The Pony Rider Boys in the Rockies Part 25

"I could follow the trail with my eyes shut, young man," grinned the guide. "What do you say, Professor?"

"As you think best, Lige. I do not mind a moonlight ride."

"Yes; let's go on," urged the boys, looking forward with keen antic.i.p.ation to traveling over the mountains by night, for this they had not yet had an opportunity to do.

"Very well, if your appet.i.tes will keep for another hour or so. We should make it in an hour and a half," Lige decided, glancing about him keenly for landmarks. "We'll try, at any rate."

The shadows now began to close in, the gulches standing out in bold relief, black, forbidding seas at the foot of the ridges that lay a white wonderland in the moonlight.

"This is great!" declared Ned enthusiastically.

"Glorious," breathed Tad, drinking in the scene with wide open eyes, while inhaling in long, slow breaths, the soft mountain air. "I never saw anything more beautiful."

Now that night had settled over the trail, the riders had to move along more cautiously, and with tight reins, that their ponies might not stumble and hurl the riders over their heads. Tad, with an eye to caution, had advised them to do this. In this way the train moved on until nearly nine o'clock, when Lige announced that they had reached their halting place.

The mountain top where they stopped was thickly studded with cedars and pinyon trees, while off in the ravines slender spruces reared their sharp points above the shadows, projecting up through the black sea like the spars of a whole fleet of sunken schooners.

"Old Ben Tackers lives nigh here," the guide told them. "I'll go over and get him after supper. We can then talk with him about his dog. He can tell us all about the game. Ben is a character. However, you mustn't mind his blunt way of speaking. The old fellow is all right at heart."

Ben came over later in the evening, and the boys were much interested in him. A thick shock of s.h.a.ggy hair covered his head and face, while through the ma.s.s of gray and brown twinkled a pair of bright, beady eyes. Ned said they reminded him of a couple of burnt holes in a horse blanket.

"Any game about here, Mr. Tackers?" asked Ned after the old mountaineer had been introduced to them.

"For them as can see, there's things to be seen," answered Ben enigmatically. "What do you reckon on shooting?"

"Anything we can find to shoot at," answered Ned.

"Beckon I'll go home and lock up my pigs, then," declared the old man firmly.

"Oh, it's not as bad as that, sir," hastily added Tad. "My friend, Ned, means anything in the game line. Surely we can be trusted to tell the difference between a bob-cat and a litter of pigs. Stacy Brown, here, knocked out a bobcat with nothing but a club at Beaver Mountain yesterday."

Ben turned to look at Chunky, who, huddled on the ground, appeared not unlike a large, round ball.

"Huh! He ain't much to look at," grunted the old man. "I got a tame cub over to my cabin that would be a good mate for him."

Stacy flushed painfully.

"Mr. Thomas was saying that you might be willing to make some arrangement with us so we could use your dog for a few days," hinted Professor Zepplin.

"Eh! Dogs! Lige Thomas kin have my dogs--I've got two of them now. No arrangement ain't necessary," growled Ben.

"We prefer to pay for them, sir," spoke up Walter. "And perhaps you may be able to tell us, also, where we may hope to find game?"

"Mebby so and mebby not. I'll see Lige about that. Got that cat skin ye was talking about?" he demanded suddenly, looking from one to the other.

Chunky brought it out, the old man examining it critically, nodding his head over some thought of his own.

"Bigger cats on Tacker's mountain," he grunted. "Want to sell it?"

Chunky shook his head.

"Huh!" exclaimed the old man, rising and starting away.

"What's your hurry, sir?" asked the Professor politely.

"Must shut up the pigs. The little red-faced bear over there by the fire might get loose with his club again," and the mountaineer strode from the camp without another word.

Stacy Brown hung his head in chagrin, while the boys laughed heartily at what they considered a most excellent joke on Stacy.

"Chatty old person, isn't he, Mr. Thomas?" grinned Ned.

"Well, not exactly. But he's one of the best hunters on the Park Range. Besides, he is credited with knowing more about what's hidden under these mountains than any other man on them. But Ben doesn't care much for money. He'll set us right about the game when the time comes. If the game is not running he'll stay away and say nothing. However, at the right moment, you'll see old Ben Tackers and his dogs suddenly appearing in camp. It will do you no good to ask him questions. He'll tell me in a word what he has to say, and I shall have to guess the rest."

"And you will know what he means?" asked Tad.

"I reckon," grinned Lige.

"In about the same way he told me to-night that there were some bad men in these parts--prospectors they called themselves--who were trying to locate some sort of a claim----"

"Claim? What kind?" asked Walter.

"Gold."

"Gold? Here?" spoke up the Professor sharply.

"Mountains are full of it, if you can find it," answered Lige in an impressive tone.

And the boys, thrilled by the thought that perhaps fortunes in the bright yellow metal lay beneath their feet, went to bed to dream of buried treasures and limitless wealth.

CHAPTER XIV

A NARROW ESCAPE

The Pony Riders awoke full of enthusiasm for the work of the day. Thus far, each day had held a new and wonderful experience for them, while those to come were destined to be even more full of stirring incidents.

Most of all, the boys looked forward to the hunting trips that had been promised. Next to that came the exploration of mountain caves. It was enough to gladden the heart of any boy.

Immediately they had arisen, they descended upon the guide in a body, demanding to know if they were to hunt that day.

"Depends upon Ben Tackers," answered Lige. "You remember what I told you last night. He'll let us know when it's time for our little excursion. I think we had best have another hour of target practice this morning."

This plan suited the boys so exactly that, after breakfast, they set to work cleaning their rifles. A dozen rounds of ammunition were placed in their cartridge belts, after which, the boys announced their readiness for practice.

"Get the ponies," directed the guide.

"Ponies? What for? We're not going to shoot the ponies, are we?" asked Ned Rector.