The Pony Rider Boys in the Rockies; Or, The Secret of the Lost Claim

  Produced by Kent Fielden

  THE PONY RIDER BOYS IN THE ROCKIES

  BY FRANK GEE PATCHIN

  CHAPTER I

  THE LOVE OF A HORSE

  "Oh, let me get up. Let me ride him for two minutes, Walter."

  Walter Perkins brought his pony to a slow stop and glanced downhesitatingly into the pleading blue eyes of the freckle-faced boy athis side.

  "Please! I'll only ride him up to the end of the block and back, and Iwon't go fast, either. Let me show you how I can ride him," urged TadButler, with a note of insistence in his voice.

  "If I thought you wouldn't fall off----"

  "I fall off?" sniffed Tad, contemptuously. "I'd like to see the ponythat could bounce me off his back. Huh! Guess I know how to ridebetter than that. Say, Chunky, remember the time when the men fromTexas had those ponies here--brought them here to sell?"

  Chunky--the third boy of the group--nodded vigorously.

  "And didn't I ride a broncho that never had had a saddle on his backbut once in his life? Say, did I get thrown then?"

  "He did that," endorsed Stacy Brown, who, because of his well-roundedcheeks and ample girth, was known familiarly among his companions as"Chunky." "I mean, he didn't. And he rode the pony three times aroundthe baseball field, too. That broncho's back was humped up like a madcat's all the way around. 'Course Tad can ride. Wish I could ride halfas well as he does. You needn't be afraid, Walter."

  Thus reassured by Chunky's praise, Walter dropped the bridle rein overthe neck of his handsome new pony, and slid slowly to the ground.

  "All right, Tad. Jump up! But don't hold him too tightly. He doesn'tlike it, and, besides, he has been trained to run when you tighten upon the rein, and father would not like it if we were to race him inthe village."

  "I'll be careful."

  Tad Butler needed no second invitation to try out his companion'spony. With the agility of a cowboy, he leaped into the saddle withoutso much as touching a foot to the stirrup. In another second, with aslight pressure on the rein, he had wheeled the animal sharply on itshaunches, and was jogging off up the street at an easy gallop, bothboy and pony rising and falling in graceful, rhythmic movements, as ifin reality each were a part of the other. Tad seemed born to stirrupand saddle.

  Yet, true to his promise, the boy made no effort to increase the speedof his mount. Nor did he go beyoud the corner named. Instead, hecircled and came galloping back, one hand resting lightly on the rein,the other swinging easily at his side.

  As he neared the two boys, Tad checked his pony, but Walter motionedto him to continue. With a smile of keen appreciation, Tad shook outthe reins, and pony and rider swung on down the village street.

  The soft breeze bad by now fanned the bright color into the face ofThaddeus Butler, and his deep blue eyes glowed with excitement andpleasure; for, to him, there was no happiness so great as that to befound on the back of a swift-moving pony.

  However, this was a pleasure that seldom came to Tad, for his lineshad not fallen altogether in pleasant places. The boy was nowseventeen, and from his twelfth birthday he had been almost the solesupport of his mother. His time, out of school hours, was spentlargely in doing odd jobs about the village where his services were indemand, and on Saturday afternoons and nights he delivered goods for agrocery store, for which latter service he earned the--tohim--munificent sum of twenty-five cents. But all of this heaccepted cheerfully and manfully. Now and then Tad was allowed todrive the grocer's wagon to the station for goods, and at such timeshis work was a positive recreation. Some day Tad hoped to have a horseof his own. He could imagine no more perfect happiness than this. Hehad determined, though, that when he did own one, it should be asaddle horse and a speedy one at that. Yet, at the present moment therealization of his ambition seemed indeed far away.

  Walter Perkins was the son of a banker. He and Tad Butler had beenborn and brought up in the little village of Chillicothe, Missouri,where they still lived, and, despite the difference in their socialpositions, had been fast friends since they were little fellows.

  Chunky was the son of a merchant in a small town in Massachusetts, andhad been visiting an uncle in Chillicothe for nearly a year past.

  Walter was a delicate boy, and, reared in luxury, as he had been allhis life, he had sensed few of the delights of out-door life that wereso apparent in the face of his nimble friend, Tad. It was thisdelicate physical condition that had brought about the gift of thepony. The family physician had advised it in order that the boy mighthave more out-door air, and on this May morning Walter had brought thepony out to show to his admiring friends.

  "Tad's a good rider. Isn't he a beauty?" breathed Chunky, as theywatched the progress of boy and horse down the street.

  "Who, Tad?" asked Walter, absorbed in the contemplation of his newpossession.

  "Tad! Pooh! No; the pony, of course. I don't see anything veryfetching about Tad, do you? But I should be willing to be as freckledas he is if I could stick on a pony's back the way he does."

  "Yes, he does know how to ride," agreed Walter. "And, by the way,father is going to get a horse for Professor Zepplin, my tutor; thenwe are going off on long rides every day, after my lessons aredone. The doctor says it will be good for me. Fine to have a doctorlike that, isn't it?"

  "Great! Wish I could go along."

  "Why don't you?" asked Walter, turning quickly to his companion. "Thatwould be just the idea. What great times we three could have, ridingoff into the open country! And we could go on exploring expeditions,too, and make believe we were cowboys and--and all that sort ofthing."

  Chunky shook his head dubiously. "I haven't a pony. But I wish Ihad. I should like to go so much," replied the boy wistfully.

  "Then, why not ask your uncle to get one for you? He will do it, Iknow," urged Walter brightly, brimming over with his new plan. "Why,I'll ask him myself."

  "I did."

  "Wouldn't he do it?"

  "No. Uncle said I was too young, and that the first thing I would bedoing would be to break my neck. If father was here and gave hispermission, why, that would be different. Uncle said it would take mymind off my school, besides."

  "School? Why, school will not last much longer. It is May, now, andschool will be over early in June. That isn't long to wait. You goright home, Chunky, and tell your uncle you must have a pony. Tell himI said so. If he refuses, I'll have my father go ask him. He won'trefuse my father anything he asks. My father is a banker and everybodydoes everything he wants them to, because he lends them money,"advised Walter wisely.

  "My--my uncle doesn't have to borrow money. He's got money of hisown," bristled Chunky.

  "Yes, that's so. But you go ask him. Tell him about my pony and thatwe are all going off for a ride every day. Say that Professor Zepplinwill be along to take care of us. And say! I'll tell you what," addedthe boy eagerly.

  "Yes?" urged Chunky.

  "We will form ourselves into a club. Now, wouldn't that be great?"

  "Fine!" glowed Chunky. "But, what kind of a club? They don't havehorses in clubs."

  "We shall, in this one. That is, we shall be the club, and the ponieswill be our club-house. When we are on our ponies' backs we shall bein our club-house. Maybe we can get Ned Rector to join us. He knowshow to ride--why, he rides almost as well as Tad."

  Chunky nodded thoughtfully.

  "What shall we call it? We must have some kind of a name for theclub."

  "I hadn't thought of that. I'll tell you what," exclaimed Walter,br
ightening, after a moment's consideration. "We will call ourselvesthe Rough Riders. That's what we will do, Chunky."

  "Yes, but we are not rough riders," protested Chunky. "We are onlybeginners; that is, all of us except Tad, and he can't join us--justbecause he's too poor to have a horse. As for us--humph! We'd berough riders only when we fell off!"

  Walter laughed heartily.

  "No," he admitted. "I guess we are not rough riders yet; but we may besome day, after we've learned to ride better. I can't think of anyother name, can you?"

  "We might call ourselves the Wild Riders," suggested Chunky.

  "No, that won't do, either. It's as bad as the other name. Father'dnever let me go out at all if we called ourselves the Wild Riders,because he would think it meant we were going to be too much likecowboys. I guess we shall have to think it over some more. But herecomes Tad back. Suppose we ask him? He'll know what to call the club."

  Tad reigned in alongside of them and pulled the pony up sharply,patting its sleek neck approvingly, still loath to dismount.

  "It's great, fellows. Wish I had a pony like him."

  "So do I," echoed Chunky.

  "Why, you don't have to touch the reins at all. I could ride himwithout just as well as with them. All you have to do is to press yourknee against his side and he will turn, just as if you were pulling onthe rein. He's a trained pony, Walter. Did you know that?"

  "That's what the man said when father bought him. Jo-Jo can walk onhis hind legs, too. But father said I mustn't try to make him do anytricks, for fear I might get hurt."

  "Hurt nothing! He wouldn't hurt a baby," objected Tad in the littleanimal's defence. "I'll show you--I won't hurt him, don't beafraid," he exclaimed leaping to the ground, stripping the rein overthe animal's head and holding it at arm's length. "If he knows how tostand up I can make him do it. I've seen them do that in thecircus. Let me have your whip."

  "I don't know about that," answered Walter doubtfully. "Yes, you maytry," he decided finally, extending the whip that he had been idlytapping against his legging. "But don't hit him, will you?"

  "Not I," grinned the freckle-faced boy, leading the pony further outinto the street. "He doesn't need to be struck."

  Tad first coaxed the pony by patting it gently on the side of thehead, to which the intelligent animal responded by brushing his cheeksoftly with its nose.

  "See, he knows a thing or two," cried Tad. "Now, watch me!"

  Standing off a few feet, the boy tapped the animal gently under thechin with the whip.

  "Up, Jo-Jo! Up!" he urged, lifting the whip into the airinsistently. At first, Jo-Jo only swished his tail rebelliously,shaking his head until the bit rattled between his teeth.

  But Tad persisted, gently yet firmly urging with voice andwhip. Jo-Jo meanwhile pawed the dirt up into a cloud of dust thatsettled over the boys, finally causing a chorus of sneezes, until Tadfelt sure he observed a twinkle of amusement in the eyes of theknowing little animal.

  "Up, Jo-Jo!" he commanded almost sternly, bringing the whip sharplyagainst the side of his own leg.

  The pony, recognizing the voice of a master, hesitated no longer. Halffolding its slender forelegs back, it rose slowly, up and up.

  Walter Perkins and Stacy Brown broke into a cheer. But Tad, never foran instant removing his gaze from Jo-Jo, held up a warning hand,leaned slightly forward and fixed the pony with impelling eyes.

  Then Tad backed away slowly. To the amazement of the others, Jo-Jo,balancing himself beautifully on his hind legs, followed his new-foundmaster in short, cautious steps, the animal's head now high in theair, its nostrils dilated, and every nerve strained to the task inhand.

  "Beautiful," breathed Walter and Chunky in chorus.

  "He's a regular brick," added Chunky.

  "How'd you do it, Tad!"

  Before replying, the boy lowered the whip to his side, motioning tothe pony that his task was done. Jo-Jo dropped quickly on all fours,and, walking up to Tad, rubbed his nose against the lad's cheek again.

  "Good boy," soothed Tad, returning the caress, his eyes swimming withhappiness.

  But as Tad stepped back Jo-Jo insistently followed, alternatelypushing his nose against the boy's face and tugging at his shirt.

  "He wants to do it again, Tad," cried Chunky, enthusiastically.

  The freckle-faced boy grinned knowingly.

  "Got any sugar, Walter?" he asked.

  Walter thrust a hand into a trousers pocket, bringing up a handful oflumps that were far from being their natural color. But Tad grabbedthem, and an instant later Jo-Jo's quivering upper lip had closedgreedily over the handful of sweets.

  "That's what the little rascal wanted," breathed Tad with a pleasedsmile. "I could teach that pony to do 'most anything but talk,fellows. I'm not so sure that he couldn't do that in his own way,after a little time. What did you give for him?"

  "Father paid the man a hundred and fifty dollars."

  Tad uttered a long-drawn whistle; his face sobered. It was more moneythan he ever had seen at one time in his life. Would he ever have asmuch as that? The freckle-faced boy doubted it.

  "We fellows were talking about getting up a club," spoke up Walter.

  "Club? What kind of a club?" asked Tad absently.

  "Oh, some sort of a riding club. Chunky is going to ask his uncle tobuy him a pony; then we are going out with my tutor on long rides inthe country."

  Tad eyed them steadily.

  "Somehow we can't just decide on the name for the new club. I thoughtmaybe we would call ourselves the Bough Riders. Chunky doesn't likethat name. We had an idea that, perhaps, you could give us one. Whatdo you say, Tad?"

  "Chunky's uncle is going to get him a pony?" asked Tad a bitunsteadily.

  "We hope so," nodded Walter. "And that's not all. We are going to getNed Rector to join the club. He already has a pony. Wish you mightcome in with us, Tad."

  "Wish I might," answered Tad wistfully.

  "Of course, we know you can't really, but you belong to us just thesame. You can be a sort of--of honorary member. We will let you rideour ponies sometimes when we are in town, though, of course, when wego out for long trips we can't take you along very well. Youunderstand that, don't you, Tad?"

  Tad inclined his head.

  "And now about the name. Got anything to suggest?"

  The freckle-faced boy walked over to the pony and laid his cheekagainst its nose, which he patted softly, his head averted so that theothers might not see the pain in his eyes.

  "You--you might call yourselves 'The Pony Rider Boys,'" suggestedTad, controlling his voice with an effort.