"You take Texas and let me ride your pony for a couple of rounds," suggested Tad. "I'll see if I can't trim him into shape."

Stacy willingly relinquished his horse, and Tad, mounting the stubborn little animal, treated the party to as entertaining a bit of horsemanship as they ever had witnessed. After Tad had finished with the pony the animal, thoroughly subdued, made no further objections to the discharge of weapons all about and over him.

"Now, go ahead, Chunky," advised Tad. "If he cuts up any more just take a tight rein and give him the spur. But I think he'll be good without it."

Stacy had no further trouble with the pony after that. In fact, all the ponies soon accustomed themselves to the noise of the firing and the attendant excitement.

At first none of the boys seemed able to hit even the stump. Presently, though, little black patches began to appear on the white paper as the marksmen dashed by, each successful shot being greeted by a cheer of approval from the spectators.

"Those boys have the right stuff in them," said the guide to Professor Zepplin. "They shoot and ride like old hands already, though they don't hit the mark every time they shoot"

They are young Americans," smiled the Professor. "No other country in the world produces such types. As a foreigner I can appreciate that."

While they were talking, Tad was taking his turn at the target.

"Just look at that boy ride. That proves it," said the Professor.

Tad had dropped the bridle rein over the saddle bow as he neared the shooting mark. Rising in his stirrups, riding there as if he were a part of the animal itself, he was holding the bobbing rifle easily, eyes fixed on the mark that hung gleaming in the sunlight.

Suddenly the butt of the rifle sprang to his right shoulder, a flash of smoke and flame leaped from the muzzle of the gun, and a tiny black patch appeared, like magic, fairly in the center of the target.

Dropping to his saddle, half-turning his body, Tad Butler sent back a second shot hard on the report of the first one, once more planting a leaden pellet in the now well-riddled paper.

The boys sent up a whoop of approval.

"I guess that will do for to-day," decided the guide. "Got any charges left in your magazines?"

"I have," answered Chunky.

"Draw them, then."

"Yes," said Ned Rector. "Even though Chunky is beginning to get his eyes open, I don't consider myself safe so long as he has a loaded gun in his hands. What we shall do with him when we get after real game, and can't watch him every second, I don't know."

"Don't you bother about me. You've got enough to do looking after yourself," retorted Stacy sharply, much to the discomfiture of his tormentor.

The boys now turned campward, well satisfied with the morning's practice and with keen appetites for the noonday meal. Nothing had been seen of Ben Tackers, so their hopes for going hunting that day were shattered.

Yet they were given no opportunity to brood over their disappointment. Professor Zepplin and Lige Thomas still had a few surprises in store for them. Very cleverly, they had pieced these surprises along instead of giving them all to the lads at the beginning. Thus each day held its new interest, different from any that had preceded it.

"We will call this our shooting day, eh, Thomas?" smiled the Professor significantly.

"It has been."

"Then, perhaps you had best get out the other implements of warfare for our young gentlemen. It will keep them busy until supper time, furnishing something new as well."

With a knowing grin, Lige went to the cook tent, soon returning with an armful. At first the boys glanced at the bundle curiously, then with more interest as it began to assume shape and form to their eyes.

"What—-what——" stammered Tad.

Stacy, whose eyes were wide open, was the first to recognize the articles, and as he did so, Lige dumped them on the ground.

"Bows and arrows," cried the boys, performing a grotesque war dance about the weapons.

"We'll be real Indians now, won't we?" chortled Chunky.

"They are only playthings," sniffed Ned. "What good are they when we have real rifles?"

"You'll find these bows and arrows real enough," answered the guide. "They were made by Indians, and some of them have been used by Indians, not only for hunting, but against men as well. A shot from one of those arrows might put an end to any one of you fully as quickly as would a bullet from one of your thirty-eights."

"Shall we help ourselves?" asked Ned.

"Wait. I'll divide them according to your size and strength. These two are war bows. I think I'll give them to Master Tad and Ned Rector. It takes a strong arm to pull them, and you'll want to be careful which way you shoot."

"I'll show you fellows how to shoot," averred Stacy. "I can beat any boy in the bunch with the bow and arrow. I learned the trick up in New England, where I come from. My ancestors learned it from the Indians, who used to shoot them up, and the trick has been handed down in my family. Somebody throw up his hat and see me pink it," he directed, stringing his bow skilfully.

The boys could not repress a smile at Chunky's self-praise.

"Here you go," said Ned, sending his sombrero spinning high in the air, hoping thereby to take Stacy so much by surprise that he would be unable to draw a bead on it.

But Chunky demonstrated that, however slow he might be in some other things, he could twang a bow with remarkable skill.

Even before the hat had spent its upward flight, Stacy Brown's bowstring sang, a slender dark streak sped through the air, its course laid directly for the hat of which its owner was so proud.

"Hi there! Look out! You're going to hit it!" warned Ned.

That was exactly what Stacy had intended to do, though none had had the slightest idea that he could shoot well enough to accomplish the feat.

To their astonishment, the keen-pointed arrow went fairly into the center of the hat, coming out at the crown, its feathered butt tearing a great rent in the peak of the sombrero as it passed through.

Ned groaned as he witnessed the disaster that had come upon his new hat. But he got no sympathy from the rest of the boys.

"I'll trade with you. You can wear mine," consoled Chunky, observing his companion's rueful countenance as he picked up the sombrero, sorrowfully surveying the rent in its peak. "I'll do nothing of the sort," snapped Ned. "I told you to shoot at it. It serves me right and I'll take my medicine like a man. If it rains, I'll stuff the hole full of leaves," he added humorously. "Then my umbrella will be just as good as yours."

"That's the talk," approved the boys. "Anybody else want to offer his hat to the sacrifice!" grinned Chunky.

"I think hereafter you had better use the blunt arrows unless you are shooting at game," advised the guide. "Those flint arrow heads are dangerous things for work such as yours. I'll pack them away, so there will be no danger of an accident."

After having practiced in camp for a time, the boys strayed off, hoping for a chance to try their skill on some live thing. To this the Professor made no objection, for they were now becoming so used to the mountains as to be quite well able to take care of themselves, unless they got too far from camp, which they were not likely to do.

Tad soon strolled away by himself, taking a course due south by his pocket compass. This led him directly over the range where they had been shooting earlier in the day, and the boy smiled with pride as he passed the target and counted up the bullet holes that his own rifle had made. He then pressed on, intending to enter the cedar forest that crowned a great ridge some distance beyoud him.

Before reaching there, however, Tad sat down in a rocky basin, to enjoy to the fullest the sense of being alone in the mountain fastness. His quiver was full of arrows, and the strong, business-like looking bow lay across his knees.

"If I could see a bob-cat now, I'd have something real to interest me," Tad confided to himself.

But not a sign of animal life did he observe anywhere about him.

Tad's right hand was resting on a small jagged stone beside him. It felt cool under his touch, and, after a little, the boy carelessly picked it up and looked at it. As he gazed, his eyes took on a different expression. The stone, in spots, sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight. He turned it over and over, examining it critically.

"I wonder if it is gold?" marveled the boy, his eyes growing large with wonder. "I'll take it back to camp and ask Lige."

Tad scrambled to his feet, but ere he could carry out his purpose of starting for camp, an unexpected and startling thing happened.

There was a whir, as of some object being hurled through the air. The boy experienced a stinging sensation on his right cheek, as the missile grazed it, and a stone the size of a man's hand clattered to the rocks several feet ahead of him, rolling over and over, finally toppling from a small cliff.

Some one had thrown the stone at him. Had it hit the boy's head fairly it almost surely would have killed him. Tad Butler needed no other evidence than that afforded by his own senses to tell him the missile was intended for him.

He whirled sharply. But not a person was in sight. All at once, however, the keen-eyed boy discovered a slight movement in the sage brush, a few rods to the rear of where he had been sitting.

Like a flash he whipped a blunt arrow from the quiver.

The bow twanged viciously, and the arrow sped straight into the sage brush. A yell of rage and a floundering about in the bush as if someone were running, told the boy that his shot had reached a human mark.

Pacing the sage, Tad had become conscious of the fact that before him lay a large black hole in the rocks, and he dimly realized that he had come upon a cave. But he gave the matter no further attention at that moment, his first thought being that he must get back to camp as quickly as possible.

Stringing his bow, Tad hurled another arrow into the brush, then bounded away, wondering vaguely who his mysterious enemy might be.



CHAPTER XV

THE BATTLE IN THE CAVE

Reaching the rifle range, Tad sat down to think over the occurrences of the past half hour. Why anyoue should wish to do him harm, he could not understand. And, if anyoue did, why should he adopt such a peculiar way of attack? Had it been a mountaineer, Tad was sure the man would have used a gun instead of standing off and throwing stones at turn like a petulant school boy. He realized too, that they had a different mode of procedure in the mountains.

"I'd have been as dead as Chunky's bob-cat if the stone had hit me fairly," muttered the boy. "Anyway, I've got a chunk of something that looks a good deal like gold, in my pocket," he added.

Deciding to say nothing about his recent experience to his companions, Tad strolled slowly toward camp. Yet, he had firmly made up his mind to go back to the spot later and make sure that his suspicions were correct.

Most of the boys had returned by the time Tad arrived, and there was a clamor to know the result of his hunting trip.

"Maybe I shot a cat. But, I didn't," he grinned.

"What's that!" demanded Ned.

"Anyway, I've brought back a chunk of gold and discovered a cave. That's more than the rest of you have done, I'll warrant."

Either announcement would have been sufficient to arouse the interest of the campers, and they crowded about Tad, demanding to know what he meant by his mysterious words.

"I found a cave, I tell you," he repeated.

"Where?" asked Lige.

Tad explained its location as well as he could.

"And I found this chunk of gold, too," he added proudly.

The guide took the piece of ore, examining it carefully.

"That isn't gold," he laughed. "That is what is known as 'fools' gold.'"

"Scientifically known as 'iron pyrites'" explained the Professor.

Tad's jaw fell at this shattering of his hopes. Yet, when Lige tossed the piece of mineral on the ground, the boy picked it up and dropped it back in his pocket. Why he did this he did not know. Perhaps it was instinct. However, after a few moments he had forgotten all about it.

"You must have had a fight with a bob-cat to get that fierce scratch on your cheek," chuckled Ned Rector. "I must say that Chunky has you beaten to a—a— I've forgotten the word I want —when it conies to fighting cats."

"I have seen no cats to-day, Ned. But I have found a real cave. Will you take us over to explore it, in the morning, Mr. Thomas? I'll show you the biggest thing of its kind you ever have seen, if you'll go," promised Tad, enthusiastically.

"Providing we don't go hunting, yes, and— and find some more fools' gold," laughed the guide.

Tad went to his tent, for the wound in his cheek was giving him considerable pain, and a glance into the hand mirror showed him that the cheek was beginning to swell.

Taking a towel with him, the boy hurried off to a mountain rivulet, where he bathed the wounded cheek, holding the wet towel to it to reduce the swelling.

Chancing to look up, he observed the guide, Lige Thomas, standing before him, eyeing him keenly.

"Warm, isn't?" grinned Tad.

"Rather. Put the towel down. I want to look at that cheek."

Tad hesitated, drew the towel away, and gazed back at the guide with a challenge in his eyes.

Lige examined the wound carefully.

"How'd you get it?" he demanded, straightening up.

"Why do you ask that? It's only a scratch."

"Because I want to know. If you do not wish to tell me, of course I shall not press you. However, it will be my duty to call the attention of the Professor to it. You see, I am responsible for you boys while you are up here, and——"

"A stone did it," interrupted Tad, with a touch of stubbornness in his tone.

"A stone?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Somebody threw it at me."

For a moment the guide gazed at Tad doubtingly.

"I'll tell you all about it," exclaimed Tad impetuously. "But promise me that you won't tell the boys. They'd never cease joking me about it. I'm going back there to-morrow to see if I can find the fellow who shied the rock at me. No; I didn't see him at all. I was sitting with my back to him when he let fly at me. But I pinked him, Mr. Thomas. Believe me, I did——"

"Pinked him?"

"Yes, I let him have an arrow full tilt, and I know it hit him, for he yelled and ran away," explained the boy.

"This matter must be looked into," decided Lige thoughtfully. "It begins to look as if Ben Tackers was right about the gang after all. No; I'll not say anything to the crowd. It would only stir them up. We will visit the cave to-morrow, and, while the others are amusing themselves, you and I will look the ground over a bit. I'll go back now, and you may come along when you get ready."

Tad remained by the stream until he heard the supper call, whereupon he rose slowly and picked his way over the rocks to where the others had assembled about the table in the gathering twilight.

The boy's appetite, however, had not been affected by the experience through which he had passed that afternoon, and he stowed away a hearty meal, after which the evening was spent in listening to stories of the chase related by Lige Thomas.

There being still no sign of Ben Tackers on the following morning, a visit to the cave was decided upon. They reached the place about nine o'clock, guided by Tad, who took them to the hole in the rock at once.

"I guess you boys had better fix up some torches," directed Lige. "Sometimes there are holes within holes, in these mountains, and we don't want to take a sudden drop down a hundred feet or so. Three torches will be enough to light. You had better take along two or three more in case of need."

Before entering, the guide took the precaution of unslinging his rifle, and, placing the boys behind him with the torches, he entered the cave first. They were obliged to stoop to get through the opening. Once within they followed what appeared to be a passage hewn out of the solid rock.

"Ah, here we are!" exclaimed Lige finally, straightening and glancing about him curiously.

They found themselves in a dome-like chamber, from which hung suspended hundreds of stalactites that threw back the rays of the torches in a thousand sparkling, scintillating points of fire.

The Pony Riders gasped in amazement. Never had any of them seen anything like this.

"Wha—what is it?" breathed Tad Butler.

"Stalactites," announced the Professor.

"Look like icicles to me. B-r-r-r," shivered Stacy Brown.

"It is a very common thing to find them in caves," added the Professor. "But I never have had the pleasure of observing the formation before."

"I can show you some better than these," stated the guide. "I know of a cave, not so very far from here, that is as big as a church, and a regular picture of one, too."

"Is this the end of the cave?" asked Ned.

"No; there are other passages leading further into the mountain, at the other end of the chamber there," replied Lige.

"Are we going to explore them?" inquired Walter.

"Yes; we can go further, if you wish. But you boys must keep a sharp lookout where you are going. Don't fool too much. It's easy to get into trouble here, you know."

While Lige was speaking, Tad had edged cautiously to one side of the chamber, where he had observed what appeared to be a small rock, glistening in the light of the torches. He picked it up, unobserved by the others, and dropped it into his pocket for further observation.

The party then pushed on into the cave, one chamber leading into another, forming a bewildering maze, the brilliant reflections almost blinding them at times, until at last Lige Thomas was forced to admit that he never had quite seen the like of it anywhere else in the Rockies.

"Didn't I tell you I'd show you the biggest thing you ever saw in your life?" glowed Tad Butler.

At that instant a yell of terror from Stacy Brown drew their attention sharply from Tad, their eyes bulging with fear at what they saw before them.

There, sitting on its haunches, paws extended menacingly, showing its teeth as it uttered low, angry growls of protest, was a full-grown black bear.

Tad Butler, indeed, had shown some of them the most surprising things they had ever seen. Yet this was not exactly the surprise he had planned for them, or for himself.

The guide had put his gun down as he entered the chamber, to get one of the stalactites for Professor Zepplin, who wished to examine it. As a result, Lige was now some twenty-five feet away from his weapon.

At first, with the bright reflection in his eyes, the guide was unable to understand what it was that had caused their sudden fright. Yet the breathless silence about him told him instantly that something serious had happened.

The bear had dropped to all fours and was lumbering straight toward Stacy Brown, who stood fascinated, watching the approach of the hideous object, whose raised upper lip showed a row of white gleaming teeth.

"Look out!" yelled Tad suddenly finding his voice.

"Quick, guide!" begged the Professor, weakly.

"What is it? Where?" snapped Lige, crouching down and shading his eyes to protect them from the glare.

He quickly saw what had caused the startling alarm. He saw too, the hulking beast drawing nearer and nearer to Stacy Brown, and knew that only some sudden shock to his mind would break the spell that seemed to possess the boy at that moment.

"Run!" thundered the guide.

But Chunky stood as rigid as a statue.

Lige sprang for his rifle. In his haste he slipped on the smooth, damp floor and went sprawling.

By the time he had recovered himself, the bear had ambled up to Stacy, until the boy could feel the hot, nauseating breath beating against his face.

Tad Butler without regard for his own safety, leaped for the bear. But Professor Zepplin was too quick for him. He caught Tad by the arm, jerking him back.

Now, at that instant, Stacy Brown did a thing that brought a groan from each one who witnessed the daring act.

Chunky drew back his pudgy fist and let go with all his might.

His knuckles smote the bear fairly on the point of its nose, and the impact sounded loud and clear in the tense stillness of the cave.

If the Pony Riders were surprised, Bruin was even more so. With a grunt the bear suddenly sat down on its haunches, passing its paws over its nose, bewilderment plainly written on its countenance. Under ordinary circumstances the boys would have laughed. But now they were too horrified to do so.

Chunky, either because he was emboldened by the success of his attack, or through the excitement of the moment, picked up a rock from the cave floor, and stepping back, hurled it with all his strength. The stone hit the bear a glancing blow on the head, bringing from the animal a growl of rage. Now, the brute was dangerously angered.

It charged the party savagely, jaws wide apart, but uttering no sound, not even a growl. By this time some one had pulled Chunky from his perilous position and Tad and Professor Zepplin were pushing the other boys back toward the exit with all possible haste. It all had happened in a few seconds. Lige scrambled to his feet, rifle in hand, just in time to see the big brute charging straight at him, as if recognizing that in that quarter lay its gravest danger.

There came a sudden flash of flame, a crash and a roar as if the very mountain had been rent in twain, followed by another and still another.

Tad had grabbed a torch from the hands of one of his companions, the instant Lige began to fire, and sprung back to give the guide sufficient light to shoot by.

In doing so, however, the boy had unwittingly placed himself in the direst peril.

The wounded bear was charging madly here and there, uttering terrific growls of mingled rage and pain. But the instant its bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the boy with the torch, the animal rose on its haunches, and, with paws making powerful sweeps in the air, bore down upon Tad.

The boy was too far over in the chamber to be able to make his escape without getting between Lige and the bear, and escape seemed well-nigh impossible

However, Tad did not lose his presence of mind. With a leap as unexpected as it was surprising, he sprang straight for the savage beast. It seemed as if he was throwing himself right into the wide open jaws to be crushed to death.

"Don't shoot!" he warned, leaping forward. As he did so, he lowered the torch to the level of his own eyes, and drove it straight into the gaping mouth of the maddened bear. Then Tad sprang lightly to one side, throwing himself prone upon the floor.

The great bear was not growling now, but its groans of agony as it fought to get the deadly thing from its throat, sent a chill to the hearts of all who heard them.

At the instant when Tad threw himself down, Lige pulled the trigger.

His bullet ploughed its way through the brain of the bear, relieving its fearful sufferings. Bruin collapsed and rolled over, dead.



CHAPTER XVI

LIVE CUBS CAPTURED

Bring torches!" shouted Lige. "Look out for yourselves! There may be another in the cave. This is an old she bear."

After the lights had been brought, the boys cautiously approached the dead bear. Lige was down on his knees examining it.

"I think we shall find something interesting here, before we have finished," he announced. "Master Tad, as you have strong nerves, you come along with me. The others can drag the bear out and wait for us outside. Bring a couple of extra torches, in case we need them."

"What are you looking for? More bear?" inquired the boy after they had penetrated further into the cave.

"You'll see; that is, if I find what I am looking for. Your cave is turning out better than any of us had any idea it would. Was that some more fools' gold you picked up back there?"

"Oh, you saw me, did you? I don't know. It shines, and that's all I know about it. Do you know of any place where there is real gold in this part of the Rockies?"

"Yes; there are some claims paying fairly well within twenty miles of here. The Lost Claim is supposed to be somewhere in this neighborhood, but thus far no one ever has been able to locate it. I've had suspicions that Ben Tackers might make a close guess if he wanted to disclose it. But old Ben wouldn't bother with the gold if it was dumped right down in his pig sty."

"What's the Lost Claim?"

"It's quite a long story. I'll tell it to you, briefly, while we are exploring the cave."

"Then it was a real gold mine?"

"It surely was, Master Tad. And I guess it is still. Some twenty years ago a miner who had been born and brought up in the Park Range began dropping down to Denver at more or less irregular intervals, where he exchanged nuggets of pure gold and pay dust for cash. The quality of the gold showed that it must come from a rich vein.

"Naturally, people were curious. But to all their questions, Ab Ferguson simply said he'd got the gold out of 'the Lost Claim.'"

"Wonder they didn't follow him. I should think they might have located it in that way?" wondered Tad.

"They did. But they might as well have tried to find the pot of gold that is said to be at one end or the other of the rainbow. Ab was too much of an Indian to be caught that way."

"What happened to him finally?"

"Knocked down by a runaway team in Denver, and died three days later."

"And he didn't tell anyoue where the Claim was?"

"Not he. They've been looking for it ever since. But no one, so far as I ever heard, has got anywhere near it. There's a bunch of hard characters beating up the mountains now, hoping to get rich without work. It's dollars to sandwiches they're hoping to find the Lost Claim."

"You—you don't suppose it was one of them who threw the stone at me, do you?" asked Tad reflectively.

"I hadn't thought of that. It may be—it may be. H-m-m-m. That's an idea."

"But why should they wish to harm me? I don't understand it at all."

"No more do I, unless they found you snooping about, or thought our party might be on the same lay they are. You know, fellows of that kind will stop at nothing. More than one man has been killed on nothing more than an idle suspicion, in these mountains. A lot more will follow in the same way. But we've been warned, and it will be well to keep a sharp lookout."

"If they hadn't thought we were near the Lost Claim, I don't see why they should have had any suspicions," decided Tad.

"On general principles—that's all."

"Did you ever try to find the Lost Claim?"

"I? Never. What would I do with it, if I had it? I'm like Ben Tackers—don't need any more money than I've got. More would be too much."

Yet Tad Butler was unable to rid his mind of the idea that somehow he had stumbled close upon the dead miner's secret. He determined to turn prospector at the very first opportunity.

"Is this more fools' gold?" he asked, pointing to a thin, yellow streak that sparkled in the rock at their right.

"I reckon it is. It has fooled more than one prospector, and drove some of them crazy. Take my advice and don't get the fever. Nothing but trouble will follow you if you do. Trouble always does follow the greed for the yellow metal."

They had been winding out in the maze of passages, Lige, in the meantime, keeping a sharp lookout for guide marks, now and then gouging a niche in the wall to guide them on their return journey.

"Watch out," he cautioned. "We are coming to something."

Sundry soft, muffled growls led them to proceed more carefully, until, finally, Lige directed the lad to raise the torch higher. Lige cocked his rifle, holding it in readiness for quick action. In this manner they crept further into the cave until Tad was suddenly startled by a loud laugh from the guide.

"What is it?" exclaimed the boy.

"Just what I thought. Come here."

At first, Tad could make nothing of what the guide was exhibiting.

However, after a moment's peering in that direction, the boy observed what appeared to be a round ball of fur in one corner of the chamber. "Wha—what is it—bears?" Lige nodded, and, striding over to the heap, he pulled it roughly apart. His act was greeted with a series of savage snarls and growls.

"Cubs. Four of them, and beauties, at that. I knew they were in here, somewhere, after I had examined the mother," announced the guide triumphantly.

"Bear cubs? You don't mean it!" exclaimed Tad joyously. "And we can take them with us?"

"That's exactly what we shall do. There will be one for each of you, and we can crate them up so they can be carried on the burros."

"One for each of us? Won't the boys go wild when they see them? But, how are we going to get them to camp?"

"I'll show you."

Taking a strip of rawhide from his pocket, Lige fashioned a collar about the neck of each cub, leaving a leash four or five feet long to lead the animal by. However, this was not accomplished without vigorous protest on the part of the cubs. Tad was highly amused at their efforts to cuff their captor with their little paws, which they wielded with more or less skill. Yet, they were too young to be able to make any great resistance, and the guide did not give the slightest attention to their attempts to drive them away.

"There," he announced, having secured the little animals. "We each will lead two. Don't be afraid to pull, if they hold back. They'll come along all right when they begin to choke."

With their prizes in tow Tad and the guide retraced their steps to the cave entrance.

At first, looks of amazement greeted them as they emerged with their strange captives.

"Know what they are?" grinned Tad, proudly hauling his cubs up for inspection.

The boys shook their heads.

"Bear cubs. There's one for each of us."

"Whoop!" shouted the boys in chorus.

"Now, we'll have a regular menagerie," exclaimed Ned. "If we could catch a live bob-cat to go with them, wouldn't that be great?"

"Will they bite?" asked Chunky, apprehensively edging away from one of the animals that was playfully tugging at his leggin.

"Not yet," answered the guide. "And you can tame them so they won't hurt you at all. They make good pets if one begins when they are young."

The next half hour was spent in skinning the big mother bear, which proceeding the boys watched with keen interest. Some of the meat they took back to camp with them to cook for supper.

They found old Ben Tackers there awaiting them.

"Hullo, Ben," greeted the guide. "How's everything?"

"Tol'ble," grunted the old mountaineer.

"Are the dogs ready?"

Ben nodded.

"Start morning," he said.

"Good," shouted the boys.

"We couldn't imagine where you had been keeping yourself all the time," added the Professor. "Lige went over to your cabin last night and found it locked."

"Been away, Ben?" asked Lige.

"Over to Eagle Pass. Miners steal old Ben's hogs—one, two of them. Sheriff come by-and-bye and chase bunch out. Old Ben kill them, but Sheriff do better. Big fight when Sheriff comes."

The boys laughed at his quaint way of expressing himself, but not catching the full import of his words.

Lige, on the other hand, eyed him questioningly; and, when Ben finally left the camp in his usual abrupt fashion, the guide rose and followed him. When Lige Thomas returned, his face wore an expression of seriousness that amounted almost to anxiety.

The boys were excitedly discussing their plans for the morrow. It had been decided that the Professor should remain in camp with Jose, as, owing to the presence of the miners in the vicinity, it was not thought wise to leave the camp entirely alone. The four boys, with Lige Thomas, were to make the trip, from which, in case they found the game running, they might not return in twenty-four hours.

Tad had been thinking deeply. After a little while be rose and walked over to Professor Zepplin's tent.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Certainly, walk right in, Tad. What is on your mind?"

"This," answered the lad, laying on the Professor's table the chunks of mineral that he had picked up.

"What's this? Ah, I see. More of the iron pyrites. The metal has driven many a poor fellow mad with anticipations of fabulous wealth," smiled the German.

"Are you sure it is fools' gold, Professor?"

"Reasonably so. But you may leave it here, if you wish, and I will examine it at my leisure. Where did you find the second piece?"

"In the cave. There is a streak of what appears to be the same stuff, extending around one entire chamber there. If it was gold instead of——"

"Pyrites," supplied the Professor.

"Yes. It would make a man very rich, would it not?" asked Tad rising.

"Undoubtedly," smiled the Professor, bowing the boy out courteously.

Professor Zepplin, from the opening of his tent, watched Tad until the latter had joined his companions, after which he pulled the flap shut, quickly seating himself in front of his camp table.

Having done so, he proceeded to examine the two pieces of metal under a magnifying glass. Then with his geologist's hammer he broke off bits of the metal, through all of which sparkled the bright yellow particles.

The German got out his field kit, from which he selected several bottles with glass stoppers, arranging these on the table in front of him. This done, he pulverized a small quantity of the rock, with short, quick raps of the hammer, placing the powder thus made on a plate.

"One part nitric acid, two parts hydrochloric acid," he muttered, pouring the desired quantities from the bottles.

These preparations having been made, the Professor's next move was to apply a blowpipe to some of the metal from the pulverized ore, thus forming a small yellow button. This he dissolved in the aqua regia, formed by the combination of the two acids, and applied the usual chemical tests.

As he did so, Professor Zepplin's eyes glowed with a strange light.

He sprang up, peered cautiously from behind the tent flap, then settled himself once more to his experiments.

Again he went through a similar process with the powder made from still another chunk of the ore. The same result followed.

"Gold! Gold! Rich yellow gold!" breathed the scientist.

He sat with head bowed, breathing heavily, his fascinated gaze fixed on the shining metal.

"Can it be possible!" he murmured.

The loud laughter of the boys off by the camp fire was borne to his ears. But Professor Zepplin did not seem to hear the sounds. He was lost in deep thought.



CHAPTER XVII

THE PONIES STAMPEDE

Next morning the camp was stirring as the first gray streaks appeared on the eastern horizon.

Each saddle bag was quickly packed with hard tack, coffee and other necessaries which might be easily carried, the rest of the space being taken up with cartridges and the like. Blankets were rolled, ready to be strapped behind the saddles on the ponies' backs.

The luggage was to be reduced to the absolute needs of the party, but with the possibility of having to remain out over night, their requirements were greater than if they had intended to return the same evening.

Before they had finished their hurried breakfast, Ben Tackers appeared, accompanied by two vicious looking hounds, whose red eyes and beetle brows made the boys hesitate to approach them at first.

However, after the Pony Riders had tossed small chunks of cooked bear meat to them, the animals, by wagging their tails, showed that nothing need be feared from them.

No sooner were the guns brought out than the dogs, beginning to understand what was in the air, bounded from one to another of the lads, barking and yelping with keen delight.

All was activity in the camp. Ponies were quickly rubbed down, saddled and bridled, blankets strapped on, and, at a command from Tad Butler, the young hunters fairly threw themselves into their saddles. The party moved off, with the enthusiastic riders waving their hats and shouting farewells to those who had been left behind.

Jose swung a dishpan, grinning broadly, while the Professor smiled and nodded at the departing horsemen. In a few moments the voices of the boys had become only a distant murmur.

"Come into my tent a moment, Mr. Tackers," invited the Professor.

The old mountaineer accepted the invitation apparently somewhat grudgingly.

"I hear considerable about gold being found in this neighborhood, occasionally, Mr. Tackers. What has been your experience, may I ask?"

"There's some as has found pay dirt," answered Ben. "But I reckon Ben Tackers don't bother his head about it."

"Hm-m-m-m," mused the Professor. "What is the nearest railroad station to this placet"

"Eagle Pass. 'Bout twenty miles from here, due east."

"How long would it take you to make the trip there and back?"

"Wouldn't make it again. Just been there. Haven't any horse."

"I have a horse, Mr. Tackers, and I should very much like to have you make this trip for me," announced the Professor, coming directly to the point. "I will pay you well for your trouble, but with the understanding that you say nothing of it to anyoue. The errand on which I am asking you to go is a confidential one. You will not mention it even to Lige Thomas. And, of course, it goes without saying that I do not wish the boys to know about it, either."

Ben peered at the Professor from behind his bushy eyebrows, with suspicion plainly written in his beady eyes.

"What for?" he grunted.

"That I cannot tell you—in fact it is not necessary for you to know. When you get there, all you will be required to do will be to hand two packages to the express agent there, with instructions to forward them at once to their destination, which will be Denver."

"What'll you give?"

"How much will you charge?" asked the Professor.

Ben considered for a moment.

"'Bout fifty cents, I reckon," he answered hesitatingly, as if thinking the amount named would be too much.

"I'll give you five times that," announced the Professor promptly.

"No; fifty cents 'll be 'bout right."

"How soon can you start?"

"Now, I reckon."

"Be ready in an hour, and I will have the packages for you. When will you return?"

"To-night."

"Good. Now he off and get yourself ready. You know where my horse is. And, by the way, I shall want you to make the trip again no later than the day after to-morrow, as I shall expect an answer to my message by that time. For that service I shall be glad to pay you the same."

"No; fifty cents will cover it all."

"Have it your own way."

Ben, understanding that the interview was at an end, rose and left the tent. Professor Zepplin then took one of the ore specimens from his pocket and packed it carefully in a small pasteboard box, wrapping and tying the package with great care.

Next, he wrote industriously for some twenty minutes. The letter he sealed in a large, tough envelope, after which he leaned back, lost in thought.

"Things couldn't be better," he muttered. Ben, upon his return, received the packages which he was to express, and a few moments later had ridden from camp on old Bobtail, headed for Eagle Pass.

"I rather think I have turned a trick that will surprise some people," chuckled the Professor. "Perhaps I'll even surprise myself."

Later in the morning he strolled up to the cave entrance, hammer in hand, breaking off a bit of rock here and there, all of which he dropped into a little leathern bag that he carried attached to his belt. Yet the Professor wisely concluded not to take the chance of entering the cave alone, much as he wished to do so.

The young hunters, in the meantime, were plodding along on their ponies on their way to the hunting grounds, which lay some ten miles to the northward of their camp. They found rough traveling. Instead of following the ridges, they were now moving at right angles to them, which carried the boys over mountains, down through gulches and ravines, over narrow, dangerous passes and rocky slopes that they would not have believed it was possible for either man or horse to scale.

"Regular goats, these ponies," said Tad proudly. "Regular trick ponies, all of them."

"They have to be or break their necks," replied Walter.

"Or ours," added Ned Rector.

"I don't see any wild beasts, but I feel hungry," declared Stacy. "My stomach tells me it's time for the 'chuck wagon,' as Lige Thomas calls it, to drive up."

"Tighten your belt—tighten your belt," jeered Ned. "Cheer up! You'll be hungrier bye-and-bye."

The boys munched their hard tack in the saddle, the guide being anxious to get, before nightfall, to the grounds where Tackers had advised him the bob-cats were plentiful. Already the dogs were lolling with tongues protruding from their mouths, not being used to running the trail in such warm weather. Now and then they would plunge into a cool mountain stream, immersing themselves to the tips of their noses where the water was deep enough, and sending up a shower of glistening spray as they shook themselves free of the water after springing to the bank again.

It was close to the hour of sunset when the guide finally gave the word to halt. Lige prepared the supper while the boys bathed and rubbed down their ponies, after which they busied themselves cutting boughs for their beds, which they now were well able to make without assistance from their guide.

Bronzed almost to a copper color, the lads were teeming with health and spirits. Even Walter Perkins, for the first time in his life, felt the red blood coursing healthfully through his veins, for he was fast hardening himself to the rough life of the mountains.

All were tired enough to seek their beds early. Wrapping themselves in their blankets, they were soon asleep.

Midnight came, and the camp fire slowly died away to a dull, lurid pile of red hot coals that shed a flicker of light now and then, as some charred stick flamed up and was consumed. A long, weird, wailing cry, as of some human being in dire distress, broke on the stillness of the night.

The boys awoke with a start.

"What's that?" whispered Chunky, shivering in his bed.

"Nothing," growled Ned. "What did you wake me up for?"

Once more the thrilling cry woke the echoes, wailing from rock to rock, and gathering volume, until it seemed as if there were many voices instead of only one.

The ponies sprang to their feet with snorts of fear, while the boys, little less startled, leaped from their beds with blanching faces.

The guide was already on his feet, rifle in hand.

Again the cry was repeated, this time seeming to come from directly over their heads, somewhere up the rocky side of the gulch in which they were encamped.

Even horses trained to mountain work had been known to stampede under less provocation. The frightened ponies suddenly settled back on their haunches. There was a sound of breaking leather, as the straps with which they were tethered parted, and the little animals were free.

"Stop them! Stop them! Jump for them!" roared the guide.

But his warning command had come to late. With neighs of terror, the animals dashed straight through the camp, some leaping over the boys' cots as they went.

"Catch them!" thundered Lige. "It's a cougar stampeding them so he can catch them himself."



CHAPTER XVIII

ON A PERILOUS HIDE

"Grab him! Don't let him get by you!"

One of the ponies swept by Tad Butler like a black projectile. The boy's hand shot out, fastening itself in the pony's mane.

Tad's feet left the ground instantly, his body being jerked violently into the air, only to strike the earth again a rod further on. So rapidly was the pony moving, that the boy was unable to pull himself up sufficiently to mount it.

Almost in a twinkling Tad had been lifted out of the camp and whisked from the sight of his companions. The lad was taking what he realized to be the most perilous ride of his life.

As soon as he was able to get his breath, he began coaxing the pony, but the continual bobbing of his body against the side of the terrified animal outweighed the persuasive tones of his urging. With each bump, the little animal, with a frightened snort, would leap into the air and plunge ahead again.

Tad did not know to which of the ponies he was clinging. Nor did he find an opportunity to satisfy himself on this point.

His flesh was torn from contact with thorns, while his face was ribbed from the whipping it had received by being dragged through the thick undergrowth, until tiny rivulets of blood trickled down his cheeks and neck.

Yet Tad Butler clung to the mane of the racing pony with desperate courage. He had not the slightest thought of letting go until ho should finally have subdued the animal.

"Whoa, Texas! Whoa, Jimmie! Whoa, Jo-Jo!" he soothed, trying the name of each of the ponies in turn. But it was all to no purpose. Finally, the little animal slackened its speed, somewhat, as it began the ascent of a steep rise of ground. Tad took instant advantage of the opportunity, and, after great effort, succeeded in throwing his right hand over the pony's back. Then his right leg was jerked up. It came down violently on the animal's rump.

Startled, the pony sprang forward once more, causing Tad to slide back to his former unpleasant position. But the boy had succeeded in getting a mane-hold with his right hand as well. This was a distinct gain, besides relieving the fearful strain on his left hand, the fingers of which were now cramped and numb. Hardly any sense of feeling remained in them. Instead of being dragged along on his left side, the plucky lad was now able, with great effort, to keep his face to the front.

"If I could only get my hand on his nose and pinch it now, I'd stop him," breathed Tad Butler.

In the meantime, excitement at the camp was at fever heat. Lige had failed to bring down the cougar and every one of the ponies had disappeared.

"Bring torches!" commanded the guide calmly, not wishing to let the boys see that he was in the least disturbed. "We must try to round up some of the stock. One of you build up the fire."

"But Tad?" urged Walter. "Don't you know Tad's gone? He'll be lost. We must go after him at once."

"That's what I want you to start the fire for—so he can see it. He'll come back with the pony. No fear about that, for Tad Butler is not the boy to give up until he has accomplished what he's set out to do. One of you must remain here, though, while the rest of us go out to look for the stock. Will you stay, Ned?"

"I will," answered the boy, though far from relishing the task assigned to him.

"You have your rifle. Signal us by shooting into the air if anything happens. But be careful. Don't get the 'buck fever' and let go at us, or at Tad, if he should return before we get back."

"I'll be careful," answered the boy. "Please don't worry about me. Any danger of that cougar jumping down on me here?" he asked, glancing apprehensively at the rocks overhead.

"I think not. He's gone. We shall be more likely to see him than you will. It's the ponies the brute's after. And he may have gotten one of them before this," added the guide.

Ned pluckily took his station just outside the circle of light formed by the replenished fire, and sat down with rifle laid across his knees.

The guide, with Walter Perkins and Stacy Brown, set off at a trot in search of the stampeded ponies. At Lige's direction they spread out so as to cover as much ground as possible, the torches making it well nigh impossible for any of them to get lost.

"Call your ponies," advised the guide. "We may be able to pick up some of them in that way after they have spent themselves."

Yet, though the forest rang with their calls, no trace were they able to find of the missing animals.

"No use," announced Lige finally. "We shall only get lost ourselves. It will be better to return to camp and wait for daylight. If the cougar is going to eat any of them, he probably has them by this time. However, I think my shooting has frightened him off, and that he is several miles from here by now. That was my main object in wasting so much ammunition on the beast."

"Yes, but what are we going to do about Tad?" insisted Walter.

"If he has not returned, we can do nothing more than to keep the fire burning and discharge our guns now and then to let him know where we are. When daylight comes, I probably shall be able to follow his trail. But first of all we must get the ponies. We can do nothing without them."

"Do you think we ever shall find them?" asked Stacy.

"I most certainly hope so. At least, I expect to get some of them. If any are then missing, we can buy a couple at Eagle Pass, which is not very far. But you trust Master Tad to take care of himself. He'll get back somehow, My duty is to remain with you boys. We will look him up together when we get something to ride on."

The little band trudged ruefully through the dark forest on their return to camp, guided carefully by Lige, without whom they surely would have lost their way.

In the meantime, Tad had been dragged over an entire mountain range, the ranges in this case, however, being no more than a succession of summits of low peaks. The pony had reached the top of one of these when, without pausing in its mad course, it dashed on over the crest, and started down the opposite side.

All at once Tad realized that they were treading on thin air. The meaning of it all, smote him like a blow.

"We're over the cliff!" he groaned.



CHAPTER XIX

LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS

Fortunately, however, their fall proved to be a very short one, though to Tad it seemed as if they had been falling for an hour. Boy and horse landed on a soft, mossy bank, rolling over and over, the pony kicking and squealing with fear, until, finally, both came to a stop at the bottom of the hill.

Tad was unharmed, save for the unmerciful treatment he had received during his record-breaking journey. Yet, he proposed to take no further chances of losing his horse, if he had the good fortune to find the animal still alive. Tad came up like a rubber ball. With a quick leap, he threw himself fairly on the pony's side. The impact made the little horse grunt, his feet beating a tattoo in the air in his desperate struggles to free himself.

"Whoa!" commanded Tad sharply, sliding forward and sitting on the animal's head, which position he calmly maintained, until the pony, realizing the uselessness of further opposition, lay back conquered.

Yet the boy did not rise immediately. Instead, he patted the pony's neck gently, speaking soothing words and calming it until the animal's quivering muscles relaxed and it lay breathing naturally.

"Good boy, Jimmie," he said, recognizing the pony as Ned's. "Now, after you have rested a bit we'll see what we can do about getting back to camp. If I'm any judge, you and I are not going to have a very easy time of it on the back track, either, Jimmie."

Without a compass, with only a hazy idea of the direction in which they had been traveling, Tad's task indeed was a difficult one.

"I think we'll walk a bit, Jimmie," he confided to the pony, and, taking the little animal by the bridle, began leading it cautiously up the slope, which he ascended by a roundabout course, remembering the jump they had taken on the way down. Tad was not likely to forget that.

The boy's eyes were heavy for want of sleep and his wounds pained him beyoud words. After somewhat more than an hour's journey he pulled up, looking about him.

"I am afraid we two pards are lost, Jimmie."

The pony rubbed its nose against him as if in confirmation of the lad's words.

"And the further we go, the more we shall be lost. Jimmie, the best thing for you and me to do will be to go to bed. Lie down, Jimmie, that's a good boy."

As Tad tapped the pony gently on the knees the little animal slowly lowered himself to the ground, finally rolling over on his side with a snort.

"Good boy," soothed Tad. Then snuggling down, with the pony's neck for his pillow, the bridle rein twisted about one hand, Tad went as sound asleep as if he had not a care in the world, and without thought of the perils which the mountains about them held.

Yet some good fairy must have been watching over Tad Butler, for not a sound broke the stillness until a whinny from Jimmie at last disturbed his slumbers.

The boy opened his eyes in amazement. It was broad daylight.

Tad's first care was to tether the pony to a sapling, after which he searched about until he found a mountain stream, in which he washed, feeling greatly refreshed afterward. He then treated the pony as he had himself, washing the animal down, and allowing it to quench it's thirst in the stream.

"Not much of a breakfast, is it, Jimmie? But you can help yourself to leaves. That's where you have the best of me. Not being a horse, I can't eat leaves. I wonder where I am!"

Gazing about him inquiringly, the boy failed to recognize the landscape at all. In fact, he did not believe he ever had seen it before. When the sun rose he declared to himself that it had come right up out of the west. What little sense of direction he might have had left was entirely lost after this, and Tad sat down to think matters over.

Once he raised his head sharply and listened. He was sure that he had heard a shot, far off toward the rising sun.

Tad wished with all his heart, that he had his rifle with him, for he realized that with it he might be able to attract attention.

"I certainly cannot sit here and starve to death," he decided after Jimmie had satisfied his own hunger from the fresh green leaves. "Come on, Jimmie; we'll go somewhere, anyway.

Saying which, Tad methodically patched the broken bridle rein together, mounted the pony's bare back and set off to climb the low mountain that loomed ahead of him.

He had gone on thus for nearly two hours, without finding any trace of either the camp or his late companions, when a sound off in the bushes to the right of him caused him to pull Jimmie up sharply. Jimmie pricked up his ears and whinnied.

"That's strange," muttered Tad. "He wouldn't be likely to do that if it was a wild animal over there. Judging from past experiences, he'd run."

Once more did Jimmie set up a loud whinny, and to Tad's surprise and delight, the signal was answered by a similar call off in the sage brush.

"It's a horse. I believe it's one of the ponies," cried Tad, turning his mount in the direction from which the sounds had seemed to come, and galloping rapidly toward the place. Next, the boy uttered a shout of joy.

His delight was great, after he had penetrated the sage, to come suddenly upon a pony contentedly munching a mouthful of green leaves, and gazing at him with great wondering eyes.

"Texas!" shouted the boy.

Tad had indeed come upon his own faithful little pony.

"Texas, you rascal, you come right here. What do you mean by running away from me like this?"

Texas swished his tail, shaking his head and stamping his feet as if in mute protest at his owner's chiding.

Yet the pony made no attempt to run away as his master rode up beside him. Leaping to the ground, Tad petted the animal, throwing his arms about its neck, as if he had found a long lost friend. The two ponies, too, rubbed noses, and in other ways expressed their satisfaction at once more being together.

Now, reassured, and almost as well satisfied as if he had eaten a hearty breakfast, Tad mounted his own pony, and, taking Jimmie in tow, pressed on once more, hoping eventually to come out somewhere near the camp.

But the boy's companions had not been idle. Lige had prepared their breakfast without waking them. When he called them they sprang up, rubbing their eyes, and a few minutes later gathered around the hot meal.

"What is the first thing this morning?" asked Ned after learning that Tad had not yet returned.

"Breakfast," answered the guide. "Next, we'll look for the ponies, then go after Master Tad."

More fortunate in their search than they had hoped for, the party within the hour succeeded in rounding up all the ponies save Jimmie and Texas. One of the two they knew Tad had gone away with, so, after a council, it was decided to take the animals they had captured and make an effort to find Tad Butler.

"I'm going to try an experiment," announced Lige, after they had returned to camp with the stock.

Calling the hounds, Ginger and Mustard, to him, the guide allowed them to sniff the saddles and saddle cloths of Jimmie and Texas. After that, he showed them Tad Butler's hat.

The intelligent animals, after sniffing attentively at the articles, looked up at the guide as much as if to say: "Well, what about it?"

"Go after them! Fetch them, Ginger and Mustard!" he urged.

With noisy barks, the dogs began running about the camp with noses to the ground, sniffing at the ponies again and again, the little party in the meantime, watching them with keen interest.

All at once, with a deep bay, Mustard struck out for the bushes, followed an instant later by Ginger.

"They've got it! They've got it!" shouted Lige. "That's the way Tad went. Now, if those brutes don't get sidetracked on the trail of a bob-cat, we ought to round up some of our missing friends."

Lige bade Ned to accompany him on Jo-Jo, and directed the others to remain in camp—not to move from it until their return. Then the two horsemen set off at a gallop, following the swiftly moving dogs.

Lige knew that he was on the right track, for Tad, as he was dragged through the bushes, had left a plainly marked trail—that is, plain to the experienced eyes of the mountain guide, who nodded his head with satisfaction as he noted the course the dogs were taking.

Tad pulled up his pony, and, leaning forward, listened intently.

He faintly caught the distant baying of a hound.

Placing a hand to his mouth, he gave a long, piercing war whoop.

The dogs' baying seemed to come nearer. Now and then, as the animals sank into a ravine, the sound would be lost momentarily, only to be taken up again with added force when the crest of the hill was reached.

Once more, Tad sent out his long, thrilling war-cry.

It was answered by a rifle shot, but from the perplexing echoes he was unable to place it. The ponies now pricked up their ears inquiringly. Jimmie snorted, and, for the moment, acted as if he were ready to bolt again. Tad slapped him smartly on the flanks, sternly commanding him to stand still.

"There they are!" cried the boy, as the dogs, stretched out to their full lengths, with tails held straight out behind them, swept down a gentle slope on the other side of the valley, and, taking the hill on his side, rose rapidly to the pinnacle where he was sitting on his pony.

"Ginger! Mustard!" was the glad cry uttered by Tad Butler, as the dogs, yelping with joy at the sound of his voice, came bounding to him, while the ponies reared and plunged in the excess of their excitement.

Tad leaped from his mount, petting and fondling the hounds, hugging them as they leaped upon him, and shouting at the top of his voice, as he heard still another shot on the other side of the hill.

A few moments later, he made out the figures of two horsemen on the opposite ridge, following on in the trail of the dogs. They were Ned Rector and the guide, Lige Thomas.

The two set up a glad shout as they made out Tad, waving his arms and gesticulating.

"Come on, doggies! It's breakfast for us, now!" cried Tad, leaping to Texas' back, leading Jimmie dashing down the hill to meet the oncoming horsemen.

"Hooray!" welcomed Ned Rector.

And amid the shouts of the boys and the barking of the dogs, rescuers and rescued drew swiftly toward each other.



CHAPTER XX

THE DOGS TREE A CAT

Walter and Chunky finally made out Tad, tattered and torn, but riding his pony proudly, approaching the camp. It was a warm welcome that the two boys extended to the returning horsemen, after they had finally dismounted and staked down their ponies. The plucky lad was kept busy for some time telling them of his thrilling experience on the wild ride of the night before.

"And now, I guess we had better lay up for the day," decided the guide. "You must be pretty well tired out after your little trip. The rest of us didn't get much sleep last night, either."

"No," protested Tad. "I never was more fit in my life. I am crazy to start on our hunting trip."

"So are we," shouted the boys in chorus.

"All right, then. Pack up while Tad is getting something to eat. He must have a large-sized appetite by this time," smiled Lige Thomas.

"If I had a chunk of that bear meat that we got the other day, I'd show you what sort of an appetite I have," laughed Tad. "There's something about this mountain air that would lead a man to sell his blouse for a square meal. Where's my rifle?"

"Over there by your bunk," answered Walter. "You go ahead and eat. We'll pack the pony for you while you are breakfasting."

Tad did so, and an hour later the Pony Riders were once more in the saddle.

"I think I'll put the dogs on the trail of the fellow that upset our plans so thoroughly last night," decided Lige. "He probably is a long way from here by this time, but it will be a good trail to warm the hounds up on."

Bidding the boys draw down the valley half a mile or so, where he said he would join them, Lige went in the opposite direction, and, picking his way along a ledge, sent the dogs on ahead of him. The hounds soon scented the trail, though on the bare rocks they had considerable difficulty in picking it up.

After watching them for a few moments, Lige urged them out into the brush, where he thought the scent might be more marked. His judgment was verified when, a moment later, a yelp from Mustard told him the faithful animal had picked up the trail at last.

Turning back, the guide hastened to the foot of the mountain, whence he galloped down the valley to join the boys, who, having heard the deep baying of the hounds, were restless to be off.

"What are they doing?" called Walter, observing Lige approaching.

"They're after the cougar. Set your horses at a gallop."

The Pony Riders needed no urging, for they were keen for the excitement of the chase. The hounds, by this time, had obtained quite a lead on them, though the boys still could hear their hoarse voices.

"They are following the ridge yet," decided Lige. "The fellow ought to cross over pretty soon. I think if we will turn to the left, here, and climb the mountain, we may be able to save some distance. But don't speak to the dogs if they pass anywhere near you. It might throw them off the scent."

Half an hour after they had turned off, they were rewarded by seeing the dogs racing down the opposite hill, in great leaps and bounds, crossing the valley a short quarter of a mile ahead of the party.

The ponies, which had been walking since they turned off, were now sent forward at a slow gallop again, soon falling in close behind the hounds.

"They've got him!" cried Lige.

"Got who?" asked Chunky.

"I don't know. The cougar, I presume. Don't you hear them?"

"I hear the dogs barking, that's all," replied Ned.

"And I hear more than that," said the guide, with a peculiar smile. "Don't you distinguish a difference in the tone of one of the dogs' bark?"

"No, I don't," snapped Chunky. "All barks sound alike to me."

"Mustard is baying 'treed,'" said the guide. "Hurry, if you want to be in at the death. If you don't the dogs either will kill him or get killed before we can reach them."

Putting spurs to their mounts, the hunters set off at a livelier gallop, and soon the deep tones of the hounds began to grow louder. Now, too, the boys were able to catch a new note—a note almost of triumph, it seemed to them, in the dogs' hoarse baying.

"Stick to your ponies. Don't leave them. If it's a cougar, he is liable to stampede them again. And don't any of you shoot until I give you the word."

"There he is!" cried Tad, pointing to a low-spreading pinyon tree. "I can see him moving around in the top there. May I take a shot at him, Mr. Thomas?"

"No; do you want to kill the dogs?"

"The dogs?"

"Certainly. That is one of the dogs up there. Probably Mustard," said the guide.

"What's that? Dogs climb trees?" demanded Chunky, laughing uproariously.

"Keep still! Do you want to spoil our fun?" growled Ned.

"The idea! Dogs climb trees!" And Chunky Brown went off into a paroxysm of silent mirth, his rotund body convulsed with merriment.

"Mustard can climb a tree as well as you can, if not better," answered Lige sharply. "Use your eyes, and you will see for yourself. That is one of the dogs that you see in the tree there— not a cougar. Ah! There goes the other one!" he cried, pointing with his rifle.

And, sure enough, it was.

"It's Ginger!" exclaimed Walter in amazement.

The hound was creeping cautiously up the sloping trunk of the spreading tree, following in the wake of his companion, whose presence in the tree was indicated only by the movement of the slender limbs which he fastened upon to keep from losing his balance.

"What are they after?' asked Ned. "Perhaps a cougar. I can't tell, yet," replied the guide, keeping his eye fixed on the tree.

A yelp of pain and anger followed close upon his words, and a dark object came plunging from the tree.

"There goes one of the dogs!" shouted Lige. "That's too bad."

The hound had approached too close to the animal in the tree, and a mighty paw had smitten it fairly on the nose, hurling it violently to the ground.

Mustard, nothing daunted, scrambled to his feet with an angry roar, the blood trickling from his injured nose, and pluckily began digging his claws into the bark of the pinyon tree, up which he slowly pulled himself again.

"Well, if that doesn't beat all!" marveled Chunky. "He is climbing that tree!"

"He surely is," agreed Walter, his eyes fairly bulging with surprise at the unusual spectacle. "And there's the other one away up in the top there. Why doesn't he fall off?"

"He prefers to remain up a tree, I imagine," laughed Ned Rector, without withdrawing his gaze from the unusual exhibition.

A squall of rage from the tree top caused the boys to draw their reins tighter, the ponies champing at their bits and pawing restlessly. The ugly sound thrilled the lads through and through. The deep, menacing growl of the dog that was crawling up the sloping trunk voiced his anxiety to take part in the desperate battle that was being waged above them.

"Ginger's got hold of him!" shouted the guide.

"Got hold of who?" demanded Chunky.

"You'll see in a minute," growled Ned.

"Look out! There he comes!" came the warning voice of the guide. "Back, out of the way!"

>From the dense foliage, as if suddenly projected from a great bow, leaped the curving body of the animal that the dogs had been harassing.

With a snarl of rage it landed lightly, almost at the feet of the assembled Pony Riders.

Stacy chanced to be nearest to the spot where the beast struck the ground. As it did so, his pony rose suddenly into the air. The boy, so intently watching the battle, had carelessly allowed his reins to drop from his hand to the neck of his mount.

"I'm going to fall off!" yelled Stacy, grabbing frantically for the pommel of his saddle.

He missed the pommel and slipped from the leather. Striking the smooth back of the horse, he tobogganed down and over the pony's rump in a flash, sitting down on the ground with a suddenness that caused him to utter a loud "Ouch!"

"He-help!" gasped the boy.

Before the snorting pony's fore feet had touched the earth. Tad made a grab for the bit, and was jerked from his own pony as a result. But still he clung doggedly to his own bridle rein with one hand, hanging to the other plunging animal with the other.

The others of the party were having all they could do to manage their own horses, and hence were unable to offer Tad any assistance at that moment. So mixed in the melee of flying hoofs and plunging bodies was Tad Butler, that for a few seconds the onlookers were quite unable to tell which was pony and which was boy.

Yet the lad was amply able to fight his own battles, and he was doing so with a grim determination that knew not failure. The ponies already were lessening their frantic efforts to get away.

"It's a bob-cat!" shouted Lige, as soon as he had succeeded in swinging his horse about so he could get a good view of the animal, which was now bounding away.

Throwing his rifle to his shoulder, the guide took a snap shot at the fleeing cat, which now was no more than an undulating black streak. His bullet kicked up a little cloud of dirt just behind the bob-cat, which served only to hasten its pace. A moment more and the little animal had plunged head first into a depression in the ground and quickly crawled into a hole, probably its home.

"Too bad," groaned Ned Rector. "Now, we've lost him."

"Never mind," soothed Lige. "There are more of them in the mountains. Besides, it's a good experience for you, before we tackle bigger game. We'll see if we can't bag a cat before the day is over."

Chunky pulled himself up ruefully, rubbing his body and pinching himself to make sure that no serious damage had been done. Satisfying himself on this point, he straightened up, gazing from one to the other of his companions pityingly.

"You fellows make me weary," he growled.

"The whole bunch of you can't do with guns what I did with a little stick. Gimme my pony."

"It occurs to me," retorted Tad, after having subdued the ponies, "that you weren't doing much of anything, either. If I remember correctly, you were sitting on the ground during most of the circus."



CHAPTER XXI

A COUGAR AT BAY

The dogs did not succeed in picking up another trail that day, so, late in the afternoon, the guide directed them to make camp by a stream, under the tall, clustering spruces in a deep ravine.

Tired from their hard run, the hounds threw themselves down by the cool stream to satisfy their thirst. Mustard employed his time in licking his wounded nose, where the claws of the bob-cat had raked it. Altogether the two animals appeared more disappointed over the loss of their quarry than did the boys themselves. While responding to the caresses of their young masters, the dogs were irritable to the point of snapping angrily at each other whenever they approached one another close enough to do so.

"They don't seem to enjoy each other's company," said Stacy, observing the animals curiously.

"They're always that way after a chase," answered the guide. "They will be friendly to their masters, but extremely irritable to each other. By to-morrow morning the hounds will be bosom friends, you will find."

"Humph! I wouldn't like to belong to that family," decided Chunky.

Next morning, Lige decided that it would he best to move further north for cougar, they having failed to strike the trail of any on the previous day. Somehow, the dogs had lost the trail of the one that had so recently disturbed the camp, picking up the scent of the bob-cat instead.

This frequently was the case, as the guide informed them while they were riding along in the fresh morning air. The dogs had not been freed yet, Lige leading them along by the side of his pony on a long leash.

Tad was trailing along a few rods to the rear. A sudden exclamation from him caused the others to pull up sharply.

The lad's eyes were fixed on a tree a short distance ahead of him beneath which the party had just passed.

"What is it?" demanded Lige in a low voice.

As if in answer to his question, the hounds uttered a deep, menacing growl.

Tad made no reply, but signaled with his hand that they were to remain quietly where they were.

They saw him slip off the strap that held the rifle to his back and bring the weapon around in front of him. There he paused, holding the gun idly in one hand, his gaze still fixed on the top of the tree.

All at once the butt of the rifle leaped to his shoulder. There was a puff of smoke, a crash, followed by a loud squall, and a great floundering about among the branches.

Without lowering the weapon from his shoulder, the young hunter let go another shot.

The squalling ceased suddenly, but the disturbance in the tree continued, sounding as if some heavy body were falling through the branches.

This proved to be the case. In a moment more the animal he had fired at came tumbling down, landing in a quivering heap at the foot of the tree.

Tad lowered the muzzle of his smoking weapon, gazing in keen satisfaction at the victim of his successful shot.

"Good shot!" glowed Lige. "It's a cat." Yet, before he could dismount, the hounds had wrenched themselves free and pounced upon the body of the dead bob-cat. With savage growls they tore the sleek hide into ribbons, on one side, and were devouring the flesh of the animal ravenously.

The hide was ruined.

"Let them alone!" ordered Lige. "That's the only fun they get out of the game. They'll be keen to get on the track of a cougar, now that they have tasted blood." And so it proved.

With their first big game, on this trip, at their feet, the boys were eager to be off for the haunts of the cruel cougar. To their disappointment, however, they were able to sight nothing more interesting than a gaunt gray wolf, at which Ned took a long shot and missed.

"Might as well try to hit a razor's edge at that distance," said Lige. "They have no flesh on them at all, to speak of, now——"

"Will they bite?" asked Chunky innocently. "A pack of them would eat you, bones and all, in a few moments," grinned Lige.

Chunky shuddered.

"But the gray wolf, when taken young, makes an ideal pet. Some of the best cougar hounds I nave ever seen were trained wolves, working with a pack of regular hounds, of course," he explained. Leaving the carcass of the bob-oat for the ravens and magpies, which were already hovering about in the tall trees awaiting their turn at it, the hunters moved on.

No other game being found that day, the party turned eastward, where camp was made, this time on the flat top of a low-lying mountain. Nor was it until late the following afternoon that the dogs appeared to have struck a promising lead. From the way they worked Lige thought they were trailing a black bear.

Forcing the ponies into a brisk trot, the boys still found themselves falling behind the hounds. Then, at the guide's suggestion, they went in chase at a lively gallop.

The run continued for somewhat more than two hours, until the ponies began to lag, and until every bone in the bodies of the hunters seemed to be crying aloud for rest. The going had been rougher than any they had yet experienced.

Now they found themselves in a country differing materially from any they had yet explored. The hills were lower and thickly studded with trees, the whole resembling an exaggerated rolling prairie.

"They've got him this time," announced the guide.

"Got what?" demanded Chunky.

"We'll know soon," answered Lige directing the boys to urge their ponies along, and at a rapid pace they came up with the hounds some twenty minutes later.

They were fighting some animal in a dense copse. It was a dinful racket they made in their desperate battle.

"It's a cougar," explained Lige. "No cat would make such a rumpus. Look out for yourselves. I guess you had better lead the ponies off to the right, there, and stake them securely, for we may have a fight on our own hook before we have finished here. Hurry if you want to see the fun."

The boys were back in a twinkling.

"Fix them so they can't get away?"

"Yes."

"Then all of you line up here on this side so we won't be shooting each other when the brute makes his attempt at a get-away, as he surely will, when the dogs give him a chance. Two of them can't hold him long. We ought to have a pack."

They could hear the battle waging desperately in the bushes, which were being rapidly trampled down by the dogs and their victim, amid screams of rage from the animal and menacing, deadly growls from the hounds.

Soon the young hunters were able to make out the combatants, as the beast worked its way little by little to its right in an effort to get within reaching distance of a tree that it espied near by. But the dogs fought valiantly to outwit this very move.

"We've got a cougar this time!" shouted Lige triumphantly. "Look out for him!"

They could see the fighters plainly now. It was dangerous to fire for fear of hitting the hounds. Already they were bleeding where the fangs or claws of the ugly beast had raked them.

However, the dogs were working with keen intelligence. One would nip at a flank while the other played for the head of the cougar, in hopes of getting an opening.

Snarling, pawing, grinning, its ugly yellow teeth showing in two glistening rows, the beast fought savagely for its life.

Despite the guide's warning, Tad Butler and Ned Rector had drawn closer that they might get a better view of the sanguinary conflict.

"I'm afraid they'll never make it," groaned Lige. "It's fearful odds. Everybody stand ready to let him have it when he breaks away. But keep cool. And be careful that you don't hit the dogs. Might better let the cat get away. There he goes!"

The huge beast leaped clear of the pocket into which the dogs had backed him.

"Don't shoot!" ordered the guide, observing one of the boys swinging his rifle down on the struggling animals.

As the big cat leaped, Mustard fastened his fangs into the beast's left leg, and was carried along with the cougar in its mighty spring. They could hear the hones grind as the iron jaws of the hound shut down on them.

With a scream of rage, the maddened animal came to a sudden stop. Its cruel yellow head shot out, jaws wide apart, aimed straight for Mustard, who was still hanging with desperate courage to the beast's leg.

Yet the momentary hesitation, the few seconds lost in stopping in its rapid flight and reaching back for Mustard, proved the cougar's undoing.

With a snarl that sent a shiver up and down the backs of the Pony Riders, Ginger threw himself at the head of the beast. The hound's powerful jaws closed upon it with a snap.

Over and over rolled the combatants, the dogs without a sound—the cougar uttering muffled screams, its great paws beating the air. One stroke reached Mustard, hurling him fully a rod away, where he fell and lay quivering, a dull red rent appearing in his glossy coat.

The cougar, in an effort to throw Ginger off, was shaking his head, as a terrier would in killing a rat.

"Ah! He can't make it," cried Lige.

"Hang on, Ginger! Go it, Ginger!" encouraged the boys, now wild with excitement.

But the hound was fast losing his hold, and the hunters groaned in sympathy with him as they observed this.

Mustard, understanding this too, perhaps, struggled to his feet and staggered into the arena to assist his mate, only to meet a repetition of the calamity that had befallen him a few minutes before. Ginger's hold was broken at last. One great paw felled him to earth, and the cougar's yawning jaws closed over his head with crushing force.

Tad Butler's blood was coursing through his veins madly. He could endure it no longer. A second or so more and the faithful dog's life would be at an end. With a cry of warning to the others not to shoot, Tad leaped into the fray, Mustard, at the same time, hurling himself at the beast's throat, where he fastened and clung.

As Tad sprang forward, his hunting knife flashed from its sheath, and with a movement so quick that the eyes of the spectators failed to catch it, the boy drove the keen blade into the cougar's body, just back of the right shoulder.

At that instant the beast succeeded in freeing itself from the weakened hounds, and, straightening up with a frightful roar, leaped into the air, one huge paw catching Tad Butler and hurling him to the ground.

Tad shuddered convulsively, then lay still.

Lige Thomas's rifle roared out a hoarse protest, and at the end of its leap the cougar lurched forward and fell dead.

CHAPTEE XXII

PROFESSOR ZEPPLIN'S MYSTERIOUS FOE

Though Tad Butler had received an ugly wound where the sharp claw of the dying cougar had raked him from his right shoulder almost down to the waist line, his youthful vitality enabled him to throw off the shock of it in a very short time.

Making sure that the beast was dead, Lige rushed to the boy's side, and turning him over, made a hasty examination of his wounds.

Tad was unconscious.

"Is—is he dead?" breathed Walter, peering down into the pale face of his friend.

"No. He's alive, but he's had a mighty close call," answered Lige in a relieved tone, and each of the boys muttered a prayer of thankfulness.

"Bring me some water at once," commanded the guide.

Ned rushed away, returning in a few moments with his sombrero filled. In his excitement he dropped the hat in attempting to pass it to the guide, deluging the unconscious Tad with the cold water. Tad gasped and coughed, a liberal supply of the water having gone down hist throat.

"Clumsy!" growled Lige. "Get some more, but don't let go till I get hold of the hat this time."

By the time Ned had returned with the second hatful, Tad Butler was regaining consciousness, and in a few moments they had him sitting up.

The guide washed the boy's wound, and, laying on a covering of leaves, which he secured with adhesive plaster, allowed him to stand up.

"Well, young man, how do you feel?" he asked, with a grin.

"I feel sore. Did he bite me?"

"Luckily for you, he didn't. If you are going in for hand-to-hand mix-ups I'm afraid we shall have to leave off hunting. Old and experienced hunters have done what you did, but I must say it's the first time I ever heard of a boy even attempting it."

"Are the dogs dead?" asked Tad solicitously.

"No. But, like you, they're pretty sore. You saved Ginger's life, and I guess he knows it. You can see how he keeps crawling up to you, though he can hardly drag his body along."

"Good Ginger," soothed Tad, patting the wounded beast, which the hound acknowledged by a feeble wag of its tail.

"Now, if you boys are satisfied, I propose that we start back in the morning," advised Lige. "It will take us well into the second day to reach camp, and we may pick up some game on the way back. I'll skin the cat to-night after supper, so we can take the hide back with us. I guess you'll all agree that it belongs to Tad Butler?" smiled Lige.

"Well, I should say it does," returned Ned earnestly. "But he's welcome to it. If that's the way they get cougar skins, I'll roam through life without one, and be perfectly contented with my lot."