"There"s a bottle," pointed the guide. "Want it?"
Stacy glanced at it indifferently;
"What do I want of a bottle?"
"Then I"ll take it," decided the guide, dismounting and stowing the abandoned piece of gla.s.s in his saddle bags.
"Bottles are good for only two things."
"And what are they, Master Stacy?" questioned the Professor.
"To keep things in and to shoot at," replied the fat boy wisely.
Everybody laughed at that.
"I guess that embodies everything you can say about bottles," smiled the Professor. "Your logic, at times, young man, is una.s.sailable."
Chunky nodded. He had a faint idea of what Professor Zepplin meant.
Late that afternoon the travelers came upon a shack in the foothills, where an old rancher, a hermit, lived when not tending his little flock of sheep, most of which, Kris Kringle said, the old man had stolen from droves that came up over the trail going north.
He was an interesting old character, this hermit, and the boys decided that they would like to make camp and have him take supper with them.
This the Professor and the guide readily agreed to, for everyone was hot and dusty and the bronchos were nervous and ill-natured.
The boys found the old rancher talkative enough on all subjects save himself. When Chunky asked him where he came from, and what for, the old man"s face flushed angrily.
At the first opportunity the guide took the fat boy aside for some fatherly advice.
"In this country it isn"t good policy to be too curious about a man"s family affairs. He"s likely to resent it in a way you won"t like. Most fellows out here have reasons for being out of the world, beyond what"s apparent on the surface."
Chunky heeded the advice and asked no more personal questions for the next hour, though he did forget himself before the evening was ended.
"You seem to be having pretty dry weather down here," said the Professor, by way of starting the old man to talking.
"Yep. Haven"t had any rain in this belt fer the last two years."
"Two years!" exclaimed the boys.
"Yep. Had a few light dews, but that"s all," replied the hermit.
"Looks to me as if you were going to get some to-night," announced Tad.
"Reckon not."
"Then I"m no judge of weather."
Even as Tad spoke there was a low muttering of thunder, and the far lightning flashed pale and green, and rose on the long horizon to the southwest.
Kris Kringle heard the far away growl. Springing up, he began staking down the tents.
"That"s a good idea. We lost our whole outfit on our last trip. Think they"ll stand a blow?"
"I guess they will when I get through with them. Have we any more stakes in camp?"
"There should be some in the kit."
Tad searched until he found several more stakes, and with these and the emergency ropes, they made the tents secure.
By the time they had done so, the heavens had grown black and menacing. They could see the storm sweeping down on them. It was a magnificent sight, and the lads were so lost in observing its grandeur that they forgot to feel any alarm.
A cloud of dust accompanied the advance guard of the storm.
"Reckon there ain"t any rain in them clouds," commented the old man.
"There"s plenty of the other thing, though."
"What"s the other thing?" questioned Chunky.
"Lightning."
Even as he spoke a bolt descended right in the center of the camp, tearing a hole in the earth and hurling a cloud of dirt and dust many feet up into the air.
The force of the explosion knocked some of the party flat.
Chunky picked himself up and carefully brushed his clothes; then, solemnly walked out and sat down on the spot where the lightning had struck.
"Here, here! What are you doing out there?" demanded the guide.
"Sitting on the lightning."
"You come in here! And quick, at that!"
"Huh! Guess I know what I"m doing. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. I"m--"
By this time Kris Kringle had the fat boy by the collar, hustling him to the protection of one of the tents.
No sooner had they reached it than a crash that seemed as if it had split the earth wide open descended upon them. b.a.l.l.s of fire shot off in every direction. One went right through the tent where they were huddled, hurling the Pony Rider Boys in a heap.
They scrambled up calling to each other nervously.
The shock had extinguished the lantern that hung in the tent. The guide relighted it, and, stepping outside to see what had happened, pointed to the place where Chunky had been sitting but a few minutes before.
The bolt had struck in the identical spot where the previous one had landed.
"Now, young man, there"s an object lesson for you," Mr. Kringle said, with a grim smile.
"And there"s another!" replied Chunky, pointing to the outside of the tent.
There lay the old rancher, whose absence they had not noted. He had been in the tent with them when they last saw him and how he had gotten out there none knew. The rancher had been stripped of every vestige of clothing by the freaky lightning.