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Pony Rider Boys on the Blue Ridge

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<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> <h3>BISCUIT AND MYSTERY</h3> "There, I hope we have seen the last of that ruffian," exclaimed the Professor as Smoky rode away. "I am afraid we haven't, Professor," answered Tad, with a shake of the head. "Why—why, what makes you think that?" "He is a vengeful man. He is already plotting to get even with us. However, there's no use to worry about him. We will take care of him if he comes around our outfit." "Yes, we'll take care of Smoke," jeered Chunky. "I wonder if there are any more like him in these parts?" "I shouldn't be surprised," returned Tad. "You did very well in helping to hold the other mountaineers off yesterday, Chunky. But you spoiled it all twice." "How?" "By going to sleep on the job. Never go to sleep unless there is good reason for doing so." "There was good reason. I should say there was," protested the fat boy. "What was the reason?" "I was sleepy." "Surely, you could not ask a better reason, Tad," said the Professor with a grim smile. "I've nothing more to say?" laughed Tad. "That argument is unanswerable." Ned suggested that they get under way, so they mounted and rode away towards Smoky Bald, that huge towering mountain, rising up into the sky nearly seven thousand feet. The Pony Rider Boys were now approaching what was known as "The Land of the Sky," and their spirits were fully as high as the name. About them the country was becoming more rugged, making progress slower and slower, but they did not mind. By this time it was unusual to see a human being, though at rare intervals they came upon a mountaineer's cabin. The occupants of such always were suspicious of the strangers, and the boys cut short their calls with merely passing words of greeting. For two days following the departure of the bully they had pressed on and on. But now another disturbing factor had come up to irritate them. Their food was most mysteriously disappearing. No matter how many biscuit they baked, these were sure to disappear within a few hours. A similar state of affairs, though not to the same extent, had existed on their way through Smoky Pass. Now it had sprung up again. At first Tad suspected Stacy Brown and his appetite; then the guide came in for a share of suspicion, but not a clue was the lad able to find. He thought he had checked the losses when he ordered all the reserve stores piled in the corner of his tent with his duffle-bag, but the mystery still remained unsolved. "It's my opinion that there's something going on around these diggings," declared Chunky as they were sitting about the campfire one evening. "There is no doubt about that," replied Tad. "If you can find out just what is going on you will be doing the Pony Rider Boys, as an association, a real service." "I had a dream last night," began Chunky. "Did you dream that you were living in marble halls?" chuckled Rector. "No, I couldn't dream anything so pleasant when you were snoring in the next tent. I've had the same dream for three nights running. And, fellows, it was an awful dream. I know it means trouble for someone." "Well, what was your dream?" asked Tad. "I don't want to hear it if it is another of your old chestnuts," declared Ned. "Go on, tell it, Chunky," urged Walter. "It was a terrible dream," replied the fat boy in a deep, thrilling voice. "Well, well, surely it couldn't have been any more terrible than this suspense," interrupted Butler. "I dreamed—I dreamed—" Stacy paused to gaze feelingly at his companions. "You dreamed? Yes?" reminded Rector. "I dreamed—I dreamed I saw three blind men leading a one-eyed horse to water." "Oh, pooh!" scoffed Ned Rector. "Three nights," continued Stacy, "did I dream of this nerve-racking scene. Don't look at me like that, William Veal! That's just the way the blind men stared at me." "Go on," laughed Tad. "What did the three blind men and the one-eyed horse do?" "They went down to the creek and took a drink," crooned Stacy, gazing steadily at the wide-eyed Chops. Chops was actually pale about the lips. "Then—then I dreamed another—the most awful of all." "Yes, yes?" pleaded Walter, now really worked up to a high pitch of excitement. "For three nights running I dreamed that I saw a black cat chasing a three-legged rat through a field of red clover. Br-r-r-r!" The last word came out with explosive force. Billy Veal leaped to his feet with a yell. The Pony Rider Boys burst into a roar of laughter, with the exception of Stacy, who sat as solemn as an owl. Chops was trembling, for, like most of his race, he was superstitious. "If I might make so bold as to inquire," said Tad after quiet had once more been restored, "why was the black cat chasing the three-legged rat through the field of red clover?" "The cat thought the rat had the biscuit that have been stolen from this camp, I reckon." This was the signal for another outburst, in which Billy Veal took no part. The guide was too thoroughly frightened to be amused. His superstitious nature had been strongly appealed to. "It means that there's trouble brewing in this outfit. I shouldn't be surprised if some one were going to die. I'm sure it will be the villain who has been stealing our biscuit." "No, that isn't what it means," interrupted Rector. "What does it mean, then?" demanded Stacy. "It means that you have been overloading your stomach for the last three nights before turning in. I am beginning to think it was you who stole and ate the stuff." "You must be a—an oracle. That's it. You're one of those dream books," retorted Chunky. "Now seeing you are an oracle, what would it have meant had the rat been running through the clover without any legs at all? Answer me that if you can, Mr. Dream Book!" "Very simple. Almost childish. That would mean that instead of eating biscuit before going to bed, you had been eating mince pie." "You are almost human, Ned," grinned Chunky. "But you don't know a gnome when you see one." "A gnome?" "Sure thing. Those were gnomes—the real spooky, spinky kind that give you the shivers up and down your back when they're out gnoming. Chops knows what a gnome is, don't you, Chops?" "N-n-n-nassir, yassir," chattered the guide. "Don't, for goodness' sake, Chunky. He'll run in a minute," begged Butler. "And—and that wasn't all," continued Stacy. "I heard the cat utter a name, and the rat had a face just like—" "What did the cat say, and—" "The cat said, 'Meow!'" jeered Ned. "No it didn't. The cat said 'Veal, Veal,' just as plainly as you could imagine," nodded the speaker. Chops fairly gasped. "Yes, but what did the rat look like?" urged Tad. "Well, it looked to me like a rat," answered the fat boy solemnly. "You will all have the nightmare tonight if you don't choose a more cheerful topic for discussion just before turning in," warned Professor Zepplin. "Yes, change the subject," urged Rector. "I don't want to dream of four-legged rats and blind mice, and besides, Chops is on the verge of nervous prostration." Chunky got up and stretched himself. He strolled over to where Billy stood leaning against a rock. "The rat had your face," he whispered sharply in the ear of the guide. Chops uttered a blood-curdling yell and with a leap cleared the campfire and started racing for the tall timber. <center><ANTIMG src="images/there_he_goes.jpg" alt="There He Goes"> "There He Goes!" </center> "There he goes," wailed Ned. "After him!" shouted Tad. "Guide! Guide! Come back here, guide!" roared the Professor. But Chops was on fleet feet, with four shouting, yelling boys in hot pursuit. "That's the last we shall see of our guide," moaned the Professor, sitting down heavily. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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