The Pony Rider Boys in Montana | Page 6

loop of his lariat above his head as he ran.
He could faintly make out the figure of his companion rolling down the
steep bank.
"Hold up your hand so I can drop the rope over you," shouted Tad, at
the same time making a skillful cast.
His aim was true. The rawhide reached the mark. Chunky, however,
feeling it slap him smartly on the cheek, brushed the rope aside in his
excitement, not realizing what it was that had struck him.
"Grab it!" roared Tad, observing that he had failed to rope the lad.
With a mighty splash, Stacy Brown plunged into the stream broadside
on.
"He's in! I heard him strike!" cried Walter.
With a warning cry to the others to bring lights, Tad, without an
instant's hesitation, leaped over the bluff and went shooting down it in a
sitting posture.
"Tad's gone in, too," shouted Walter excitedly, as their ears caught a
second splash. It was more clean cut than had been Stacy's dive, and
might have passed unnoticed had they not known the meaning of the
sound.
Ned Rector stood as if dazed. He knew that somehow he had
thoughtlessly plunged his companions into dire peril.
"Wha--what is it?" he stammered.
"They're in the river! Don't you understand?" answered Walter sharply,

moving forward as if to follow over the bank in an effort to rescue his
companion.
"Keep back!" commanded the Professor. "You'll all drown if you go
over that bank."
The Professor, with more presence of mind than the others, had sprung
up and rushed for the camp-fire, from which he snatched a burning
ember.
At any other time the sight of his long, gaunt figure, clad in a full suit
of pink pajamas, dashing madly about the camp, would have excited
the lads to uproarious merriment. But laughter was far from their
thoughts at that moment.
"Use your eyes! Do you see him?" demanded Professor Zepplin,
peering down anxiously into the shadows.
"No. Oh, Tad!" shouted Ned. There was no reply to the boy's hail.
"Thaddeus!" roared the Professor. Still no answer.
Down the stream a short distance they could hear the water roaring
over the rocks, from where it dropped some twenty feet and continued
on its course. The falls there were known as Buttermilk Falls, because
of the churning the water received in its lively drop, and more than one
mountaineer had been swept over them to his death in times of high
water. Between the camp and these falls there was a sharp bend in the
river, and ere the boys had recovered from their surprise, their
companions undoubtedly had been swept around the bend and on
beyond their sight.
"Do--do you--do you think----" stammered Walter.
"They have gone down stream," answered the Professor shortly. "Run
for it, boys! Run as you never ran before!"
Ned dived for the thicket where the ponies were tethered. It was the
work of a moment only to release Bad-eye. Without waiting to saddle

him, Ned threw himself upon the surprised animal's back, and with a
wild yell sent the broncho plunging through the camp.
He was nearly unseated when Bad-eye suddenly veered to avoid
stepping into the camp-fire, which Ned Rector in his haste had
forgotten.
The lad gripped the pony's mane and hung on desperately until he
finally succeeded in righting himself, all the while kicking the pony's
sides with his bare feet to urge him on faster.
They were out of the camp, tearing through the thicket before the
Professor and Walter had even gotten beyond the glow of the fire. Ned
was obliged to make a wide detour instead of taking a short cut across
the bend made by the river. There were rocks in his way, so that a few
moments of valuable time were lost before he reached the stream on the
other side of the obstruction.
"Come, we must run," urged the Professor. "I'm afraid both of them
may have gone over the falls."
"Oh, I hope he is not too late!" answered Walter, with a half sob, as
they ran regardless of the fact that sharp sticks and jagged stones were
cruelly cutting into their feet.
CHAPTER III
THE BOYS RESCUE EACH OTHER
Ned swung around the bend at a tremendous pace. He was able to see
little about him, though as he once more reached the bank he could tell
where the river lay, because the river gorge lay in a deeper shadow than
did the rest of the landscape about him.
"Oh, Tad! Tad!" he shouted.
A faint call answered him. He was not quite sure that it was not an echo
of his own voice.

"Tad! T-a-d!"
"Hurry!"
It seemed a long distance away--that faint reply to his hail.
"That you, Tad!"
"Y-e-s."
"Where are you!"
"Here."