, had quickly rolled to one
side. Ned struck the ground heavily.
Stacy was rolling over and over now as if his very life depended upon
getting away. He could not spare the time to get up and run, so he
continued to roll over and over, making no mean progress at that.
"Go it, Chunky!" shouted Walter in high glee.
The scene, dimly lighted by the smouldering camp-fire, was so
ludicrous as to send the boys into shouts of laughter. All were
thoroughly awake now. They had made camp at sunset on the banks of
the East Fork, of what was known as Fennell's Creek, a broad, deep
stream which, joining its companion fork some ten miles further down,
flowed into the clear waters of the Yellowstone. Here they had cooked
their supper after many attempts, made with varying degrees of success

and much laughter. Later they had rolled themselves into their blankets
and gone to sleep.
They had been awakened by Stacy Brown's yawns. In a moment each
had taken his turn at yawning, but all took the interruption
good-naturedly, save Ned Rector. By this time he had grown very
much excited. No sooner would he pounce upon the spot where Stacy
appeared to be, than the fat boy by a few swift rolls would propel
himself well beyond the reach of his irate companion.
"It'll be the worse for you when I do get you," cried Ned.
At that moment Ned tripped over a limb, and, plunging headlong,
measured his length on the ground.
The sympathy of the camp was with the rolling Chunky.
"Get a net," shouted Walter.
"No, rope him, Ned. That's the only way you ever will catch him,"
jeered Tad.
Both boys were dancing about their companions, shivering in their
pajamas and uttering shouts of glee.
"He's a regular high roller," said Tad.
"No, not a high roller," answered Walter.
"Here, here!" admonished the Professor. "Stop this nonsense. I want to
go to sleep. I don't mind you young gentlemen enjoying yourselves, but
midnight is rather late for such pranks, it strikes me. Into your blankets,
every one of you."
It was doubtful that the boys even heard his voice. If they did, they
failed entirely to catch the meaning of his words, so absorbed were they
in the mad scramble of Ned Rector and Stacy Brown.
"Roll, Chunky, roll!" urged Walter, jumping up and down in his bare

feet.
"Good thing he's fat. If he weren't so round he could never do it,"
mocked Tad. "I'll bet he was a fast creeper when be was a baby."
The ponies, disturbed by the noise and excitement, had scrambled to
their feet and were moving about restlessly in the bushes where they
were tethered.
"Master Stacy, you will get up at once!" commanded the Professor
sternly.
"I can't," wailed the fat boy.
"Then I'll help you," decided the Professor firmly, striding toward the
spot where he had last heard the lad's voice.
"Look out for the river!" warned Tad, as the thought of what was below
the boy suddenly occurred to him.
"Help, help! I'm rolling in," cried Stacy.
"There he goes, down the bank! Grab him!" shouted Walter.
"Where?" demanded Ned, not fully grasping the import of the warning.
"There, there! Don't you see him? Right in front of you. He's going to
fall into the river!"
Stacy had forgotten that they were encamped on the east shore of the
fork and that the broad stream was flowing rapidly along just below
him. The banks at that point were high and precipitous, the water
almost icy cold, being fresh from the clear mountain streams a few
miles above. In spots it was deep and treacherous.
Frantically grasping at weeds and slender sprouts, as he rolled down the
almost perpendicular bluff, Stacy yelled lustily for help. From the soft,
sandy soil the weeds came away in his hands, without in the slightest
degree checking his progress.

Tad realized the danger perhaps more fully than did the others. In the
darkness the lad might slip into one of the treacherous river pockets and
drown before they could reach him.
Grasping his rope which lay beside his cot. Tad sprang to the top of the
bluff, swinging the