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Pony Rider Boys on the Blue Ridge

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<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> <h3>LOST IN A MOUNTAIN TORRENT</h3> "Hang together if you can. Crowd close in behind me!" Had all obeyed the orders of young Butler they might have escaped with no serious consequences, but in the excitement of the moment and swallowed up in the darkness of the night in Smoky Pass, the boys were quickly separated. One had pulled this way in fighting with his pony, another that. Even Professor Zepplin had been carried into a cove far on the other side, for at this point the stream had broadened out considerably. All at once Tad felt his pony lifted from its feet. The animal began to swim. To lighten the burden the boy slipped off, taking a hitch of his rope about his waist, securing the rope to the pommel of the saddle. It was now a case of every man for himself and trust to luck. "Are you there?" he called to his companions. "Ya—yassir," answered Billy Veal. "Are you there?" again demanded Tad at the top of his voice. He heard a shout in reply, the shout seeming to come from far down the stream. Then Tad was caught in a wave and swept along with the current, clinging desperately to the saddle. There was no need to try to swim. He was traveling fast enough without attempting to go any faster. Every little while the boy would shout for his companions. Only twice was he able to catch a reply from any of the party. "I am afraid they're lost," groaned the boy. Even the familiar "yassir" of Chops was no longer to be heard. Billy Veal had disappeared, and for all Tad knew the guide had been drowned. Now and then a tree or a heavy trunk would graze the body of the lad. Lightning was still flashing at intervals, but the storm was passing, and already a faint streak of light might have been observed roofing the narrow opening over Smoky Pass. All at once Tad found himself enveloped in a new darkness. Something seemed to have caught his head in a vise-like grip, and he lost consciousness. Though Butler did not know it, a heavy piece of timber had been hurled against him, striking the lad on the head. The rope that had been secured about the boy's waist slipped up under his arms under the added weight put upon it. Tad's head drooped, but not far enough to permit the water to cover it. Then on swept boy and pony through the swirling flood, the pony fighting, the boy passive. Another pony bumped into Butler's horse, but Tad did not know of the collision. How long he had been unconscious, Tad did not know, but it could not have been for very long, and when he returned to consciousness he found himself literally hanging at the side of the pony. The animal was standing dripping and trembling, but, as the Pony Rider Boy quickly discovered, the horse was on solid ground. The roar of the swollen stream was still in Butler's ears, but he was no longer battling with the flood. The night was still so dark that he could not see the water, though overhead he saw the stars twinkling brightly. Tad spoke to his horse. The animal whinnied its appreciation, and Tad patted it with a feeble hand. The boy was still too weak to do more than lie back, breathing hard, and exerting every bit of will power that he possessed to pull himself together. "This won't do. I'll surely shake to pieces if I remain here," he muttered. With a great effort he pulled himself up and released himself from the rope. "Hello!" called Tad with all his strength. There was no response. "They've gone! I hope they aren't drowned, but I am sure something terrible has happened to them. How I wish it were light so that I could see what I am about." Taking the bridle rein in one hand, Tad began feeling about in the darkness. He learned that the pony had dragged him up to a narrow, sandy strip of land at the base of the wall. The ground was wet, indicating that the water had but recently receded from it. This proved to the boy that the crest of the flood had passed and that the water was rapidly going down. "There's little doubt that it was the crest that struck us. But the question is, what hit me? I don't suppose it would help if that question were answered. The real question is, what has become of my companions?" he muttered. There was nothing to be done just yet, though Tad decided to try the creek very soon. This he did after half an hour's waiting. By that time his pony had recovered itself sufficiently to warrant Butler in climbing to the wet, slippery saddle. How cold it did feel underneath him, but the heat of his body soon took away this unpleasant sensation. Tad boldly forced the pony into the creek. To the boy's relief the water barely touched the stirrups. "Now if I don't fall into any pockets in the creek, I'm all right. I don't know whether the others are below or above me, but I'm going down a piece and if I find no one, I'll turn about and come back." Every few moments Tad would shout. At last there came an answering call. "Who are you?" cried the lad joyously. "Chunky!" "Chunky?" "Yassir, nassir," answered the fat boy. "Where are you?" "I'm where the little boy was when he was chased by a bulldog—up a tree." Riding over toward the voice, Butler found this to be literally true. Stacy had grabbed at a limb that had struck him in the face, and then swung himself up to the limb, permitting his pony to go on where it would. "Take me down," begged Stacy. "Where are the others?" "I saw Jonah go by me just after I landed from my ark." "Who?" wondered Butler. "Chops." "But the rest of them?" urged Tad. "I don't know anything about them. I've had all I could do to look after myself, and don't you forget it. Where have you been?" "Up the creek a way. What became of your pony?" "I don't know. I tell you I've been busy. It wasn't any fun to hang to this limb, not knowing at what second it was going to break and let me down into the water. I reckon that would have been the end of Stacy Brown. Then the papers at home would have had something to talk about. 'Our distinguished fellow townsman, Stacy Brown, carried away and lost in a flood in Smoky Pass in the Blue Ridge.' Sounds kind of romantic, doesn't it?" "You have about as much feeling as a turnip," remarked Tad disgustedly. "The others may be drowned. I wish you had your pony. I don't know what I am to do, but I'm afraid I'll have to leave you up there while I go and search for the others." "What? Leave me up here in this tree?" wailed Chunky, changing his tone instantly. "Yes." "No you don't! My death will be on your head if you do. Don't you ever accuse me of not having any feeling, if you go away and leave me treed like a coon at bay." "I suppose I'll have to take you, but the pony's pretty well played out and so am I. Here, give me your hand." In trying to make the pass from the limb to the pony, Stacy fell into the water with a splash and uttering a yell. He thought he was going to be drowned, but was surprised when he found that the water did not reach far above his waist. The pony, frightened by the splash, leaped to one side, nearly unseating its rider. "You're a lumbering lummox," rebuked Tad. "So are you. If you hadn't been, you wouldn't have let me fall. Are you going to help me get up?" "Yes. I will get down and walk. You may ride if you want to. I'm not going to ask the pony to carry us both." Chunky reflected over this for a moment. Tad slipped down into the cold water. "Get up there, and mind you don't let my pony get away," ordered Butler. "I won't!" "You won't what?" "I won't get up." "I got down so that you might." "I'm not that kind of a tenderfoot and you ought to know it by this time. No, sir; I don't do anything of the sort. Get back there and ride your own bundle of bones." "I prefer to walk," answered Butler briefly. "So do I, and I'm going to." Neither would get into the saddle, so they very stubbornly started splashing along beside the pony, each with a hand on the bridle to save himself in case he stepped into a hole in the stream. Tad continued calling until his voice gave out, but got no reply from anyone. "Come now, you yell for a while," he urged. "What shall I say?" asked Chunky innocently. "Say? I don't care what you say. Make a noise. That's all. I want to find the rest of our party." "I'll bet Chops is alive. But isn't he the Jonah?" "I hadn't thought about it," answered Tad briefly. "You will when you get calmed down a little. You're excited now," declared Stacy Brown. "I'm nothing of the sort," protested Tad indignantly. "Oh, yes you are. You don't know it, that's all," insisted the fat boy. A sharp retort rose to Tad's lips, but he suppressed it. There was no use in arguing with Chunky, who was bound to have the last word and that last word always did have a sting in it. At present there were more important matters on hand. Soon after that Tad's hello was answered by one a short distance down the pass. Contrary to his usual powers of voice, Chunky had not proved much of a success in yelling. The new voice turned out to belong to Ned Rector. Ned and his pony had found a strip of land on which they had taken refuge. It was a glad Ned, too, when he discovered his companions. "Have you seen anything of Walter and the Professor?" asked Butler anxiously. "I think they are below here somewhere. I am sure it was they who swept past me just after we got caught in the eddy back there." "How about Jonah?" asked Stacy. "Who is Jonah?" "The Jonah who claims to be a guide, but who ought to be in a strait-jacket." "He means Chops," laughed Tad. "I don't know that I care particularly what has become of him," growled Ned. "Oh, yes you do, Ned. He is a human being just the same as you or I," rebuked Stacy. "I suppose that's so, but the question is open to argument and a wide difference of opinion. I think the Veal Chop stayed upstream somewhere, though he may have gone on downstream. If he did, I didn't see him go, nor hear him. Come to think of it, it seems to me that I did hear him yelling behind me after I started on my swim for life. Talk of going through the Rapids of Niagara! I don't believe your swim in the Grand Canyon was any more exciting than this one tonight. It was daylight then," said Ned. "Yes," agreed Tad. "Oh, wait till I get hold of that guide! What I won't do to him—" "It will be my turn first, Ned," interrupted Stacy. "What happened to you, by the way?" questioned Ned. "Oh, I got left up a tree, just like the alligator bait down in Florida. Do you know how the colored people catch alligators down there?" "In a woodchuck trap?" questioned Rector quizzically. "Na-a-a-a! I'll tell you for your information, if you don't know. They take a little colored baby and tie him either to the limb of a tree that hangs over the water, or else fasten him to a long pole—one that will bend—then lower him over the water. He yells—could you blame him? The 'gators, hearing the yell, and maybe getting a whiff of the kid, come up with open jaws with appetites that would break a hotel. No, they don't get the little cullud person. They get a chunk of lead right through one eye and usually that's the end of Mr. 'Gator. The tiny cullud person is removed from the pole and the deed's done and everybody's happy ever afterwards." "A very likely story!" observed Ned scornfully. "Very," agreed Tad. "We had better be getting downstream to look for the others." Ned refused to get off and walk, so he rode ahead of them to sound the bottom of the stream. Day was just breaking when they came across the Professor and Walter Perkins, both sprinting up and down on a sandy beach to start their blood into circulation. So ludicrous did the two look that the boys shouted. They could well afford to shout now that all of their party were accounted for, with the exception of the guide, whom they had little doubt they should find later safe and sound. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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