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Pony Rider Boys in Louisiana

<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> <h3>PLUCK AND THE DEAD DOE</h3> "If you don't mind, just drop that little barker, Mister What's-Your-Name. It might go off and accidentally hit somebody. In that case I should have to shoot you. I'd hate to waste any lead on you, and I don't think you're worth the price of a shell." For one uncertain moment the stranger sat with revolver pointed toward Tad, his gaze fixed on Chunky. "Don't try any tricks. I can shoot just as quickly as you can, and I know I can do it a whole lot straighter. Drop it!" The revolver fell to the ground, the man's lower jaw hanging so low that Stacy could look into his mouth. The fellow twitched slightly at his bridle rein to turn his horse about, but the move was not lost on the watchful Chunky. "Want to lose that horse? If so, just keep on with what you are doing! That little black spot in his forehead would make a dandy mark. After the horse is down I may conclude to decorate your features, too. Oh, I'm a terror when I get started. I'm not started yet. You may think I am, but I'm not. This is just a preliminary skirmish, as the Professor would say. When the real sortie begins the air will be filled with the yells of the dead and the silence of the living." Growling under his breath the stranger checked his horse. "I'll git you yet, you young whelp!" he threatened. "Tut, tut!" warned Stacy. "Such language before an innocent boy like me? I am amazed. You must have had an awful bad bringing up." "Stacy!" The boy answered without looking around. "Watch him. Don't forget yourself while you are having such a pleasant conversation. I shall have to have my horse here," called Tad. "Drop it!" yelled the fat boy, swinging his rifle toward the horseman again. The latter was tugging at the rifle in his saddle boot. The man halted instantly. "Upon second thought you may pull it out. First turn your back to me, but be slow about it, and after you get the gun from its holster, just let it fall to the ground with the revolver. I'll talk with you some more after you have done that. I mean business!" The stranger knew that. He was perplexed. That boys should be so cool and so ready to defend themselves against an experienced woodsman passed his comprehension. The horseman drew the rifle all the way out, Stacy warning, "Slower, slower," as the operation proceeded. The horseman's back being turned to the boy left the man at a disadvantage, and he did not dare to attempt a shot, knowing that the boy could fire at least twice before he could get into position to shoot once. "Let go of it!" commanded Stacy sharply. The rifle fell near where the revolver lay. Stacy chuckled audibly. "Shall I give him the run, Tad? I have pulled his fangs. He can't do us any harm now," proclaimed Chunky. "No," Tad rejoined quietly. "What shall we do with him, then?" "I want to have a talk with the fellow when I have finished my job. You hold him right where he is, old boy." "Oh, I'll hold him all right. I'm keeping my eyes on a spot right behind his left ear. It's the prettiest mark you ever saw." Tad grinned appreciatively. He was proud of Stacy Brown, for Stacy had distinguished himself and shown his pluck beyond any doubt. The boy, tugging at the deer, finally succeeded in getting it to the back of his horse, where he lashed the carcass, the stranger watching the operation out of the corners of his eyes, and admitted to himself that he had made a mistake in his reckonings. Tad knew his business. The fellow could see that. The fat boy knew his business, too, as earlier events had demonstrated, and to the undoing of the woodsman. "There, I guess the carcass will stay on until we get home. I hope we make it before dark," exclaimed Tad as he completed his task. "What about the man?" inquired Stacy. "Keep him covered until I tell you to let go." Butler gathered up the man's revolver and rifle, from both of which he extracted the shells. Handing the latter to the fellow, he directed him to put the shells in his pocket. Next Tad handed the man his weapons. "Put them away and don't you dare to load them until you are at least a mile from here." "Look here, what are you doing?" cried Chunky. "I am returning his property," answered Tad. "Here I go and draw the animal's fangs, then you go stick them back again! Why, he'll be shooting at us before he gets out of sight," protested the fat boy. "I wouldn't turn a man into this swamp unarmed, Stacy. It might be sending him to his death." "Serve him right," grunted young Brown. "Chunky, I am amazed at you," rebuked Tad. In the meantime the stranger with a look of puzzled amazement on his face was stowing away his weapons, gazing perplexedly at Tad Butler. "Now, my man, I don't know who you are; I don't care who you are. But I hope you will have learned a lesson and that you will leave us alone after this. Do you know Bill Lilly?" The stranger flushed again. Tad saw that the fellow did. "Then you know that Mr. Lilly won't stand for any such doings as yours. I reckon if he had been in my place he wouldn't have let you off quite so easy, and if you bother us further I shan't, either. Now, sir, I want you to head your horse straight west. Ride until you get tired of riding, but don't make the mistake of thinking that you can come back and catch us napping. We shall be on the watch for you." "Yes, you had better not come back," interjected Stacy Brown. "This gun might get unmanageable. You don't know what a terror it is when it gets on a rampage." "I guess that is about all I have to say to you," continued Butler. "Except that I shall tell Mr. Lilly. He may take a notion to follow you and call you to account. However, I think you have been punished enough. Now get out of here as fast as you can ride." "I'll be even with you, you young cubs!" shouted the angry voice of the stranger as he rode away. "Shall I wing him, Tad?" yelled Stacy. "Certainly not," rebuked Butler. "What right or reason have you to do it?" "I—I told you he would strike when you put his fangs back in his jaw. He will be after us again, mind what I tell you," predicted Chunky. "We don't care. We have our deer," answered Tad with a good-humored smile. "But don't you think it is time we were getting back? We shall be caught out after dark if we don't hurry." Chunky agreed, so the boys started back over the trail, casting frequent glances to the rear, for Tad really believed that the doe thief would try to creep up on them and take his revenge. For that reason Butler carried his rifle across the saddle in front of him, ready for instant action. "Here, here, we've forgotten something," cried Chunky after they had been going on for twenty minutes. "What have we forgotten?" "To eat." "Oh, pooh! We can wait until we get to camp." "We can do nothing of the sort! I can't wait another minute. I'm so hungry that my works are rattling around inside of me like the dishes in a pantry when a mad cat is let loose among them." "You have food in your saddle bags," reminded Tad. "But I want something warm." "You may get it if you stop," warned Butler suggestively. "Take a nibble and let it go at that. When we get home we shall have some venison steak. How would that strike you?" "Don't aggravate me," groaned the fat boy, rolling his eyes. "Anyone would think you were going to throw a fit the way you roll your eyes and show the whites," laughed Tad. "I shall throw one if you say any more about venison steak." "All right. I won't find any further fault with you. I am proud of you, Chunky. I take back all the disagreeable things I have said about you. You are a plucky boy." "Yes, I reckon I am about the bravest man that ever tackled wild beasts in the canebrake," agreed the fat boy. "What are you thinking about?" "I was wondering," answered Tad reflectively. "It seems to me that there is something more to this affair than I first thought. Why did that man steal the doe, Chunky?" "'Cause he wanted it. Ask me something harder." "I don't believe that was wholly the case." Chunky cocked an inquiring eye. "What do you think?" he demanded. "I don't know as I think at all," laughed Butler. "I thought not. You are always looking for something. I wish I had your imagination." "What would you do with it?" "Think up trouble that couldn't happen at all. But you see I could imagine it was going to happen, and get just as much excitement out of it as if it really had. It would be a whole lot safer, too." "I agree with you," answered Tad, tilting back his head and laughing heartily. Tad rode watching the trail with keen eyes. He had no difficulty in following it, but he saw that night would be upon them before they reached the camp, which would then make their progress slower and much more uncertain. Stacy was not worrying. He was not given to worrying until face to face with an emergency—and not always then. Twilight settled over the swamp and the canebrake, and the barred owls began their wild hoots and weird croakings, sounds that always made the fat boy shiver. He said it gave him "crinkles" up and down his back. He told that to Tad, and asked permission to wind the horn. "I hardly think that would be prudent. If our late enemy should chance to be following us it would give him a pretty good line on us, wouldn't it?" "Gracious! I hadn't thought of that. Do you suppose he is on our track?" "I hardly think so. Still, he may be. We are not traveling fast, you know, while he, being light, can overtake us easily if he wants to." "I reckon he has had enough of the Pony Rider Boys," averred Stacy. "He knows he'd be hurt if he got too familiar with us. You ought to have let me fan him a little while I had the chance." "No. I am amazed that you should think of such a thing. But I am sure you don't mean it." "I do mean it. You bet I mean it." "You are not a safe person to be at large." "Neither is he," retorted Stacy. "I give up," laughed Tad. "There is no such thing as having the last word in an argument with you." "Of course there isn't. That's what my aunt says, so she uses a stick. I can't answer that in the same way." Tad halted to search for some torch wood. He found some after poking around in the dark for nearly half an hour. Some of the wood he gave to Stacy, and lighted a torch for himself. The torch flared up, sending ghostly shadows through the forest, causing the owls to break out in a chorus of angry protest. Tad was now able to see the trail, though the light made the trail deceiving, requiring the utmost caution in following it. Once off the trail, the boy knew that they would be obliged to spend the night in the swamp or the canebrake, for to move about would be to get farther into the depths of the forest. Stacy grumbled at their slow progress, but Tad's patience was the patience of the experienced woodsman who moved slowly, observing everything about him, listening to all sounds, thinking of everything that a woodsman in the depth of the forest should think of. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when Tad halted and held up one hand. "What is it?" whispered Chunky. "I thought I heard a horn." "Yes, there it goes," cried Stacy. The winding horn was a long way off. None but the keenest of ears could have caught the sound. "Answer them," nodded Butler. Stacy did. He wound the horn until he was red in the face. Tad had to stop him in order that he might listen for the other horn. He heard it again. They now knew that their companions were out looking for them. It was about this time that Lilly discovered the four-sided blaze. He read its message instantly. Then he caught the sound of Stacy's answering horn. "They are getting near. They will be here soon," announced the guide in a relieved tone. "I told you, you couldn't lose Tad Butler," cried Ned Rector. "No, not even in the canebrake." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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