The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali Part 8

They gathered around him threateningly.

"If you want a mix-up, we're here," warned Chunky, pus.h.i.+ng his pony up beside that of Ned Rector.

Ned, forgetting for the instant that he was in his bare feet, let drive a kick at the side of Stacy's pony.

"Ouch!" roared Ned.

Jerking the injured toe up to the saddle, he grabbed it with both hands, rocking back and forth, for his foot had struck the pony with such violence that it is a wonder every toe on the foot was not broken.

"Did 'oo hurt 'oo little tootsie-wootsies?" cooed Chunky, with a grimace.

Ned Rector, forgetting the pain for the instant, made a quick grab for his tormentor. He just barely reached the sleeve of Chunky's pajamas.

But his sudden movement caused the fat boy's pony to leap suddenly to one side.

Ned landed on his head and shoulders in the desert sand, feet kicking the air, to the accompaniment of yells of derision from his companions.

With red face and angry eyes, the lad scrambled to his feet and started limping to his pony, which had sprung to one side, where it stood, evidently wondering what next was about to happen.

"I'll get even with you, Chunky Brown," Ned growled, as he climbed into his saddle.

"Now, now, Ned!" warned the boys. "Take your medicine like a man.

Chunky never got mad when you nagged him."

"I'll get even with him. I'll----"

Tad rode up beside the angry lad.

"Ned, you'll do nothing of the sort," said the boy gently. "You're mad, now, because your toes hurt. When they stop aching your temper will improve at the same time."

"Oh, pshaw! Stop your preaching. Of course it will. I'm a grouch. I take back all I said just now. Chunky, when these toes get straightened out--they're all crooked now--I'll come over and hobn.o.b with you. I deserve all you can give me."

"You bet you do," chorused the lads.

"Stop teasing him," commanded Stacy, with well-feigned indignation.

"Can't you see his toes hurt him?"

The incident was lost sight of in the general laugh that followed. The others were beginning to appreciate that Stacy Brown possessed a tongue as sharp as any of them.

Ned now offered no further protest to entering the village, but it was observed that he dropped back behind the others as they reached the outskirts of the town.

Tom Parry and Professor Zepplin were riding ahead, one in pajamas, the other clad in trunks--which resembled a meal sack--a sombrero hat and a sardonic grin of defiance. The others trailed along behind.

Not one of the party glanced to the right or left of him, except Stacy Brown, who could scarcely contain his bubbling spirits.

"They'll think it's some new kind of a menagerie come to town," he confided to Tad, who was riding beside him.

"Then I hope they don't shoot the animals," laughed Tad.

By this time they had entered the main street, down which they rode at a pace that the burros could follow. People pa.s.sing along the street paused and gazed in unfeigned astonishment at the strange procession which they saw approaching.

The most conspicuous of them all was Tom Parry. He was a sight to behold, but not one whit did he care for the amazed stares that greeted his strange outfit.

Soon the grins of the populace gave place to yells of derision.

"Look at the purty boy with the pink toes there behind," shouted one, pointing to Ned Rector.

Ned's face went crimson.

"Now, aren't you glad you didn't lose the tootsie-wootsies?" teased Chunky.

Ned made no reply, but it boded ill for any of his tormentors who got within reach of his long arms. Already more than a hundred persons had turned to follow the strange outfit. This number was being rapidly added to as they proceeded.

"For goodness' sake, how much further have we to go?" begged Ned.

"The general store is down at the end of the street," the guide informed him. "I presume you want to get some clothes the first thing?"

"I should say so."

A whoop and a yell sounded far down the street.

"Here's trouble," muttered Tad, instantly recognizing the cowboy yell.

A band of them at that instant swung around a corner, straightening out in the main street, letting go a volley of revolver shots into the air.

The band had come to town with a s.h.i.+pment of wild horses that had been captured among the desert ranges. They had been in Eureka for twenty-four hours and were by this time ready for whatever might turn up. The hors.e.m.e.n clad in pink pajamas attracted their attention at once. Here was fair game.

"Who-o-o-o-p-e-e-e!"

The shrill cry sent a s.h.i.+ver to the hearts of the boys. It was not a s.h.i.+ver of fear, either.

In a moment more the Pony Rider Boys were the center of a ring of racing ponies, as the horse-hunters dashed round and round, yelling like mad and firing off their revolvers.

"Oh, see that purty boy with the pink toes!" jeered one.

"Give him the tenderfoot dance," yelled another. "He ought to be able to dance the fairy lancers on them pinkies."

Ned did not dare refuse. He slipped from his pony, and, limping to the center of the ring which the racing ponies had formed about them, began to dance as the bullets from the revolvers of the cowboys struck the ground, sending up little clouds of dust under his feet. Faster and faster barked the guns, and faster and faster danced Ned Rector.

Stacy Brown was almost beside himself with joy.

"Better look out, or you'll be doing it next," warned Tad.

Evidently the cowboys had not recognized Tom Parry as yet. He might be the next victim.

Finally Tad rode his pony forward, right through the fire of the skylarking cowboys.

"I guess you've had enough fun with him, fellows," he warned. "Let up now."

A jeering laugh greeted the lad's command. Their attention was instantly turned to him.