The Pony Rider Boys with the Texas Rangers | Page 5

horseman was an
event. In fact they had not met one since the early morning. The Pony
Riders had no guide with them on this journey, believing that one
would not be needed. Nor did they carry a pack train. One additional
pony bore all their extra baggage, each mount being loaded with all that
he could carry in addition to its rider. For tents they had brought one
large enough to accommodate the entire party. This was in sections,
carried on the different ponies.
Five o'clock had come and gone. The sun was partly bidden by the
ridge of the Guadalupes towards which the Pony Rider Boys were
slowly drawing. Ned called up to the professor who was riding at the
head.
"Where are we going to make camp, Professor?"
"Tad will decide that," answered Professor Zepplin without looking
back.
"Near a stream, of course," answered Butler.
"Any mosquitoes there?" demanded Stacy.
"No odds, if there are," retorted Ned. "They wouldn't bite you."
"Not if they had got at you first," returned Stacy solemnly. "There's a
level place in there by the creek."
"I see it. I'll ride on and have a closer look at it."
Butler spurred his pony ahead of the others. Reaching the foothills of
the range he shaded his eyes, gazing up into the cool, green valley or
canyon that led into the mountains.

"I guess this will do very well, boys," he said. "I---"
Bang!
"Wow!"
Stacy with a howl of terror slid from his pony, sending up a little cloud
of dust as he collapsed on the plain.
"Wha---what---what-----" gasped the professor.
Bang!
Professor Zepplin's sombrero was snipped from his head. Stacy lay
groaning on the ground.
"Ride for the rocks!" shouted Tad as shot after shot began popping
from somewhere in the mountains, the bullets screaming over their
heads close to their ears or snipping up flecks of dust in the plain.
Tad drove his pony straight at Stacy Brown. He scooped the fat boy up
by the collar and rode madly for the protection of the rocks, Chunky's
heels dragging on the ground. The others rode madly after them, while
the shots were still being fired at them. It was an exciting moment. No
one knew what the shooting meant, nor did they know whether Stacy
really had been hit or not. There was no time to stop to reason the
matter out. It was a case of getting to cover as fast as horse-flesh would
carry them.
CHAPTER II
A MYSTERIOUS ATTACK
"Pull in close!" cried Tad.
"Where is it coming from?" shouted Ned.
"I don't know. I haven't had time to look. Look out there!"

Professor Zepplin, somewhat slower than the others, had halted a little
distance out from the foothills. A bullet threw up a little cloud of dust
just to one side of where he was sitting on his pony, followed by a
report somewhere up in the mountains.
"Stop that! Stop it, I tell you!" bellowed the professor, waving his
sombrero. Almost ere the words were out of his mouth, the sombrero
was shot from his hand and went spinning out to the rear. Professor
Zepplin did not wait for further parley. He turned his horse, dashing for
the protection of the foothills.
In the meantime, Tad Butler had leaped from his pony, placing Stacy
on the ground. It was observed that there was blood on the fat boy's left
cheek, but his eyes, wide and frightened, were staring up at the boys
now gathering about him.
"Are you hurt?" demanded Tad breathlessly.
"I'm killed."
"Nonsense! It's only a flesh wound---"
"Is---is he shot?" stammered Walter Perkins.
"Of course I'm shot. Don't you see I am?" demanded Chunky with
considerable spirit for a man who had been the mark of a bullet and
who according to his own word was dead.
Tad half dragged the fat boy down to the creek where the blood was
quickly washed from his cheek. It was then seen that a bullet had
grazed Stacy's cheek, leaving a raw streak across it.
Professor Zepplin, now mindful of his duty, had hurried up to them,
and down on his knees was examining the wound critically.
"Hm---m---m!" he muttered. "Bad business, bad business!"
"But---what does it mean?" urged Walter.

"What does it mean? It means that the Germans have got us," wailed
Stacy Drown. "Oh, I knew we should be in this war sooner or later, but
I didn't think I should be the first man to get shotted up."
"It means some one has been trying to shoot us up," answered Rector.
"Trying!" exploded Chunky. "They did more than try. They succeeded.
Don't you see this wound on my countenance? Wait till I get sight of
the man who put that mark on my face.