"Ahem," began Stacy. Throwing back his head he began again:

When the wind blows high o'er the Desert Maze, And sand in your eyes interferes with your gaze, Then the Pony Rider Boys they lose their pants; Don't dare sit down for fear of the ants-- That hide in the alka-li.

Stacy sat down blinking, solemn as an owl. But if he was solemn his companions were quite the opposite. The boys formed a ring about him, and between their yells of appreciation, began dancing around in a circle shouting out in chorus the last two lines of the second verse:

Don't dare sit down for fear of the ants-- That hide in the alka-li.

Professor Zepplin and Tom Parry were laughing immoderately, but their voices could not be heard above the uproar made by the joyous Pony Riders. No such carnival of fun probably ever had disturbed the foothills of the San Antonio range, nor extended so far out over the maze of the great Nevada Desert.

"Sing it again! Sing it again!" commanded the boys.

They hauled the protesting Chunky to his feet, stood him on a box of pickled pigs' feet, compelling him to begin the song all over again.

"It's all day long on the alka-li.

Where the coyotes howl and----"

"Ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! Ki-i-i-i-o-o-o-ki! K-i-i-i-o-o-ki!"

A long wailing sound--a dismal howl, suddenly cut short the joyous ditty.

"What's that!"

"Ki-i-i-i-o-o-o! Ki-i-i-i-o-o-ki!"

"Coyotes," laughed the guide.

There seemed to be hundreds of them. From every peak in the range their mournful voices were protesting.

All at once out in the black maze of the desert another bunch of them began their weird wailing.

"We're surrounded," announced the Professor.

"Shall we get the guns?" asked Walter.

"No, they're expressing their indignation at Chunky's song," jeered Ned.

"Let 'em howl. I don't care. If they don't stop I'll sing some more,"

threatened the fat boy.

CHAPTER XIV

FUN IN THE FOOTHILLS

The Professor found difficulty even in driving the lads to their beds that night. When they did finally tumble in and pull the blankets over them they were unable to sleep, between the howling of the coyotes and their laughter over Stacy Brown's new-found talent.

"They'll go away when the moon comes up," called the guide when the boys protested that the beasts kept them awake.

"Why can't we shoot at them?" asked Stacy.

"It will alarm the wild horses," said the guide. "We don't want to chase them off the range. Neither would the horse-hunters like it if we were to begin shooting."

"Go to sleep!" commanded the Professor.

Then the boys settled down. After a time the moon came up, but instead of quieting the coyotes it seemed to have urged them on to renewed efforts. They grew bolder. They approached the camp until a circle of them surrounded it.

Out of Stacy Brown's tent crept a figure in its night clothes. It was none other than Stacy himself. In one hand he held a can of condensed milk that he had smuggled from the commissary department that afternoon.

He wriggled along in the shadow of a slight rise of ground until he had approached quite near the beasts. He could see them plainly now and Stacy's eyes looked like two b.a.l.l.s.

The animals would elevate their noses in the air, and, as if at a prearranged signal, all would strike the first note of their mournful wail at identically the same instant.

Suddenly the figure of the Pony Rider Boy rose up before them, right in the middle of one of the unearthly wails.

"Boo!" said Stacy explosively, at the same time hurling the can of condensed milk full in the face of the coyote nearest to him.

His aim was true. The can landed right between the eyes of the animal.

The coyote uttered a grunt of surprise, hesitated an instant, then, with tail between his legs, bounded away with a howl of fear.

"Yeow! Scat!" shrieked the fat boy.

The whole pack turned tail and ran with Stacy after them in full flight, headed for the desert.

Tom Parry, aroused by this new note in the midnight medley, tumbled out just in time to see Stacy disappearing over the ridge. The guide was followed quickly by the other three boys of the party and Professor Zepplin.

"Hey, come back here!" shouted Parry.

The fat boy paid no attention to him. He was too busy chasing coyotes across the desert at that moment to give heed to anything else.

"Get after him, boys! If he falls they're liable to pile on him and chew him up before we can get to him!" commanded the guide.

Over the ridge bounded the pajama brigade. The coyotes, frightened beyond their power of reasoning, if such a faculty was possessed by them, were now no more than so many black streaks lengthening out across the desert.

The lads set up a whoop as they started on the chase after their companion.

"Rope him, somebody!" shouted Parry.

"Haven't any rope," answered Tad, with a muttered "Ouch!" as his big-toe came in contact with the can of condensed milk.

Laughing and shouting, they soon came up with Stacy, however, because he could not run as fast as the other boys. Tad caught up with him first, and the two lads went down together. In another minute the rest of the party had piled on the heap.

"Get up!" shouted Tad. "Somebody's standing on my neck."