Stacy Brown sat regarding the operations. Ned said that Stacy reminded him of a dog watching the preparation of its dinner, but the fat boy took no notice of Ned's comparison.

At last the meal was ready and the boys gathered around the spread that was laid near the campfire, and began to eat with good appet.i.tes. Ned nearly choked on a biscuit, and Tad swallowed a drink of water the wrong way, while Walter accidentally kicked over the coffee pot, the contents spilling over the Professor's ankle to the great damage of the Professor's skin at that point.

"Here, here! Is this a football scrimmage or are you young gentlemen at your meal?" demanded the Professor. "I've seen nothing to indicate the latter."

"Oh, Professor," begged Tad laughingly. "Aren't you pretty hard on us?"

"You did perfectly right, Professor," approved Stacy. "Their manners are bad and I am glad you have called them to account. Why, their example is so bad that I have been fearful all the time of getting into bad habits myself."

Ned gave him a warning look.

"Wait!" warned Rector.

"I can't. I'm too hungry."

"Perhaps we have been rather rude, Professor," admitted Tad. "I beg your pardon."

"Show your repentance by making a fresh pot of coffee, as I have most of the first lot in my stocking," reminded Professor Zepplin.

It seemed odd to be eating supper in broad daylight, whereas they ordinarily ate in the twilight or after dark. After supper, and when the remains were cleared away, the boys strolled about, talking. At ten o'clock the Professor called that it was time to turn in.

"But it isn't dark yet," protested Ned.

"The nights are short. Unless you turn in early you will not want to get up in the morning," reminded Professor Zepplin.

"He never does," averred Walter.

"I don't want to turn in at chicken hours," objected Stacy.

"Little boys should be in bed early," said Tad smilingly.

"That's what they made me do when I was a baby. They'd tuck me in my little crib and give me a bottle and sing me to sleep. What time does it get daylight, Professor?" questioned the fat boy.

"As a matter of fact it hardly gets dark," answered the Professor. "We shall have only about three hours of real night, I think. That is about the way it has been since we have been in this lat.i.tude. You will find it more difficult to sleep with the morning light in your eyes than with this light, so go to bed."

"I am thinking the same. Good-night, all. Don't any of you boys dare snore to-night. Remember we are sleeping in rather close quarters,"

reminded Butler.

"One of you may come in with me," offered the Professor.

"No, thank you, we shall do very well as it is," replied Tad.

Stacy had the usual number of complaints to make. The cedar odor prevented his breathing properly, the sharp stickers on the cedar boughs poked through his pajamas and into his skin. He voiced all the complaints he could think of, after which he settled down to long, rhythmic snores that could be heard all around the place, inside and out. The purple twilight merged into blue shadows, then into black, impenetrable darkness that swallowed up the pa.s.s and the two little white tents of the Pony Rider Boys.

CHAPTER VIII

AN INTRUDER IN THE CAMP

"W'en de screech-owl light on de gable en'

En holler, Whoo-oo! oh-oh!

Den you bettah keep yo' eyeball peel, Kase dey bring bad luck t' yo', Oh-oh! oh-oh!"

"Stop that noise!" shouted an angry voice from the tent occupied by the boys.

For a few moments silence reigned in the camp of the Pony Rider Boys.

Then the voice of the singer from somewhere outside was raised again.

"W'en de ole black cat widdee yella eyes Slink round like she atter ah mouse, Den yo' bettah take keer yo'self en frien's, Kase dey's sho'ly a witch en de house."

"Who is making that unearthly noise?" demanded the Professor in an irritated voice.

"That's Stacy singing," answered Tad politely.

"Singing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nonsense! Does he think he can sing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Humph! I shall be obliged if some of you boys will remove that impression from his mind so that I may go back to sleep."

"Yes, sir."

"W'en de puddle duck 'e leave de pon'

En start to comb e fedder--"

A stone struck the rock on which Stacy Brown was sitting. Some small particles flew up and hit him in the neck.

"Hey, you fellows quit that!"

"Den yo' bettah take yo' umbrell, Kase dey's gwine to be wet wedder."

"Yeow!"

The fat boy left the rock, jumping right up into the air, for the wild yell had seemed to come out of the rock itself. At that juncture three pajama-clad figures rose from behind the rock and threw themselves upon him.

"Let go of my neck!" howled Chunky, fighting desperately to free himself, not having caught a glance at his a.s.sailants, though he knew well enough who they were. Stacy had calculated on aggravating them to the danger point, then slipping away and hiding until breakfast time.

But he had gone a little too far with his so-called singing.

The boys picked the fat boy up and carried him, kicking and yelling, to a point just beyond the camp where a glacial stream trickled down, forming in a pool some three feet deep near the trail.

"I--I'll get even with you fellows for this. Can't you let me alone?" he cried.