Galloping into camp the boy fetched his sombrero, which he carried well out into the field and tossed away. Then, bidding the boys ride up near the spot to watch him, he drew off some ten rods, and, wheeling, spurred his pony to a run.

Tad rose in the stirrups as he neared the spot where the hat lay, keeping his eyes fixed intently upon it.

All at once he dropped to the saddle and slipped the left foot from the stirrup. Grasping the pommel with the left hand, he appeared to dive head first toward the ground.

They saw his long hair almost brush the gra.s.s; one of his hands swept down and up, and once more Tad Butler rose standing, in his stirrups, uttering a cowboy yell as he waved the sombrero on high.

The boys howled with delight--that is, all did save Stacy Brown.

"Huh! That's nothing. I can do that myself," he grunted. "I've seen them do that in the wild west shows too many times not to know how myself."

Walter smiled, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Why not show us, then?" he said.

"I will," replied Chunky, confidently.

"Got your life insured?" asked Ned. "If you haven't I would advise you to go easy. Tad is an experienced rider."

"Don't you worry about me, Ned Rector. Guess I know how to ride. Let me have that hat, Tad," he demanded as the latter came trotting up to the group.

Stacy, his face flushed, determination plainly showing in his eyes, stretched forth his hand for the sombrero. Riding bravely out into the field, he tossed it to the ground. The first time he rode swiftly by it, leaning over to look at the hat as he pa.s.sed, holding to the pommel firmly with his left hand.

Stacy dismounted and removed the hat carefully to one side.

"What's that for?" demanded Ned, wonderingly.

"Hat too close to me. I couldn't get it," explained Chunky.

The boys roared.

"Why don't you move the pony? You don't have to move the hat, you ninny."

Once more Stacy approached the sombrero, his pony running well, and as he drew near it, they saw him rise in his saddle just as Tad Butler had done a few minutes before.

"By George, he's going to try it," exclaimed Ned.

"Be careful, Chunky," warned Walter.

"He's got to learn," declared Tad.

Then Chunky essayed the feat.

At the moment when he freed his left foot from the stirrup, he threw his body sharply to the right, reaching for the hat without taking the precaution to grasp the pommel.

As a result, instead of stopping when he reached the hat, the boy kept on going. Fortunately, his right foot freed itself from the stirrup at the same time, or there might have been a different ending. Chunky turned a double somersault, lay still for a moment, then struggled up, rubbing his body gingerly, as the rest of the party came hurrying up to him.

"Are you hurt?" asked Tad apprehensively.

"No; that's the way I always get off," grinned Chunky.

CHAPTER XIII

VISIONS OF GOLD

After satisfying themselves that Stacy was not injured, the others of the party each made an effort to pick up the hat, though with much more caution than Stacy had used.

Ned accomplished the trick the first time he tried. Walter, however, made several attempts, instructed by Tad, before he finally caught the knack of it.

"That will do for one day," decided the instructor, finally. "We must not tire out our ponies, for we still have a long jaunt ahead of us, according to the guide."

When they reached the camp, Stacy was still rubbing his head, much to the amus.e.m.e.nt of his companions. The noonday lunch was a light one; while they were eating it the ponies were tethered out on the plain to browse on the fresh, green gra.s.s.

Shortly after noon the party was on its way again, Lige being anxious to reach their destination before dark. Yet the trail was so rugged and precipitous that rapid progress was impossible. To add to this, late in the afternoon they overtook the pack train, which they found halted in the trail. One of the burros had gone lame, nor did Jose know what the trouble was. He was sitting by the side of the trail helplessly, waiting for someone to come along.

Tad hastily slipped from his saddle, running over to the burro.

"Which foot is he lame in?" asked the boy.

"Donno," answered the Mexican.

The boy led the little animal back and forth several times.

"It's the off hind foot," he announced.

"Off?" queried Chunky. "He doesn't seem to have a foot off."

"No, I didn't mean that. Hors.e.m.e.n call the right the off side, and the left the near one," explained Tad, picking up the beast's foot and examining it critically.

"He has stepped on a sharp piece of rock and driven it into the hoof,"

announced the boy. "I am afraid we shall have to unload the pack and strap him down before I can get it out."

Tying their horses, all hands drew near to witness the proceeding, which bade fair to be unusually interesting. However, Tad skilfully rigged a harness out of a long piece of quarter-inch rope. This he put on the burro, and soon had the animal on its knees, then on its side. The rope was drawn taut so that the burro could not kick, after which the boy cautiously cut around the sharp stone with his pocket knife, and, after considerable effort, extracted it.

"I'm sorry we have nothing to put in the wound. But I guess he will go along all right. He'll be lame for the rest of the day; but we cannot help that."

Once more they loaded up the beast of burden and the procession continued on its way, Lige having decided to keep the train in sight in case it was thought advisable to stop and make camp. They had been so delayed that it was now close to sunset.

At dusk they were still some distance from their destination.

"I think we bad better pull up here," suggested the guide.

"There's a moon up there," answered Tad. "Why not go on by moonlight?

That is, of course, if you can follow the trail."