The Pony Rider Boys in the Alkali.

by Frank Gee Patchin.

CHAPTER I

THE DESERT'S MYSTIC SPELL

"If this is the desert, then I think I prefer mountains," decided Stacy Brown.

"It is not the desert. We have not reached it yet. This is the Diamond Range," replied Tom Parry, who was to guide the Pony Rider Boys across the great Nevada Desert. "We shall soon be there, however."

"You'll know the place when you see it, Chunky," said Ned Rector.

"And feel it, too, I guess," added Tad Butler under his breath.

"We have the desert on each side of us now," continued the guide.

"Were you to fire a rifle to the right or left, your bullet would fall on the baking alkali of the desert."

"Then, if we're so near, why not get out in the open, instead of floundering through these hills?" questioned Stacy.

"I'm thinking you'll wish you were back in the hills before many days,"

laughed the guide.

"Mr. Parry has his own reasons for following this trail, Master Stacy,"

interposed Professor Zepplin. "We are entirely in his hands and it is not for us to question the wisdom of his decision."

The guide nodded.

Parry was a splendid type of the plainsman of the great West. Tall, straight, clear-eyed, his bronzed cheeks fairly glistening in the sunlight, he would have attracted attention anywhere. At present, he sat on his pony motionless, the broad sombrero tilted upward above his forehead as he peered into the amber haze that hung over the western horizon.

"Yes, we shall reach the desert soon enough. We are heading for the Newark Valley now, and should be there in time to make camp this afternoon, providing the weather is satisfactory," announced Parry, more to himself than to the others.

"Weather--weather?" stammered Professor Zepplin. "What's the matter with the weather?"

"One hundred in the shade. Isn't that matter enough?" grunted Stacy.

"How do you know, Chunky? You haven't seen any shade to-day," demanded Ned Rector. "There isn't a patch of shade as large as a man's hand in this whole country, so far as I have been able to observe."

"And still less in the country we are about to enter," added the guide.

Tad Butler, however, had been observing the guide keenly. Though the lad had asked no questions, he had caught a note of anxiety in the tone, as well as in the apprehensive glances that Parry kept continually casting to the westward. The guide, catching Tad's inquiring look, smiled and nodded.

"You should always keep your eyes on the weather in this country, especially when on the alkali," he told the boy after the party had started on again.

"Why more there than elsewhere, Mr. Parry?"

"Because storms here are frequently attended with no little peril.

You'll see some of them, no doubt, before we reach the end of our journey, and you will wish you hadn't."

"But there's no sign of storm now," protested Tad.

"Perhaps not to you, young man. Do you see that haze settling down like a fog on the western horizon?"

"Yes, I've been looking at it--a golden fog."

The guide smiled grimly.

"I wouldn't call it exactly golden. I should call it fiery," said the guide.

"Has it any particular meaning?"

"May mean most anything. Means storm of some kind--perhaps rain, and maybe wind. If it pa.s.ses, we'll drop out of here and make camp on the desert to-night."

"That will be fine," said Tad. "We are all crazy for the desert.

Since we started out on our trips, last spring, we have experienced almost everything that could happen to us on mountain and plain----"

"But not including the desert?"

"No."

"You'll find it different; very different."

"I suppose you know every foot of it--in fact its every mood, do you not?" questioned Tad.

The guide, for the moment lost in thought, finally turned to the lad again.

"Moods, did you say? Well, that describes it. The desert is as moody as an old hen with a brood of chickens. Know the Nevada Desert?

Sometimes I think I do; then again, I know I don't."

"But you could not get lost----"

"I have," smiled the guide. "I've been wandering about the alkali for days without being able to find my way back. If you are able to read trails and the droop of the scattering sage brush you will have made a long stride toward knowing your way about the desert."

"I don't understand," wondered the lad.

"No; of course not. It's a long story, but when we have time I will initiate you into the mysteries of reading the desert signs. The west is clearing up. That's good," the guide exclaimed in a relieved tone.

"Which means that we go on?"

"Yes."

"Are we turning off into the desert, did you say?" asked Walter Perkins, with sparkling eyes.

"Well, not just yet, Master Walter. We shall have to refill our water-bags before leaving the range. I take it, you boys would not care to be without water?"

"No, I guess not. But where are you going to get it?" asked Ned.