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Pony Rider Boys in New England

<h1>The Pony Rider Boys in New England</h1> or <h2>An Exciting Quest in the Maine Wilderness</h2> <h2>by Frank Gee Patchin</h2> <h2>CHAPTER I</h2> <h3>A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT</h3> "Here's Tad. He'll tell us," cried Walter Perkins. "Oh, Tad, how long a trip is it to the Maine Woods from here?" "That depends upon whether you walk or ride," answered Tad Butler, walking slowly up to the barn of Banker Perkins where three brown-faced boys were sitting in the doorway, polishing bridles, mending saddles and limbering up their lassos. "Of course you know what we mean," urged Ned Rector with a grin. "Yes, I know what you mean." "He isn't mean. You're the mean one," interjected Stacy Brown, otherwise known among his fellows as Chunky, the Fat Boy. "Chunky, remember we are at home in Chillicothe now and are supposed to set examples to our less fortunate fellow citizens. Any fellow who can get into the village paper the way you have done ought to hold his head pretty high," chuckled Rector. Stacy threw out his chest. "You mean that lion-catching article?" Ned nodded. "Yes, that was a pretty swell article. They think I'm the original wonder here in Chillicothe." "You are. There can be no doubt of that," laughed Tad. "I'm glad you've come, Tad," continued Ned, turning to young Butler. "We are planning for the new trip to the Maine Woods. I shall be glad to get east. I've never been far east. Any of the rest of you been east?" "Well, I have been out to Skinner's farm. That's east of the village," declared Stacy Brown. "Please, please!" begged Ned, a pained expression appearing on his face. "Leave all that sort of nonsense to entertain us after we get into the woods. We don't mind so much your playing the fool when we are away from home, but here it is different. We don't want to be disgraced in this town where we are—" "Some pumpkins," finished Chunky. "Well, yes; that's it, I guess," agreed Ned. "We were waiting for you to talk over what we should take along," declared Walter. "I have been studying and reading and talking with Abe Parkinson, who, you know, used to live up in Maine. He says we must travel very light; that going is hard up there in the woods. He says we don't want an ounce of excess baggage, or we'll never get anywhere. Do you know anything about it, Tad?" "Yes. I guess Mr Parkinson is right about that. It will be real roughing, perhaps more so than anything you fellows ever have experienced, for you will be a long way from civilization." "But we'll get plenty to eat, won't we?" begged Stacy, glancing anxiously at Tad. "You usually do." "Chunky can browse on green leaves if we get out of food," chuckled Rector. "Now, I call that real mean," complained the fat boy. "What did I ever do to you to merit such a fling as that?" "You made a noise like a rattlesnake once and got me dumped into the bushes. Remember that?" Chunky did. An appreciative grin spread over his round face. "I haven't got even with you for that, but I shall some day and mine will be a terrible revenge. Br-r-r!" "Oh, fudge!" scoffed the fat boy. "You talk easily, but no one is afraid of you." "We aren't here to fight," reproved Walter. "We are here to talk over our journey, and now that Tad has arrived let's get to business, as father would say." "Especially if you owed him money and couldn't pay it," laughed Stacy. "Are you all ready, Tad?" Tad's face grew serious. "Boys, I'm afraid I can't go with you this time," answered Butler in a low tone. "Can't go?" exploded the boys. "No, I think not, this time. Some other time, perhaps." "Nonsense! Is this some kind of joke?" demanded Rector. "It's no joke, Ned. I mean it." "But what—why—" "I'll tell you, boys." "Don't tell us. We can't bear to hear disagreeable things," mourned Stacy. "Go on, Tad, we want to know," urged Walter. "Well, the whole thing is that Mother isn't well. She hasn't been well all winter. She is not so well now as she was a month ago, and—" Tad swallowed and moistened his lips with his tongue. "I couldn't think of leaving her alone, just now; no, not for anything." "Then you won't go?" questioned Stacy. Tad shook his head. "That settles it. Neither will I," decided Chunky. "Oh, yes you will. You will go on just the same as before, and you will have just as good a time. After you get out into the open again you'll forget that I am not along." "What! Do you think I would trust my precious person to these savages?" demanded the fat boy with a gesture that took in Ned Rector and Walter Perkins. "Why, I'd never come back!" "No great loss if you didn't," muttered Rector. Tad laughed. "You are old enough to take care of yourself, Chunky. You will have the Professor to protect you in case anything goes wrong." "No, we can't have it that way," declared Perkins, with a slow shake of the head. "If you don't go, we don't. But really, I don't see why you can't. My folks will look after Mrs. Butler, and—" Tad shook his head with emphasis. "My mind is made up," he said. "Oh, that's too bad," groaned the lads. "That's a burning shame," added Stacy. "I'm hot all over. That's why I know it's a burning shame." "Leave off joking," commanded Ned savagely. "This isn't anything to laugh about. What appears to be the matter with your mother, Tad?" "I—I think it's her lungs," replied the boy a bit unsteadily. "What she needs is mountain air," declared Chunky. "I know. She ought to go to the mountains." "I agree with you," said Tad. "It is my idea that I can get her to go with me, for part of the summer at least, and then—" "What's the matter with taking her along with us?" interrupted Rector. "No, that wouldn't do," answered Tad. "She couldn't stand it." "Of course she couldn't. That shows how much you know, Ned Rector," scoffed Stacy Brown. "What do you propose to do all summer, Tad?" asked Ned thoughtfully. "Oh, I shall work at something. I'm not going to be idle. Perhaps Mr. Perkins will have something to do that will keep me out of mischief for the summer after I get back," answered Butler with a faint smile. "It's my opinion that this is all foolishness," declared Ned. "I'm going to see your mother." Tad laid a hand on Ned's arm. "Please say nothing to my mother about it. My mind is made up, and that's all there is to it. Of course, it will be a bitter disappointment to me not to go with you, but I guess I shall get over it. It would be more bitter to me if anything—anything happened to mother." "And Professor is coming on next week," muttered Walter. "I guess we had better give it up for this season, fellows." "No. I won't have it that way," urged Tad. "You'll make me feel worse about it if you do anything like that. Your plans are made." "Yes, we will let things stand as they are for the present," agreed Rector. "But I shan't give up the idea that you are going with us. Why—but what's the use in talking about it? Walt, is your father at home?" "He is at the bank." "Then I'm going over to see him." "What about?" questioned Tad suspiciously. "I've got a little matter of business that I want to talk over with him." "Want to borrow some money, eh?" grinned Chunky. "No, we'll leave that business to you." "That reminds me, Tad, could you—could you cross my palm for five cents this afternoon?" asked the fat boy solemnly. "Eh? Do what?" "Cross my palm for five cents?" "Say, this is a new habit, isn't it, this borrowing money?" "Oh, I'll pay you back when I get my allowance," protested Stacy. "I wasn't thinking about that. Take my word for it, this borrowing business is bad business," rebuked Tad. "Didn't I always pay you back everything I borrowed of you?" protested Stacy indignantly. "Yes, yes, but—here's five cents. Will that be enough?" "Well," reflected the fat boy, "you might make it twenty-five if you are flush today." Tad passed over a quarter, the other boys regarding the proceeding with disapproving eyes. "Now that you have made a touch, is it permissible to ask what you are going to do with all that money?" inquired Rector. "It is." "Well?" "They've got a lot of fresh buns over at the bakery. I can get thirty-six of them for a quarter. It's a bargain, too." "Buns!" growled Ned in a tone of disgust. "Don't you ever think of anything but something to eat?" "Yes—something that I haven't got to eat." "Go get your buns and pass them around," suggested Walter smilingly. "I guess not. There won't be more than enough for me," answered Stacy. "There's selfishness for you," nodded Ned. But Ned did Stacy an injustice. The fat boy was simply teasing the others. He intended to bring back the "bargain" and share it with his companions, which he did shortly after that, though Tad was not there to help eat the hot buns that Stacy brought. Little more was said on the subject nearest to the hearts of the boys, but their disappointment was keen at Tad's decision not to accompany them on their visit to the Maine Woods, for which place they were to start within a few days. "I can't wait for the buns," said Tad. "I must be getting home, but I will help you boys get ready for the trip and see you off." "No, you won't see us off," shouted Ned. "You will see yourself off along with the rest of us." To this young Butler merely shook his head as he turned away, retracing his steps towards home. For a few minutes after Tad's departure, Ned Rector and Walter Perkins sat with heads closed together, talking earnestly. Finally Walter got up and started for his father's place of business at a brisk walk. Later in the afternoon there was a conference between Walter and his parents. In the meantime, Tad had gone home. He had been insistent that he would not leave his mother, and Mrs. Butler was fully as insistent that he should accompany his companions on their coming journey. But Tad was firm. It was the first time he ever had opposed his mother so stubbornly. Mrs. Butler had been ailing for some time and Tad was greatly worried over her condition. It was this concern for the mother that was on the boy's mind now, rather than his disappointment at not being able to go with his friends. There was only one encouraging factor; his mother, while not well-to-do, was far from being in want. Though she did not feel that she should incur the expense of going away, Tad was determined that she should. Late in the afternoon Banker Perkins and his wife called at the Butler home and had a long talk with Mrs. Butler. Tad had ridden out of town on his pony to bring in some horses that had been shipped in from the west to be sold. There were some "tough ones" in the bunch of western stock, and none of the town boys could be induced to help corral and drive in the stock for the owner. This work was a recreation for Tad, and the five dollars a day that he received for his services during the sale, in cutting out, roping and riding mustangs for prospective buyers, he considered the easiest money he had ever earned. Besides this, Tad's riding was an exhibition in itself, and it drew scores of spectators. The result was that the five dollars a day paid to Tad was a most excellent investment for the owner. The coast being clear for the rest of the afternoon, Mr. Perkins and his wife were uninterrupted in their talk with Mrs. Butler. Mrs. Butler, like her son, possessed a mind of her own, and the banker had some difficulty in bringing her around to his point of view, but before the Perkinses left the Butler home Mrs. Butler had agreed to their plans, not so much on her own account as that of the boy of whom she was so justly proud. It was decided between them, however, to leave matters as they were for the present. "I want to try the boy a little further," added the banker. "Of course, I know him pretty well now, but if he goes through with what he has declared he will, you need never worry about his success in life. A boy who can do that is all right in every way." The week drew to a close. Tad had completed his work with the horse dealer and collected his money, which he turned over to his mother on Saturday night. "At this rate I'll be able to retire by and by," smiled the lad. "You will have more money to spend on your trip this summer," was the reply. "Yes. My trip with you to the mountains." "Oh, no, I didn't mean that. You know what I mean, Tad." "I'm not going, mother. My mind is made up." "Will it be much of a disappointment to you if you do not go with your friends?" "Now, you know it won't," replied Tad playfully, as he passed an arm around his mother's waist. "What fun could I possibly have that would compare with going away with you and seeing you grow back into perfect health?" Mrs. Butler smiled proudly, though she sighed at the thought of the pleasant jaunt that her son offered so readily to give up. A few days later the other boys decided that they would go on without Tad if they must, though they grumbled a good deal. Tad Butler came forward, taking a hearty interest in all their preparations for this hike in the saddle. He put their kits in shape, made a new lariat for Ned Rector, mended the tents, and in general threw himself as heartily into all the advanced work as though he were going himself. On the day of their departure Professor Zepplin arrived to take charge of the party, as he had been doing for several seasons past. Three of the boys and the Professor rode to the station, there to car their stock, Tad plodding along on foot, feeling strangely unfamiliar with himself at such a time. Yet, from young Butler's face, one would have thought him the happiest of all the party that gathered at the station, and perhaps down in his heart he was happy, knowing that he was doing what he knew to be his duty to the mother that he loved so well. There was a real shadow, however, on the happiness of his companions—the inability of Tad to go with them on their summer's outing. Mr. Perkins was at the station to see the boys off. He, with Tad and half a hundred villagers, stood on the platform waving their hats and shouting their good-byes to the departing Pony Rider Boys. As the train pulled out, Stacy Brown was observed hanging over the railing of the rear coach wiping his eyes and pretending to weep, while the spectators laughed at the funny sight. Mr. Perkins turned inquiringly to Tad. "Well, Tad, I suppose this isn't a particularly happy occasion for you?" he said. "Why not sir?" "Don't you feel the least bit disappointed that you are not on that train yonder?" "Of course I am disappointed, but I am satisfied that I have done right. That's the best sort of happiness after all. Don't you think so, Mr. Perkins?" For answer the banker extended an impulsive hand, clasping Tad's in a strong, appreciative grip. Tad walked back with Mr. Perkins, leaving him at the latter's place of business, then the lone Pony Rider Boy strolled meditatively homeward. Reaching the yard, Tad walked around to the stable, which he entered, and stepping into the stall of his pony, he patted the little animal affectionately. The pony whinnied appreciatively. "Well, old boy," said Tad, "you are disappointed just the same as am I. But we'll have a good many nice rides this summer. We'll ride out every night to fetch Deacon Skinner's cows home, and maybe we'll rope one now and then just to keep our hands in. Shall we have a little ride now just to forget, you know? All right, come along then." The pony backed from its stall as if fully understanding the words of its master. A few moments later Tad was galloping away from town, the little hoofs of his pet mount throwing up a cloud of dust on the broad highway that led to the open country and the fresh green fields. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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