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Pony Rider Boys in Louisiana

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<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> <h3>IN THE HEART OF THE CANEBRAKE</h3> "That boy!" muttered the Professor, as everyone turned sharply and started back, Lilly outdistancing all save Tad, who now rode the jungle fully as well as the guide, except that Tad had never used the bush-knife. It was a dangerous weapon in the hands of an inexperienced rider. With it one was likely to do his horse as well as himself a serious injury. They heard Chunky's yells for help long before they reached him, and even after reaching a spot where they might have seen the fat boy, they did not at once catch sight of him. They were looking for Chunky on the ground, believing that he had fallen and been left by his horse, while as a matter of fact Stacy was in the air, six or eight feet above the ground. While standing high in his stirrups he had been caught across the breast by a tough vine that grew between two trees across the trail, so high that the guide's bush-knife had not reached it. Stacy had thrown out both hands to protect himself. The vine had slipped neatly under the lad's arms. The next second he was dangling in the air, with the horse trotting on ahead. And there they found him, swaying back and forth, howling lustily, afraid to let go for fear he would hurt himself when he struck the ground, but almost ready to let go no matter what the consequences might be. The Pony Rider Boys, when finally they did catch sight of their companion, uttered shouts of merriment. "Hanged at last!" howled Ned Rector. "Oh, I never thought I should live to see this happy moment!" Tad brought his horse down just before reaching the fat boy. "Hello, Chunky, what are you doing up there?" demanded Tad. "Having a swing," answered Stacy sheepishly. "Come on up, it's fine." "Thank you, but I don't see any way of getting up," chuckled Tad. "Easiest thing in the world. All you have to do is to ride under the vine, reach up and grab hold of it, then let your horse go right on about his business." "Is that the way you did it?" questioned Butler. "Something like it," admitted Chunky. "Are you going to help me down?" was the urgent question. "What do you think about it, Professor? Wouldn't it be better to leave him up there where he cannot get into any further difficulties?" asked Tad, turning to the Professor. "I am inclined to agree with you, Tad," reflected the Professor gravely. "How long have you been there, Stacy?" asked Walter. "Long enough. Come, help me down." "Let go and you will come down much more quickly than we could help you," suggested Ned. "But I don't want to fall," wailed the boy. "Oh, very well, then, stay where you are," retorted Ned. "I will help you down, Stacy," offered Tad, riding under his companion. "Now, let go." "I—I'm afraid." Tad grabbed the fat boy's legs, giving them a violent tug, whereupon Stacy and the vine came tumbling down. In trying to catch Chunky, Tad Butler was himself unhorsed, and the two boys landed on their heads and shoulders on the soft ground with the yells of their companions ringing in their ears. "Get up!" commanded the Professor sternly. "This sort of thing has gone far enough." "Tha—that's what I say," stammered Chunky, wiping the muck from his flushed face. "A good old-fashioned country road is good enough for me. I don't like this kind of traveling." "Do you want to be sent back?" demanded Professor Zepplin grimly. "No-o-o-o," drawled Stacy. "Not if I have to go back over that trail. That's the stickiest mess I ever got into." "Your behavior is somewhat sticky, too," observed the Professor, with a smile. "Now, if there is no objection, I move that we proceed on our journey, but I wish Master Stacy to ride just ahead of me so that I may watch him." "Who—who's going to watch you?" stammered the fat boy. "Don't worry. We will look after the Professor," laughed Tad. "You must remember that he hasn't been getting into quite so much trouble as you have." "He will," answered Stacy. "He's just been lucky, that's all." The party, after again assisting Stacy in his saddle and placing him between the Professor and Tad, moved on once more. The distance to their next camping place was now less than a mile, and they soon reached the Sunflower without further disturbance, tearing their way through the dense cane, making a crashing that must have been heard a long distance away. The Sunflower was a stream some fifteen rods wide by several miles long, with little bayous reaching off into the swamp every now and then, lonely, silent bayous, beneath whose surfaces lurked many perils. "Do we swim across?" asked Walter. "Master Stacy may want to. I do not believe the others will care about doing so," answered Lilly with a smile and a brief nod. "Where do we make camp, Mr. Lilly?" called Butler's cheery voice. "Straight ahead on the little rise of ground, Master Tad." "Any choice as to position?" "Use your own good judgment." "Thank you, sir," was Tad's response. "Stacy, how is your heart today, after all your experiences?" "It's weak," whispered Chunky hoarsely. "Then I have a good remedy for it. Go out and cut some wood, but no more cane as you value your life. We don't propose to have another campfire blow up in the middle watches of the night and scare us to death." "No more cane fire in this camp, young man," affirmed the guide. Chunky very reluctantly shouldered an axe, after they had dismounted and removed the lashings from their packs, and after some delay they heard an occasional whack of the axe, then silence. The camp was pretty well settled when Tad sang out for Chunky. "Where is that boy with the wood? Ichabod is waiting for it. Chunky!" he called. There was no response. "Ned, I guess you will have to go look for him. I hope he hasn't chopped his head off." "Oh, he couldn't do that if he wanted to," laughed Walter. "You don't know him. Stacy Brown can do most anything that other folks would think they couldn't. Chase him up, Ned." "Which way did he go?" "North, along the bank. He probably has gone into the swamp a little way to get out of the cane. I'll blow the horn." Butler did blow several blasts, but there was no answer. Tad was not worried, knowing that Stacy could not have gone far and realizing that he would leave a plain trail in case he had strayed into the swamp. A few moments later Ned's horn was heard. He had found Stacy sound asleep, sitting with his back against a tree, while at his side on a log was a great, hook-beaked, barred owl blinking at him wisely. Ned said the owl was enough like Stacy to be his own brother. Ned was obliged to cut the wood himself, as Stacy refused to do a thing because Rector had used him roughly in waking him up. "You treat me as if I were a bag of meal," complained Chunky. "No, I wouldn't insult the meal to that extent," snorted Ned. "Get over there and sit down till I have the wood cut. You will then tote it to camp." "I will then not," retorted Stacy belligerently. "You will yes. Remember I owe you one. If you don't watch out I will make it two and settle both accounts out here while I've got you alone," warned Ned. Stacy pondered over this for several moments while watching his companion swing the axe, and evidently decided that Ned had the better side of the argument. "All right," said Stacy finally. "I'll carry my share of the wood. It isn't that I am afraid of you, you know, but my heart won't stand any undue excitement." "Oh, fudge!" grunted Rector, pausing to wipe the perspiration from his face and forehead. Stacy started back with the wood before Ned had finished, but carried only about enough wood to burn ten or fifteen minutes. Ned had to fetch the rest, for Stacy refused to go back for more, knowing that Ned would not assault him here in the camp. Along the water's edge the great cypress trees reared themselves into the air, and a few rods back of them the dense cane. The party was now in the heart of the canebrake, in which they had reason to believe lurked much of the game of which they were in search. One of the big cypress trees stood just in front of the camp, its awkward knees twisted and bent, extending some four feet above the ground. Below the knees were watery caverns, black and oozy, foul and unhealthful. Stacy sat perched on one of these knees gazing thoughtfully down into the black pool. The others were busy about the camp and failed to observe him. After a time the fat boy went out to hunt for a pole. He wanted to try the water to see how deep it was. He returned a few minutes later with a tall cane, the foliage still fresh at its top. It had been broken down, he knew not how and cared less. "Going fishing?" questioned Ned, fixing a grinning gaze on the fat boy. "I may be, then again I may not be." "I hope you have luck." "I hope I do." "And I hope you fall in." "I hope I don't." Stacy perched himself on one of the cypress knees, and, letting the bushy top down, began poking about in the black pool. He felt something move under the pole in his hand, and gave a vicious prod. There followed a sudden commotion down in the water, then the cane pole was jerked down with terrific force. It all occurred so quickly that Chunky did not think to let go of the pole until it was too late to do so. But there was time in which to yell. Stacy uttered a wild, piercing scream, for he saw what had caused the disturbance below. A huge snout, with a pair of jaws that seemingly worked on a loose hinge—Chunky didn't have to be told that the swimming reptile was a huge alligator! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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